The Road Home Read Free Page A

asked.
    â€œGin and tonic,” said Burke. “Make it a double.”
    â€œWater it is,” Gregg replied, pouring some from the plastic pitcher that sat on the table beside the bed.
    Burke picked up the fork and poked at the meat on his plate. “When I was a kid, I always loved Wednesdays, because it was Salisbury steak day at school,” he told Gregg. “I was in college before I realized that it was just a fancy name for hamburger.”
    â€œThat explains your sophisticated palate,” Gregg joked. It was another difference between them—Gregg loved fine dining (Burke called it snob food), and Burke’s idea of cooking was opening a can of soup.
    Burke was suddenly ravenous. He attacked his dinner with his good hand, managing despite the fact that he was a lefty and the utensils felt alien in his right hand. He wolfed down the Salisbury steak and Tater Tots. He even ate the green beans, which normally he would ignore. Only when he turned his attention to the small dish of chocolate pudding did he resume talking to Gregg.
    â€œDid you talk to the insurance people?”
    â€œI did,” Gregg answered. He cleared away Burke’s tray before continuing. “And you were right. They aren’t going to be particularly helpful.”
    â€œDefine ‘particularly,’” said Burke.
    Gregg sat down. “They’ll pay only fifty dollars a day for in-home care,” he said.
    Burke swore.
    â€œAnd that’s after the five-thousand-dollar deductible,” Gregg informed him.
    Burke’s response brought one of the nurses to his door. “Are you all right?” she asked, looking more than a little concerned.
    â€œHe’s fine,” Gregg assured her. “He’s having sticker shock.”
    The nurse waited for Burke to confirm that he didn’t need anything, then left the men alone.
    Gregg sighed. “So where does that leave us?” he asked. “I mean you. Where does that leave you?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Burke told him. “You don’t want me, and I can’t think of anyone else.”
    â€œIt’s not that I don’t want you,” said Gregg. “It’s—”
    â€œI know,” Burke interrupted. “I’m overbearing.”
    â€œJust a tad,” said Gregg. “And I work. Don’t forget that. What about your other friends?”
    â€œSluts,” said Burke, waving a hand around. “Cats. Smokers. Don’t eat meat.”
    â€œI see,” Gregg said. “Which brings us back to square one.”
    â€œI have to pee,” said Burke.
    â€œWhat?” Gregg asked.
    â€œPee,” Burke repeated. “I have to pee. Help me up.”
    â€œUm, you’re not getting up,” Gregg said. “Remember?”
    Burke glanced at his leg. “What am I supposed to do?” he said.
    â€œThis,” Gregg said. He held up a plastic container that he’d taken from a shelf beneath the bedside table. It resembled a water bottle on its side, with one end slightly angled up and ending in a wide mouth.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” Burke said.
    â€œCome on,” said Gregg. “It’s not that hard.” He pulled back the blanket on Burke’s bed and started to lift Burke’s gown.
    â€œHey!” Burke said.
    â€œRelax,” said Gregg. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
    Burke relented, and Gregg hiked up the hospital gown, exposing Burke’s crotch. He placed the urine bottle between Burke’s legs.
    â€œOw,” Burke said. “Slow down.”
    He tried to spread his legs, but when pain shot through the right one, he gave up and balanced the bottle on his thighs. Taking his penis in his right hand, he positioned the head at the mouth of the bottle and tried to pee. At first nothing happened. Then, as if a valve had been opened, urine spurted from his dick. Startled, he let go, and the