Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

journalist.”
    “I am?”
    DeDe grabbed her hand and kissed it. “You are.”
    “Thanks,” said Mary Ann.
    “Don’t mention it,” said DeDe.
It was almost noon when Mary Ann dragged herself up the stairway at 28 Barbary Lane. As she slipped her key into the lock, she heard Mrs. Madrigal’s distinctive footsteps behind her.
    “Dear … is that you?”
    “It’s me,” said Mary Ann.
    The landlady’s eyes were bloodshot.
    “Good God,” said Mary Ann. “Is something …?”
    “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Madrigal. “I have something unpleasant to tell you.”

Lucking Out
    A SENSE OF DÉJÁ VU, ALMOST INDISTINGUISHABLE from nausea, swept over Mary Ann as she and Mrs. Madrigal strode through the lobby of St. Sebastian’s Hospital.
    It was here that Michael had been treated for Guillain-Barré almost five years before. Here, too, was the sinister flower shop where the man with the transplant had secreted body parts for the cannibal cult at Grace Cathedral.
    The most macabre memory, however, was a fixture of the hospital itself: an antique portrait of St. Sebastian, shot through with arrows, proudly displayed on the wall above the reception desk.
    Mrs. Madrigal took Mary Ann’s arm and steered her away from the holy man. “C’mon, dear. I know the way. This place is too Catholic for words.”
    They rode the elevator to the third floor. When they emerged, Jon was waiting for him. The very sight of him cracked the bland veneer that Mary Ann had assumed for the ride to the hospital.
    She fell into his arms, weeping.
    “A helluva way to come home, huh?” He laid his hand gently on the crown of her head.
    “Are they awake?” she asked.
    “Brian is,” said the doctor. “Michael nodded off about an hour ago.” He turned to Mrs. Madrigal. “Did you fill her in on the particulars?”
    “As best I could,” said the landlady.
    “His lung was punctured,” Jon told Mary Ann. “That was the worst part. It was a surprisingly small puncture, though … all things considered.”
    It sounded awful to Mary Ann. “Did they sew it up or what?”
    Jon shook his head. “It wasn’t that bad. It should heal on its own. He’s got a tube in him so that can happen. It isn’t as bad as it looks, Mary Ann. That’s the main thing you should know.”
    “But I thought they … did it three times.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
    “Two of the blows glanced off his ribs,” said Jon. “There were plenty of stitches, but they were all in the chest wall. He’s breathing normally now….” He smiled at her. “I expect that’ll change when he sees you.”
    “What about Michael?”
    “An enormous goose egg, mostly. Half-a-dozen stitches. He’s O.K…. or he will be soon.” He looked at Mary Ann earnestly. “We lucked out, didn’t we?”
    “If you can call it that,” said Mary Ann.
    “We can,” said Jon. “We have to.”
Brian’s head was turned towards the window when Mary Ann entered the room. His chest was a mass of bandages. The tubes sprouting from the hole in his side led to a sort of suction cannister on the floor beside the bed.
    As he breathed, a thing that looked oddly like a Ping-Pong ball bobbed about erratically in the canister. Another tube (an IV, she presumed) led from a bedside pole into Brian’s arm.
    Michael was sleeping in the other bed, an enormous bandage crowning his head.
    “It’s me,” said Mary Ann.
    Brian rolled his head over and smiled at her. “Hi, sweetheart.”
    Mary Ann moved cautiously towards the bed, feeling his wounds with every step. “Is there anything I can kiss?” she asked.
    A large tear rolled down Brian’s cheek. “Just stand there and let me look at you.”
    She stood there awkwardly, hands at her sides. “How’s this?”
    “Just fine,” he smiled.
    “Shall I show a little leg?”
    She had never seen a grown man laugh and cry at the same time. “Jesus,” he sobbed, “I love you so much!”
    “Brian, damnit … if I start blubbering …”
    “I can’t help it. I’ve never been so goddamn glad to see somebody in my whole life!”
    She grabbed a Kleenex from the bedside table and stood over him, blotting his cheeks. “Hush now … I’m back. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Brian.”
    “What are you talking about? How could you have known?”
    “I know, but you needed me and …”
    “To hell with that. Did you find the kids?”
    Mary Ann nodded. “We found them.”
    “They’re O.K.?”
    “They’re fine,” said Mary