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He clapped his hands then rubbed them together. “I think I’ll come along on this little jaunt to meet master Ben. An interpreter may be needed.”
Fire him, Simon’s mother mouthed at him. She ran a finger over her throat like she was cutting it.
No!he mouthed back.
When they got to the elevator, his mother looked confused. “Aren’t we going back to your room, Simon?”
“No,” he said. “Or rather yes, in a way. Ben has been staying on the fourth floor in my old room.”
His mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Is his bathroom out of order? Do we need to call in a plumber?”
Simon groaned. “This all just started, Mother. It’ll be a miracle if you haven’t frightened him off entirely.”
They took the elevator to the fourth floor and stepped out to utter silence. He couldn’t even hear the faint scritch of Ben’s charcoals on his sketchpad paper.
“Ben,” he called out. “I know she didn’t make the best first impression, but my mother would like to meet you.”
There was no response.
His door was open so Simon peered around the doorframe. The room was empty but there was a note on the bed.
Simon –
I know what it’s like to lose your mother and you don’t have to. You’re not like me. You can be what she wants you to be, unlike me, who couldn’t. Family is important. More important than random guys you rescue off the street. Thank you for everything. One day I’ll try to pay you back for all of it. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and have the best and longest life possible.
Ben
“He’s gone,” Simon said dully.
“He’s what?” Hudson asked.
“He’sgone.Ben isgone.”He waved the note in the air. “He left. He left me.” Simon sat down on the bed hard, his knees failing him. “What am I going to do?” He looked up at Hudson and his mother. Both looked concerned, but that didn’t reflect the hollow agony Simon felt inside. “What am I going to do?”
His mother frowned down at him. “Don’t be foolish, Simon. The answer to that is obvious. Go find him.”
31
Ben Tries to Look on the Bright Side
Wednesday, December 20
A random hospital room
Probably Chicago
Consciousness came back to Ben in brief, painful flashes. He was in an ambulance. The suspended ceiling going by as he was wheeled through somewhere unfamiliar. Then he was being pushed head-first while lying on his back into a donut-shaped machine. When he stirred, someone laid a gloved hand on his shoulder and told him everything was fine but the doctors needed a scan of his head and he needed to be as still as possible. Ben obliged them by blacking out again and then coming to in a bright room, still on his back but elevated to a near sitting position.
“There you are,” a woman said. Then she turned to someone else. “Let Dr. Kahn know his patient has regained consciousness.” The door to the room opened then closed behind the departing person.
“Where am I?” but that was a silly question because he knew. “Hospital?”
“The EMTs said you’d been struck by a car.” The nurse who responded looked like a severe battleax who had to be at or near retirement. She had mostly gray hair, worry lines, and sharp eyes.
Ben frowned, trying to remember what had happened. “I was walking to the L station,” he said slowly. “I crossed the street, then…” he tried to recall exactly what had happened after that but it was fuzzy. “I was laying on the street and looking up at the sky and then there was someone’s face above me and everything hurt.”
“That sounds consistent with being hit by a car,” the nurse said drily.
“What’s wrong with my arm? Is it broken?” Ben’s left arm was bound with cotton and gauze so only the tips of his fingers showed. It also hurt like hell, but so did the rest of him, so it was hard to tell how much worse his arm was. Thankfully, it was his left arm. Had he broken his dominant arm and not been able to draw for who knew how long, Ben didn’t know how he’d bear it.
