Thirteen
I GET TO MYERTON GENERAL in record time, pulling into the clergy parking space just about ninety minutes after getting Dan’s call. I’d asked him to meet me with my sick kit, and I see his car parked next to Helen’s.
Rushing through the ER’s doors, I go immediately to the nurse’s station. Betsy Rawls is on duty tonight, and on seeing me, she says, “Father Tom, they’re all up in surgical waiting.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Any word on Terry Davis?”
She takes a deep breath. “No,” she says quietly. “He’s in surgery with Dr. Maycord. Internal injuries, broken bones. Dr. Maycord asked for Dr. Sims, the orthopedist on call, to assist.” She swallows. “He also contacted a plastic surgeon to . . . to . . . “ She can’t say anything else, but turns away and busies herself with a stack of pape
