visit the business office to finish up paperwork. In the meantime, she would help his wife get dressed.
That was met by firm, but polite, refusal.
“Naw. But thanks anyway. Jackie doesn’t like it if I leave her alone. Do you, honey pie? I’ll just help her get dressed. Then we’ll go downstairs and do that paperwork together.”
The nurse put the alternate plan into action.
“No problem,” she said. “As soon as Jackie’s dressed, I’ll bring a wheelchair in for her.”
Hector objected vehemently enough that I suspected he planned on skipping out on the hospital bill.
“The doc said she’s doing okay. You said he’s released her. So we’ll leave on our own.”
A little steel crept into the nurse’s voice.
“Hospital policy, Mr. Townsend. It’d be my job if Jackie walked out of here under her own steam. So you’re stuck with me—and a wheelchair—at least as far as the waiting area for the business office.”
From there, her tone implied, the issue of the wheelchair was the business office’s problem. If Hector’s intent was to leave without paying, she’d offered him the opportunity he needed. Once the nurse was gone, it would be easy enough for the couple to walk right out of the hospital.
The nurse winked at me as she left the room. She was a surprisingly petite woman with strawberry-blond hair, probably weighing no more than one-twenty and closer in age to Gran than Aunt Lucy. But I was confident that the force of her personality was more than enough to keep Hector in line. At least temporarily.
All she had to do was get him as far as the elevator.
I rejoined Gran and Aunt Lucy, and we quickly reviewed and modified a tactic that we’d used before.
A few minutes later, Gran was feeding quarters into the vending machine, intent on buying a large cup of very hot, extremely mediocre coffee. Aunt Lucy was standing upright, balancing on her crutches with her thickly swaddled lower leg lifted inches off the ground.
I had already walked around the corner carrying a neatly hand-lettered sign with tape doughnuts stuck to its back. Out of Order, it said. After the restroom’s only occupant washed her hands and left, I stuck the sign to the door’s exterior. Then I waited right outside the door, relying on my hearing and imagination to tell me what was going on just out of sight.
Soon, I knew, the nurse would help Jackie into the wheelchair and begin pushing her down the corridor in the direction of the elevator. She would steer the wheelchair close to the wall that was opposite the vending machine area, her position and pacing encouraging Hector to walk near the center of the corridor.
Not too far from the intersection of the corridors, Hector would encounter Aunt Lucy and Gran.
Frustrating to stay where I was, out of sight of the chaos that I knew was coming. I would have preferred to watch. Would have preferred knowing immediately if something was going wrong, if some unexpected circumstance was creating a situation more dangerous than this one already was.
But I had my own job to do. So I stood just outside of the restroom door and imagined the scene that would unfold the moment Hector walked past the little alcove containing the vending machines.
The nurse would say something to draw Hector’s attention.
At that moment, Aunt Lucy would hobble past, heading along the corridor in the opposite direction. She’d teeter slightly on her crutches, then throw one wide to catch herself. And plant the crutch in front of Hector’s moving feet.
Aunt Lucy would fall. And cry out loudly in pain and dismay.
With luck, Hector would go down, too. But chances were, his balance and reaction time were better than that. Not that it really mattered. Because, right about then, Gran would step onto our impromptu stage.
Onlookers drawn by Aunt Lucy’s cries would see the next accident coming. It would happen so quickly that they might be able to shout a warning, but wouldn’t be able to stop it. Not if Gran had her way.
Frail and elderly, Gran would act oblivious to the unfolding chaos. Easy enough for onlookers to assume she was a little deaf. Certainly her thick glasses implied she didn’t see very well. Her eyes and attention, anyway, would be fixed on her coffee cup. She’d be stirring it carefully as she shuffled forward into the corridor. And into the center of the melee.
Confused and disoriented by the drama erupting at her feet—a large man either falling or trying not to