What Janie Saw(110)

                Sitting up in the hospital bed, Tommy appeared closer to thirty than his true age of twenty-one. And he acted sixteen. He sneered at Rafe and turned his head when the nurse offered him a cup of something. Speaking to the wall, he attempted to tell her all the reasons he, personally, did not need to be in this hospital.

                “You have to drink it,” she said. “It will draw the poison out of your body.” It was only after the nurse threatened to call the doctor and hook Tommy up to a tube that he drank the charcoal.

                There were too many people in and out of the room for Rafe to make questioning Tommy his first priority. Tommy was then stripped of his belongings and the curtain of his room was left open so that anyone passing by might be able to hear. The passersby heard plenty, as Tommy had plenty to say, mostly about the travesty of justice that had brought him to the hospital.

                Rafe ignored him and checked his phone. Janie had texted to say she was fine and busy at the zoo. His mother had also sent him a message to say how brave he’d been at the church. Summerside, who’d left Rafe and Tommy at the hospital to return to the station, radioed to check if Rafe needed anything.

                All Rafe wanted was some time alone with Tommy and to get back to Janie.

                Just after two, Tommy’s mom called Rafe and asked if he’d seen her son.

                “You want to talk to him?” Rafe asked Helen. “We’re here at the Scorpion Ridge hospital. Tommy’s had a drug-related episode.”

                “Man,” Tommy mumbled.

                He took the phone and Rafe heard him say, “No, it was an accident. No, I’m not going to do it again. I’m all right. You know how cops are. I’m fine.” Tommy’s face scrunched up sourly before he handed Rafe back his phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

                Helen took in the news of her son’s attack in the church, followed by his visit and stay in the hospital, without crying.

                Maybe she was all cried out.

                “Rafe,” she said, “I’ve got a pregnant seventeen-year-old daughter and a son in the hospital because of drugs. Everything, all my dreams and prayers, have died this day. Just say what I have to do to make this right.”

                Pregnant? Little Amanda?

                “What size shoe does Amanda wear?”

                “What?” Helen sounded incredulous.

                “And does she have a pair of green high-top tennis shoes?”

                “She did,” Helen said hesitantly. “She lost one a few months back.”

                “Who’s the father of Amanda’s baby?” Rafe asked. He couldn’t afford to waste precious minutes tiptoeing around the question.

                “She hasn’t said yet, but I’ve got my suspicions.”

                “When did you find out Amanda was pregnant?”

                “I found out last night. Amanda apparently figured it out a few weeks ago.”

                “How long has Tommy known she was pregnant?”

                “He found out yesterday at the same time as me.”

                Rafe glanced at Tommy, who was now sitting straight up in the bed, moaning and drinking the charcoal as if it was the most interesting concoction in the world.