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Then something more practical occurred to me. Medical insurance!
I approached Davie and Jerry, my voice tight with this sudden concern.
"Guys, do you know anything about Samantha's medical insurance? We need to make sure she gets all the medical care and therapy to come back whole from this. She’ll need a nurse at home, at least a couple hours a day. She’ll need a wheelchair of her own. I can't believe I'm even thinking about this right now, but we need to be practical."
Davie answered me. “The three of us have basic coverage. A simple family plan. Her bag didn’t make it here with her?”
I shook my head.
Then Jerry reminded Davie, “I always have my member card. Should I …?”
Davie nodded. Jerry explained the shorthand, “I’ll go see about checking her in.”
So senseless. The childishness—and life-threatening danger—of the greased-floor stunt astounded me. And pissed me off.
Jerry came back and explained, “Any ER care is fully covered. I’ll have to call the company to find out what else is covered. Like the doctor’s office and the follow-ups. Nursing care. The wheelchair. We haven’t used our insurance much, so we don’t know this stuff.”
“And thank goodness,” Davie said.
“Listen, guys, I know we can sue the guy who did this. But that doesn’t mean he has the money to pay her bills or compensate her for all the damage to the shop and her injuries. I’m gonna cover any out-of-pocket expenses, okay? I can. I will.”
Davie opened and closed his mouth several times, but Jerry just nodded and mouthed, “Thank you.”
The night turned into day with Jerry being on the phone. Alex had come to the shop but had gone home on Davie’s say-so. With the kitchen floor greased up, too, there was no way any of them could safely clean the place up, much less bake for a day’s sales.
Jerry had gotten in touch earlier with Amy so that she wouldn’t make the trip to the shop for nothing. Jerry told her to stay away until he or Sammie called.
Amy, he said, was truly pissed off. He shook his head as he reported to us, “She’s ready to learn how to shoot and go after the guy.”
Davie had been torn. He wanted to stay at the shop until the police were done. He wanted to go after the idiot who, again, put his sister’s well-being and livelihood at risk. He wanted to be with Sammie.
He chose Samantha.
The police had come and gone with the security feed Davie had prepared. At nine o’clock or so, Jerry (clearly just trying to keep Davie calm) got him to put in a call, again, to the 24/7 cleaning company.
Jerry had a bright idea. “Davie, my dear boy, I think we need to hire Magnum P.I. to stalk our girl’s stalker.”
Davie flashed on what Jerry was getting at. Oh, boy. Would he do it?
I had to burst Jerry’s bubble, “Guys! Samantha would kill us if we got caught and arrested by going all Avengers on the guy.”
They thought a minute, nodding at the truth of my concern.
“Davie, who needs to be in on it? My sister is an attorney. She can bring a criminal attorney in so we don’t shoot ourselves in the foot. How ‘bout on your side?”
We talked, thought, and chewed on it. Brainstorming.
Finally, I summed it up, “Let’s put together that meeting to see if any of our ideas hold water. My office conference room. But only when we know Samantha’s out of the woods.”
Oh, boy. Retribution? Not anything I’d ever done before. I told the guys, “After all. Turnabout is fair play.”
Jerry added, apparently also more hopeful, “All is fair in love andwar! And this guy declared war? Bring iton!”
Davie just shook his head but I could tell he was heartened—security was his area of expertise. Samantha was hisfamily.
Before any of us could say more, a nurse announced that Samantha had just been moved to an ICU bed. “Until we’re sure about the concussion,” she explained.
They allowed us to see Samantha one at a time, two minutes each. Davie and Jerry pushed me in first.
