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“Thanks. I’ll be okay.”
Hank looked unconvinced, but let it drop and summoned the elevator. “I’ve got other church members to visit. The nurse told Dad he could stay for only a few minutes, so he should be out directly.”
“Did he mention how Kerra Bailey is faring?”
“No, sorry. A shame about her, too.”
“Yeah, it is.”
When the elevator came, Hank boarded but stopped the door from closing. “Listen, don’t let on that you know anything about Dad’s rift with The Major. He hadn’t backed down, and Dad was being just as pigheaded. They still weren’t speaking right up till Dad got the news last night, which is one reason he—”
Hank stopped, having realized that he’d let the cat out of the bag. He put his hand to the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. “Oh, hell.”
“The preacher caught cussing.” Trapper tsked, then asked, “What was their rift over?”
“It was nothing. Really.”
“You never could lie for shit, Hank.”
The door was trying to close. “If Dad wants you to know he’ll tell you. See you later.” He lowered his hand and the door slid closed.
“Chickenshit,” Trapper muttered.
He’d always had to twist Hank’s arm before he would engage in any real fun like sneaking copies of Playboy, nipping from bottles of liquor when the grown-ups weren’t around, shoplifting a tin of chewing tobacco from the convenience store. Hank had confessed to that particular misdeed before their parents were even aware that the petty crime had been committed. He’d cried and said over and over how sorry he was.
Not Trapper. He’d thought the adventure was well worth puking his guts up later.
The double doors to the ICU opened, and Glenn came through. He was in his uniform, which was as crisp as ever, but his gait wasn’t his usual stride and his face was haggard. Seeing Trapper, he motioned for him to follow him into the waiting room. No one else was in there. They sat down in adjacent chairs.
“How is he?” Trapper asked.
Glenn set his cowboy hat over his knee. “Far as his chest, we can thank our lucky stars that the surgeon worked twenty-five years at a trauma center in Dallas. He was on call last night and knew what he was doing. Otherwise, The Major would already be dead.”
“What about his head?”
“Cranium’s got a depression this big.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger. “His pupils were reactive when he was brought in and still are. That’s good. Doctor says the main concern now is swelling of the brain. If it gets bad, they’ll have to bore a hole in his skull.”
Trapper dragged both hands down his face.
“The good news,” Glenn continued, “is that his vitals are strong.”
“Oh, that’s great news,” Trapper said. “He could be a vegetable, but he’ll live a long life.”
“He’s got brain function. They just don’t know how much yet.”
A glum silence fell between them. Trapper broke it by saying, “I caught Hank on his way out.”
“He said they had a capacity crowd at the prayer breakfast. Everybody turned out for The Major.”
“What was your rift with him about?”
Taken off guard by the question, Glenn looked startled, then annoyed. “Damn Hank.”
“He never could keep a secret. Always a tattletale.”
Glenn sighed heavily. “John, now’s not the time—”
