“As long as she has help,” the nurse said. “She’s insisting on leaving and the resident doctor has signed her release. How soon can you get here?”
“Fifteen or twenty minutes,” I said.
“We’ll meet you at the emergency entrance.”
“Doesn’t she need clothes?”
“We’ve got her in a bathrobe. She’ll be fine. We don’t want it back. Ever.”
Oh boy.
Fifteen minutes later I rolled up to the emergency entrance. Lula was in a wheelchair and an attendant was standing behind her. He helped Lula into the passenger seat, handed her a plastic bag, and stepped back.
“Let’s go,” Lula said. “I don’t want them changing their mind and wheeling me back in there.”
“I’m guessing things weren’t wonderful.”
“First off there was a cheap-ass television in my room that was from 1950 or something. I couldn’t get anything on it, and it was all fuzzy. And there are bells going off all the time and carts clattering down the hall. And then there were people talking, and people coming into my room when I’m trying to get a nap, taking my blood pressure and testing to see if I’m dead or not. And they told me I was getting chicken broth and crackers for dinner, and I told them my insurance company would want me to have steak and mashed potatoes, but I don’t think they were listening. And on top of that I asked for ice cream, and no one ever brought it to me. I asked a lot of times in a polite voice, and I still didn’t get any ice cream. I mean, what’s the big deal about getting a Dixie cup of vanilla and chocolate? I’d been through a lot. I was shot. I deserved a Dixie cup.”
“So, you decided to leave?”
“It was one of those mutual decisions. They said I was demanding and disruptive. Can you imagine? Have you ever known me to be demanding and disruptive? I don’t think so. I might have a strong and assertive personality, but I consider that to be a positive attribute.”
“The nurse said you shouldn’t stay alone tonight.”
“Yeah, I thought I could stay with you. Plus, you got an elevator. If I go home, I have to walk up some stairs with my stupid gunshot leg.”
I called Diesel and told him to bring a lot more food.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked Lula.
“My clothes and my purse and my meds. They said I didn’t have time to get dressed. They put everything in that plastic bag and got me into a wheelchair. The wheelchair was the good part. I liked getting wheeled around. We should stop at a drugstore and rent me a wheelchair so you can get me up to your apartment.”
“Really?”
“A motorized one would be even better,” Lula said. “I could take it to Walmart and Target.”
“You’re planning on walking sometime soon though, right?”
“Heck yeah, I can walk now, but why walk when you can ride? Only thing is, if I’m always in the chair no one is going to fully appreciate my superior derriere.”
“That would be a shame.”
“Damn skippy. I got a whole wardrobe based on boobs and booty.”
“So, I guess we should skip the wheelchair?”
“It was just one of those thoughts,” Lula said. “I was weighing the merits.”
“What about clothes?” I asked. “I got you a comfortable dress yesterday but that’s it.”
“I’ll be okay until tomorrow. I always carry an extra thong in my purse in case I get an IBS attack, and I’m wearing the hospital gown and robe, so I don’t need sleep clothes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
I found a parking place close to the back door to my apartment building and Lula and I slow-walked to the elevator. I got her into the apartment and stretched out on the couch.
“Do you want ice cream?” I asked her. “Or would you rather wait for dinner?”
“What’s for dinner?”
“I’m not sure. Diesel is bringing it.”
“Say what?”
“He’s temporarily living here.”
“I thought he was in a motor home.”
“Oswald toasted it.”
“Lucky you,” Lula said. “What’s Morelli got to say about this?”
“He’s cool.”
“Uh oh.”
“What uh oh?”
“Morelli should be nuts. He’s Italian. He’s supposed to be doing a lot of arm waving and yelling about you living with another man. You know what this means, right?”
“That he trusts me?”