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Bobby was taking forever. An eternity.
“Where might I know you from?” Butch asked.
Rebecca smiled. “Maybe I look like someone on TV.”
“No, that’s not it.”
The pizza-delivery guy entered room 315, followed by Bobby. Rebecca and Spencer spun off their stools. The three amigos sprang into action. In no time, the wheeled table projected over the bed railing, and the aromatic pizza was on the table, and one beer was open. The second bottle waited within reach of Butch, safe in the insulated delivery bag. Rebecca had paid the check with cash. Goodbyes were said. An invitation to visit again was extended. No one was crying, though Butch appeared to be close to tears.
In the corridor, a new shift of third-floor nurses, in white uniforms with pale-blue trim, were making their way east toward the nurse’s station, virtually radiating compassion and dedication to the work ahead.
The amigos moved westward against the tide. When they reached the elevator alcove, all the cabs were descending to the lobby. As they waited for an elevator, they could not help but overhear two nurses who stood nearby in conversation, one from the departing shift and the other newly arrived.
“How’s Travis dealing with you being on nights?”
“He likes it too much.”
“Dipping his willy in some tart?”
“He would if he wasn’t too tired to tomcat.”
“Losin’ his pep, is he?”
“He eats my dinners and sleeps from six o’clock till dawn.”
“He doesn’t wonder why he sleeps like an old dog?”
“It’s Travis, remember. Not a lot of wondering in him.”
“You got to protect the man from himself.”
“Exactly. So what’s the news of the day?”
“We lost Mr. Blomhoff in isolation.”
“Well, it was way beyond the toe with him.”
The amigos turned to the nurses. Rebecca said, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But did you say Mr. Blomhoff died, Aldous Blomhoff. Was he still the head of the institute after all these years?”
Everyone in town knew Blomhoff. He spoke at high school graduation most years and supported numerous Maple Grove charities.
“That’s him,” said the wife of Travis. “His brother, Pastor Turnbuckle, came to see him at last, but it was too late.”
“Pastor Larry was his brother?”
“Half brother. They were estranged for a long time.”
The nurse who wasn’t married to Travis said, “We shouldn’t say anything more. We shouldn’t even have said that much.”
“Patient privacy,” said the wife of Travis.
They turned from the amigos, exited the alcove, and disappeared around the corner into the main corridor.
Bobby quoted Travis’s wife. “‘It was way beyond the toe with him.’”
The doors opened on one of the six elevators. From within came a recorded voice: “Going down.”
The amigos stared into the empty cab. The cab was patient, but not infinitely so. A tone sounded—boing—and the doors closed.