Joe Burke's Last Stand Part 51

The next afternoon, Willow was at the Depres...o...b..fore him, absorbed in a paperback. "Hi, there," Patrick said. She looked up and smiled.

"Hi, Patrick. I brought my largest handkerchief."

"What are you reading?"

"_Balthazar_, by Lawrence Durrell."

"I saw you go by with Martin, yesterday."

"Oh, yeah. Martin took me for a drive and showed me his studio. He has been making recordings."

Patrick looked at her directly and tried to keep his face calm. "Do you like him?"

"I do. He's nice; he asked me a lot of questions."

"He seemed O.K. to me," Patrick admitted.

"Patrick, are you jealous?"

"Umm . . . "

"Tell you what," she said. "Walk me home tonight and I'll show you how much I like him." Patrick started to smile.

"It's a deal." The sun came out from behind a cloud. Willow covered his hand with hers for a moment, and he felt reconnected. "I like you," he said.

"Now don't go overboard, Patrick."

They ate dinner and walked to Byrdcliffe, taking turns pus.h.i.+ng Willow's bike. Amber was at Art's; they had the house to themselves. They listened to Dylan and finished a bottle of wine. Patrick undressed for bed with a surprising lack of embarra.s.sment. It seemed natural. They clung to each other and stayed awake late, talking and watching the new moon rise. Willow told him about her parents and her brother and her dissatisfaction with school.

"If you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?" he asked her.

"I think I'd travel and read a lot. Decide what to do and then do it--somewhere. But, do it right, you know?"

"Yeah," Patrick said. "It's the only way."

"Babies, too, some day. Speaking of which--if we're going to keep this up, you better get some of those thingies." Patrick grunted.

"That will be a trip," he said. "Trojans, right? E-Z big tips?"

"They don't care at the drug store," Willow said. "Very big tips."

"Only for you," Patrick said.

"Exactly."

They had to hurry in the morning to get to the Deli in time. Patrick took his sandwich to the News Shop, ate breakfast, and rode to the Wittenberg job with Wilson. When he thought of Willow during the day, he felt easy and excited at the same time. He could actually talk to her. She understood immediately his point that science and art were modeling processes. Better yet, she saw that modeling itself was fundamental--an attempt to understand what was out there and express it with whatever tools you could use. Sleeping with her was so great. s.e.x.

Just the comfort of being next to her. It was such a new experience that he would forget for an hour and then remember with a rush of pleasure.

There was a police car in front of Gert's when Wilson dropped him off after work. "What's happening?" Patrick asked.

"You staying here?"

"Yes."

"Name, please." The cop wrote his name down in a small notebook. "Mrs.

Willett's been taken to the hospital," he said.

"Oh, no," Patrick said.

"Sick. Heart attack, maybe," the cop said.

"Where is the hospital?"

"Kingston."

"d.a.m.n," Patrick said.

"Hope for the best," the cop said, putting his notebook away. "All you can do. She's been around here a long time." Patrick went inside. The house felt empty. There was only one other roomer at the moment, a middle aged guy who kept to himself, a high school teacher from the city. Apparently, he spent a month in Woodstock every summer. Bob. He wasn't around.

Patrick washed and walked into town. He finished a beer quickly and checked the crowd gathering in the Depresso. Claude was at the end of the bar. Patrick approached him. "Hey, Claude."

"Patrick."

"Claude, I've got to go to Kingston."

"Some people have all the luck."

"My landlady got taken to the hospital. Do you know where the hospital is?"

"Benedictine or Kingston?"

"Are there two? I don't know. Kingston, I guess." Claude gave him directions to both. "I don't have a car," Patrick said. Claude looked at him.

"Can you drive?"

"Yes." Claude reached in his pocket and handed Patrick a set of keys.

"It's that '56 Ford pickup out there--the black one with the wood rack."

"Thanks, Claude. What are you going to do?"

"Ahh . . . " Claude glanced around the room and smiled. "We shall see, mon ami. Leave it behind Mower's when you're done, why don't you. Put the keys under the seat. I'll get it in the morning."

"O.K." Patrick left and started up the truck. Three minutes later he was pa.s.sing the golf course, heading for Kingston on Route 375.

Kingston hospital was easy to find, but Gert wasn't there. He drove into the general area where he thought he'd find the Benedictine, trying to remember Claude's directions. He was about to stop and ask when he saw it on a hill. Gert had been admitted.

Patrick explained the situation and was allowed to see her, but only for a minute or two. She was pale and looked fragile. An oxygen tube crossed her face below her nose. Patrick went up close.