I CLIMB GINGERLY OUT of the wheelchair and thank the nurse for the ride, my right arm in a sling to keep me from accidentally pulling the stitches, and lower myself into the car. I try to buckle my seatbelt but Helen reaches over me and clicks it shut before I can.
“Thanks,” I say, but I get no response. Given what happened, I’m not surprised by the cold shoulder.
She pulls out of the hospital parking area, then points her car in the direction of Saint Clare’s. We drive along in silence for a few minutes, Helen staring straight out the front windshield, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
Wanting to get everything out in the open before we get back to the Rectory and while I’m still on some pretty high level pain meds, I say quietly, “I know you’re mad, but you need to look at this f
