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"I know what it is. How is he?"

"Very sick," she said and spun around to leave.

"I want to see him," I cried.

"Don't ask me to take you," she warned before I could even think of it. "It's a waste of time," she said at the doorway. "And I certainly haven't any time to waste."

She walked out, her footsteps tapping on my heart as much as they did the hallway floor.

.

As soon as I could. I called Austin's pager. He called back to tell me he was with a patient, but he said he would be over the moment after he was finished and promised he would get me to the hospital to visit Jake. In the meantime. I tried calling Jake at the hospital, but they said he was unable to use the phone.

It was all too much. I broke into a crying jag that I didn't think I could stop. Mrs. Bogart came quickly and in between my sobs. I told her how ill Jake was. When she heard the reason. She smirked and nodded and said she wasn't surprised.

"I often smelled whiskey on his breath," she told me. "People have enough trouble in their lives without going out and making more on their own," she declared. "If they do, they deserve what they get."

"I'm sure he doesn't want to be sick," I fired back at her. "Why are you so cruel?"

She huffed up, her face swelling and filling like a balloon.

"I'm not cruel, but I've seen what drinking does to people. My own daddy killed himself and an innocent woman in a drunk- driving accident," she revealed.

With that, she turned and left me. I was sorry now that I hadn't spent time learning how to drive my van yet. It underscored the futility of wallowing in self-pity. I should be taking advantage of every opportunity I had to restore my independence:. I vowed to do so from now on, with or without Mrs. Bogart and Aunt Victoria's help.

Finally. Austin arrived and we immediately set out for the hospital.

"Where you taking that girl?" Mrs. Bogart demanded when she heard us in the hallway.

"I'm going to visit Jake," I said.

She looked at Austin reproachfully, but he ignored her and wheeled me out. He got me securely in the van and we drove off,

"I'm sure she's on the phone with Aunt Victoria by now." I told him. "What I hate the most about my paralysis is that it makes everyone treat me like a child. Even my housekeeper thinks she can order me around."

"You're right. The way others view

handicapped people often hurts their self-image and slows their rehabilitation," Austin said. "It's a pet peeve of mine. Ironically, the more privileges handicapped people earn, the more they are belittled. Friends of mine are always joking and calling handicap parking spots, handicrap spots. I've nearly gotten into fistfights over it."

His face turned crimson just by his talking about the problem. He realized it and smiled at me.

"I guess I'm just one of those people who can't help himself from getting too involved with his patients," he said.

"Just as long as you're not as involved with any other as much as you are with me," I responded and he laughed.

He looked at me and shook his head. "Hardly."

When we arrived at the hospital, he wheeled me into the lobby and we went to the information desk to find out where Jake was. Minutes later we were in the elevator going up to the third floor. It was very quiet, nearly the end of visiting hours.

"Oh. I was wondering where his family was," the nurse on duty told us when we asked for his room. "He has been in and out of consciousness and asking for his daughter. Doctor Hamman is with him at the moment and I'm sure he'll want to have a word with you."

Austin was about to tell her that I wasn't Jake's daughter, but I put my hand over his quickly and he looked at me and saw I didn't want that.

We approached Jake's room slowly. Just before we reached the doorway. Doctor Hamman stepped out with another nurse.

"Better move him to ICU," he told her. She nodded and then saw us standing there and touched the doctor's arm. He turned.

"Oh," he said. "Are you related to Mr. Marvin?" he asked.