Page 49 of Mad Mabel

The ambulance arrives, and they disregard my efforts to send them away. Even Persephone has to go in to be looked over. Peter gets in with me, which is kind of him. The Nguyens offer to look after Nugget, which is stupid of them.

Before they close the back doors, I notice Joan is standing quietly on her porch. Her normally suspicious, darting eyes are downcast. Perhaps I’m imagining things, but she almost looks like she’s ashamed.

28

Ihate hospitals. I hate the sickly lighting that makes my skin look the color of sour milk. I hate the chipper nurses with their forced smiles and their breezy small talk, like we’re at a bloody day spa. I’m sure they think we’re a pack of whingers. And honestly? Fair enough.

One of these nurses wheels me to X-ray, chirping away about weekend plans as we go. My suspicions about her cheerfulness are confirmed when I throw the question back at her and she tells me she’s off to the country to look after her father, who has Alzheimer’s. “He’s been in better spirits lately,” she adds, “since he doesn’t recognize anyone at all.”

Kill me.

The doctor at X-ray confirms what I already knew. “It’s a clean break,” he says.

“Is that right?” I say pleasantly, instead ofNo shit, Sherlock. I can play this faux-cheer game too.

I come across Daphne as I’m wheeled back to my room. She’s impossible to miss in a yellow feathered bomber jacket.

“Mother of God, Daphne, you look like Big Bird.”

She ignores me. “I leave you alone for one afternoon and what happens?”

She kisses my forehead. Her shampoo, something citrusy and light, mixes with the scent of coffee from the cafeteria. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

“Peter is here.” I smile. Daphne catches it.

“Good. But I should have been here.”

“And so you are.”

As I’m pushed back to my room, I fill Daphne in. “Some kids with a vendetta came to the street with signs. When they saw me, they approached with what I thought was a gun, but what turned out to be a water pistol filled with blood or something that looked and smelled like blood.”

“Bastards,” Daphne mutters.

“I fell backward, landed on my wrist. And here we are.”

“Did they catch them?” Daphne continues. “If they did, I’d like five minutes alone with them.”

“Thanks, Daph,” I tell her. And I do appreciate the sentiment. There’s no reason to point out that Daphne, being an elderly lady with the size and strength of a child, is unlikely to intimidate even the smallest of my assailants. Any such comment would probably just egg her on, anyway.

The nurses tell me I’m to be kept overnight in the hospital, for observation. I tell them that is a gross misuse of taxpayers’ funds, and that I’ll be perfectly fine to go home, but truth be told, I’m a little relieved when they insist. As much as I don’t like hospitals,there’s something comforting about the presence of others nearby. The fact is, I feel a little short of breath, a little shaky. Worse, every time I close my eyes, I see that dreadlocked man holding his arm out. And I think, not of myself, but of Persephone, and what could have happened to her. You didn’t have to like the child to fear something like that. Although, if I’m honest, it’s getting harder and harder to not like her.

“Stop thinking about it,” Daphne says. “And for heaven’s sake, do not blame yourself, do you hear me?”

Peter is waiting in my room—a four-bedder ward with thin curtains dividing it. He is in a corner chair, reading a newspaper.

“For pity’s sake, you need to go home, Peter.”

“I am happy to stay with her now,” Daphne adds.

“I’ll stay a little longer if it’s all right with you,” he says, closing his newspaper.

A man in the room, behind a curtain, groans, then breaks wind.

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

“Actually, I am. I have nothing planned and besides, my mother would roll over in her grave if I left an elderly woman in hospital.”

I flare my nostrils. “Your mother would roll over in her grave if she heard how impertinent you’re being,” I reply. “Elderly!”