TWENTY-ONE
Angie saw the room number the nurse had given her posted on the door as she tried to ignore the antiseptic smell of the environment. She hesitated a moment, then walked into the hospital room. James was lying in bed, a cast on his arm and a bandage wrapped around his head. His eyes were closed as he rested. She noticed considerable swelling and bruising around his eyes, along with lacerations on the rest of his face. All sorts of tubes were attached to him, streaming from several clear bags elevated on a metal apparatus.
She stepped beside his bed, contemplating whether to sit in the chair or not. One of his eyes popped open.
“Angie,” James said in a croaky voice without moving his lips. She sat in the chair.
“James, maybe you shouldn’t talk.” The man sounded as awful as he
