he pulled the car to a stop behind the ambulance. "Need some help carrying her?"
"No, thanks. I wish I could pay you but I don't--"
"That's okay, Jack. The doctors will be picking your pocket soon enough. Glad to be of help. Hope everything turns out all right."
"Thank you. And I didn't beat her, Judy. I would never."
"Right," snapped Judy, slipping back into her rightful place in the front seat as he left it. "And she looks young enough to believe in Santy Claus, too."
The sudden brightness of the reception area dazzled him and before he had sorted out the bustle of activity there, Nicholas was relieved of his burden by a brawny man in a white coat. Nicholas' arms served as safety net beneath his until he deposited Trissa on a waiting gurney.
"What happened?" the man asked as he began examining her, taking her pulse, and gently lifting her eyelids to check her pupils.
"She fell and hit her head." He would leave out the train for now. The train would be hard to explain.
"How long has she been out?"
"Twenty minutes." It seemed like a lifetime. "Yes, it's been about twenty minutes."
"And these bruises? They're all from the fall?"
For the first time, in the bright light of the emergency room hallway, Nicholas could see them clearly, angry red and darkening bruises on her arms and on her cheek, neck, and jaw. Some showed the clear outline of fingers. "My God, Trissa," he whispered, his heart seething to know someone had mistreated her so.
"Well?"
He had to be a doctor. No intern or assistant could muster such imperious authority into one cold syllable. Nicholas had had enough experience with doctors to both respect and resent their power. "Yes. I guess so. We both fell, tumbled down a gravel embankment. She got pretty banged up."
"You're not such a pleasant sight yourself. Check her in at the desk. I'll take care of her here. I might need to ask you some more questions later, so don't run off," the doctor advised.
"I won't. I wouldn't."
"Yeah." An equivocal frown creased the doctor's brow as he studied Nicholas through black, unreadable eyes. "You called her Trissa?"
"Yes. Yes, Trissa." It might be best not to tell this skeptic that her last name was Brewer in case she came to and told the doctor otherwise. Nicholas wondered if it might be better if he fulfilled the doctor's expectation and did run off. Sooner or later more questions would be asked, and his jumble of lies and truth and half-truth seemed so unbelievable that he would clamp himself in jail if he were a cop.
He watched until they wheeled Trissa out of sight, then approached the desk warily. Torn between his concern for Trissa and his growing apprehension for himself, he replied to the admissions clerk's questions with a recital of what he knew.
"First name?"
"Trissa."
"Last name?"
"Brewer," he lied.
"Age?"
"Eighteen." It was a guess
"Relationship to the patient?"
Nicholas glanced toward the room where they had taken Trissa and was startled to see a policeman loitering at the door, his hat under his arm, chatting amiably with a nurse.
"Sir, your relationship to the patient?"
"Husband." Nicholas's voice cracked on the lie. It seemed to be one he was stuck with. He watched the policeman out of the corner of his eye while the clerk typed the lie into fact.
"Religion?"
"Uh. Mine or hers?"
"The patient's."
"Catholic." She traveled with a Catholic college crowd, so it was a safe assumption.
"Insurance?"
The policeman moved off at last toward the waiting room area where he sat down with the nurse. Nicholas relaxed a little and turned his attention back to the clerk.
"Pardon?"
"Do you have insurance?"
"Yes. Uh, well, I have it. From work. But it doesn't cover her. Don't worry, I'll pay. I don't have a lot with me tonight, but--" He could sell his car if he had to. Whatever was needed, he would get it for her, if only he could help her.
"That's all right, Mr. Brewer. Arrangements can be made. Your wife is in good hands. Dr. Edmonds is one of our best residents. If you will just sign this treatment permission and release." The clerk handed him a pen and the completed forms.
Nicholas glanced over them then signed below the line that read "I attest that the above information is true and accurate to the best of my knowledge." There was a loophole there, he guessed. What little truth he had given was the best of his knowledge. That his knowledge didn't cover all the pesky details they asked for