THE DEADLINE CAFÉ EPISODE #15

Jimmy woke up slowly into the warmth and hum and sparkling chrome and clean linen smells of a private room in Evanston Hospital. He looked down the bed to his toes and wiggled them, then counted his fingers. Last thing he remembered was people shouting at him in the ambulance, trying to wake him up.

Sensing a presence in the room with him and not trusting to any quick motion owing to the stiffness in his neck and the beeping heart monitors stuck all over his chest like leeches, he scanned his eyes to the left and saw a blonde woman on a chair next to his bed immersed in some story on her Kindle. Oh, God, I’m married, he thought. The beeps quickened on the machine next to his bed, and he heard his voice say, ”Sorry, but who the hay are you?”  To which he added quickly, “I’m sorry. It’s just that my--”

The woman looked up with a start as though witnessing a corpse jump back to life and reached over to hold Jimmy’s hand. “Oh, Jimmy! Welcome back! Gosh, you scared me. ”

“No, seriously, who the fridge are you?” Jimmy had taken a New Year’s resolution to do a little less swearing and in this first stage he was replacing the golden oldies with new cover versions.  “Fridge” was at the top of his list.

“Oh, Jimmy—you don’t remember me?”

Jimmy thought, My God, this woman is my wife. When the helicopter did I get married? “Remember you? I don’t even recognize you. You, you—say, what is your name?”

“Leila May Fitzsimmons.”

“That so?” He tried out her name, “Leila May.  Nice. But—?”

“I know, you’re probably wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?”

“That thought had occurred to me.”

The nurse on duty knocked, then walked in. “Time for dinner, Officer.” She put the hot plate with mushy vegetables, gray meat and apple sauce on a pale green tray in front of Jimmy.  She pressed the button on the box next to his head and the bed slowly folded into a shape that would permit Jimmy to eat, watch CNN stream live from a crowd of unhappy people up in Wisconsin and take a good look at the woman who might be his wife.

“What the hell?” Jimmy blurted out, his swear filter momentarily switched off, as the head of his bed rose and tightened the sheets around him.  The machine beeped again.

“Calm down, Officer… you’ve had a big 24 hours.  You’re a lucky man. Now I want to show your wife here how to give you a sponge bath. Will that be all right?”

 “Not my wife,” he exhaled. He looked over at Leila May. 

She smiled as she rose.  Then she turned to the nurse and said, “Why don’t you give Jimmy the bath.  I’m going to call those nice people from the café and let them know the hero is awake.”

“Hero?” Jimmy asked.

“Don’t you remember catching that hoodlum?”

Now it was coming back to him.  Meeting Leila May on the street.  The call about the stolen tip jar.  The open field tackle.  “You left your lights on, right?” he asked Leila May.

“Oh Jimmy. You’re back.”

“My back is okay. It’s my neck,” he said.

“I mean you’re back with us.”

“I guess I am,” he said.  

She kissed him on the cheek.  “I’ll call the café, and what say I go down to the cafeteria and get you a donut?”

Jimmy smiled.  “Make that two. One for each of us. My treat.”

**

After getting Leila May’s call, Hank shared the good news.  When the applause died down, Mrs. Worthley motioned Hank over to her table by waving a white envelope.

Just like her, thought Hank, she’s already got a get-well card for Jimmy. The woman never misses an opportunity.

“Hank, dear, I left this card on the table while I was over there discussing a flower arrangement with the Knotty Girls.” Hank glanced over at the gaggle of knitters.

“So nice, Mrs. W,” said Hank.  “I’ll sign right now.  I have to get back--”

Mrs. Worthley pointed to the upper left corner of the envelope. “But this wasn’t here when I bought it,” she whispered.

Neatly printed where one might expect to read the sender’s address, Hank read:

“54 DAYS.”