Unlucky 13(80)
Rich approached the bed, put his left hand on the rail at the far side and rested his weight on it. He leaned over, pressed his cheek to hers, then gave her a soft cheek kiss.
Cindy breathed him in.
He stood up and handed her the bag of candy, which she held in her lap. Then he pulled up the chair Lindsay had been sitting in.
“Thanks, Richie.”
He sat down and said, “Welcome. How are you doing?”
“Pretty good. The shot missed the bone, missed the artery. I think it’s what they call in cowboy movies, ‘just a flesh wound.’” She grinned. She had rarely felt better.
“You been drinking?”
She kept grinning, nodded her head. “Dr. Washburn’s orders.”
Richie laughed.
“So, are you in a lot of pain?”
“Not too much. I can take it. They’re checking me out in a couple of days or maybe tomorrow. Made me promise to take Cindy’s Flower Shop with me.”
Cindy wanted him to touch her again. She could still feel his whiskers against her cheek.
He said, “Well, anyway, did you get your story, at least?”
“Hell, no. Lindsay killed it.”
“Uh-huh.” He laughed, like it wasn’t right to laugh but he couldn’t help it.
“There’s a story there, anyway,” she said. “It’s not the one I had planned, but Mackie, Lindsay, and me, intersecting in that way at that place and with that result. I can do a lot with that. I could do a lot with half of that.”
Richie sighed. Leaned back in the chair. Ran his hands through his hair.
“What is it, Rich?”
She knew what. There had been guns and shooting and death. And she wasn’t a cop. And as they both knew full well, she’d never shot a gun off the range.
“That deal could have gone so wrong, Cindy, in so many ways. I don’t like to think about it, but I do.”
“Me, too.”
He sighed, giving her a long, steady look. Cindy thought he was trying to convey to her what exactly she’d done, what she’d been through. And that she’d been lucky.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said at last.
She felt that. Her eyes watered just a little. She kept it together by gripping that white bag of candied citrus peel.
“Thanks, Richie.”
He said, “I’m glad Lindsay is okay.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“I love you both.”
Cindy watched his cheeks color. He cleared his throat. Then he looked at his watch. Oh, no. He just got here.
Richie said, “Hey, the game is on in a little while. Uh. You want me to keep you company and we’ll watch the Niners kill the Seahawks?”
Cindy laughed. “That’s the best offer I’ve had since I got here.”
“I’ll go out and get a pizza. Okay?”
“Excellent.”
“Mushrooms and sausage.”
“Perfect.”
Richie stood up, pointed to the chair, and said, “Keep my seat warm. I’ll be right back.”
When Richie was gone, Cindy opened the bag of candy and bit into a chocolate-covered orange peel. Delicious.
She rolled down the top of the bag and held it for a while, thinking about Lake Street. About Richie. About how she was very much alive.
Hey. It would be really fun to do something with Richie again.
Cindy put the white paper bag on the table by the bed, grabbed the clicker, and turned on the TV.