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I grip the bed frame. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit over the head with a refrigerator.”

“They’re going to make you better.” My voice breaks; the events of the last twelve hours catch up with me.

He looks around. “Is this a good hospital?”

“Who knows?”

“I appreciate your honesty. This is the first time I was ever in a hospital. When I was eleven years old, I broke my arm. Set it myself with duct tape. Ask your mother.”

“She scared us with that story when we were kids. A cautionary tale.”

“My elbow was never in the right place after that. Still isn’t. The left one. Thank God elbows don’t face front. Philly is still mad that I didn’t go to the hospital. My sister believes there’s always somebody in the world who knows more about you than you. That includes doctors.”

“I googled your doctor. He has four stars on Star Doctor.”

“Thanks, but the facts are the facts. Genetics matter. My father died after his third heart attack. Had two at home. The third one, on the way to the hospital, took him out.”

“You’ve only had one incident,” I remind him.

“Do you remember my father?”

“A little. He looked like the Monopoly man.”

“That’s him. Louie Cap Senior. Had white hair and a mustache. Compact in height yet sturdily built, like an anvil. He hated hospitals too. That’s probably why he died en route in the ambulance. The thought of dying in a hospital killed him.” Uncle Louie frowns. “If this is my last hurrah before the dirt nap, what a shame. Look at this place. I’m lying in a shitty Florsheim box when I’ve worn nothing but Guccis all my life.”

“Because you have a narrow foot.”

“I’m pleased you pay attention to the details.” He smiles.

“You’ll make it out of here.”

“One way or the other. If it’s the other, there are a few things you need to know. Lil is taken care of. When she dies, you will inherit whatever is left from Lil. You are our sole heir.”

“Me?” The thoughts in my brain tumble over one another like confetti.

“You’re also the executrix of my last will and testament. In the event of my demise, you get the business. I kept meaning to talk to you about it, but we were so busy with installations, I never got around to it. By the way, Guido and Rita Battaglini’s pump went on the fritz. Order a new one. They’re in Spring Lake.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ll take care of everything. When I get off this hayride, somebody has to drive the buggy.”

“I’m not ready, Uncle Louie.”

“I’m leaving you everything because I trust you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this. You’ll be fine,” I assure him.

“Wishful thinking isstunodthinking. Let’s look at this like a fire drill. A precautionary conversation for an inevitable blaze.”

“I can handle that.” I pull up a chair next to his bed.

“I no longer own the clock. Time is slipping through my handslike a satin nightie on a gal named Slim in a whorehouse on my eighteenth birthday.”

“You’re going to get better.”

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I’m not feeling it.”