The Edge Read Free

back and forth, her hands on her hips, very nice hips I’d noticed nine days ago when I finally wasn’t so dulled from painkillers.I sighed. “All right, if it’s really against your ethics, or Doug’s ethics. But I’ll tell you, Midge, I just don’t see why it’s such a big deal. And why your husband would care is beyond me. He’d probably be begging just like I am if he was in my shoes. Hey, maybe you could call Mrs. Luther. She’s tough, but maybe she’ll give in. I think she likes me, just maybe—”
    “Mac, are you nuts? Mrs. Luther is sixty-five years old. For God’s sake, you can’t be all that desperate. Ellen Luther? She’d probably bite you.”
    “Why would she do that? What are you talking about?”
    “Mac,” she said with great patience, “you’re horny after two weeks of celibacy. I can understand that. But Mrs. Luther?”
    “I think you’ve got the wrong idea here, Midge. I don’t want Mrs. Luther. I want you in that way, but you’re married, so I only think about that in passing, like any other guy would, you know, maybe once every five minutes or so during the day, maybe more the better I feel. No, what I’m dying for, what I want more than anything in the world, is a beer.”
    “A beer?” She stared at me for the longest time, then she started laughing. That laughter of hers grew until she had to come into the room and close the door so she wouldn’t disturb other patients. She was doubled over with laughter, holding her sides. “You want a beer? That’s what all this is about? A damned beer? And you’ll go real slow?”
    I gave her my innocent look.
    She paused a moment in the open doorway, shaking her head and still laughing. Said over her shoulder, “You want a Bud Light?”
    “I’d kill for a Bud Light.”
    The Bud can was so cold I thought my fingers would stick to it. There couldn’t be anything better than this, I thought, as the beer slid down my throat. I wondered which nurse was hoarding the Bud in the nurses’ refrigerator. I drank half the can in one long slug. Midge was standing beside the bed, just looking down at me. “I hope mixing the beer with your meds doesn’t make you puke. Hey, slow down. You promised you’d make it last. Men, you really can’t believe them, not when it comes to beer.”
    “It’s been a long time,” I said, licking beer foam off my mouth. “I just couldn’t help myself. The edge is off now.” I heaved a thankful sigh and took a smaller drink, realizing that she wasn’t likely to get me another beer. At least the terror of that nightmare was deep below the surface again, not sitting right there on my shoulder, waiting to whisper in my ear again. I had about a quarter of a can left. I rested it on my stomach.
    Midge had moved next to me and now she was taking my pulse.
    “My neighbor, Mr. Kowalski, waters my plants when I’m out of town or in the hospital, like now. He also keeps things dusted. He’s a retired plumber, older than the paint on my great-aunt Silvia’s house, and real sharp. James Quinlan—he’s an FBI agent—he sings to his African violets. Healthiest critters you’ve ever seen. His wife wonders when she’ll wake up some morning to find some plants cozying up to her in bed. Oh shit, Midge, I want to go home.”
    She lightly cupped my face against her palm. “I know, Mac. Soon now. Your pulse is just fine. Now, let me take your blood pressure.” She didn’t tell me what it was, but she hummed under her breath, something from Verdi, I think, and that meant it was good. “You need to go backto sleep, Mac. Is your stomach happy with the beer? No nausea?”
    I took the last pull of beer, kept the burp in my throat, and gave her a big smile. “I’m fine. I owe you, Midge, big time.”
    “I’ll collect sometime, don’t you worry. Your plants sound great. Hey, how about I get Mrs. Luther for you?”
    I whimpered, and she left me alone, grinning and waving at me from the doorway. In the next instant,