Forty-Three
“I THINK ALL THAT AGGRAVATED your concussion, Father Greer,” the woman paramedic, named Liz, says after checking me out at the ambulance.
“I’d like to take you to the hospital to have them look at you,” she adds.
“I’m fi—” I start to say.
“He’ll go,” Helen says, looking at me firmly with her arms crossed. “Right, Tom?”
I smile sheepishly. “Whatever you say, dear.”
Looking slightly confused, Liz asks Helen, “Are you family? His . . . sister?”
Before Helen can speak, I quickly say, “No, my wife.”
Helen suppresses a smile while giving me a dirty look—I don’t know why, she started this thing we do of lying to health care professionals—but nods. “Yes, what he said.”
“Oh!” Liz looks at both of us, her mouth open, “okay then. Ah, well, Ms. Greer, would you like to ride?”
“I’
