Disintegration by Scott Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page A

was sure she could feel it through the thin cotton of his hospital gown. "Trust me. I'm not going to let anyone take you away from me."
    Especially Joshua. No, he wouldn't let Joshua win this time. Not again. Not like always.
    As he spoke soothing words and petted her with one hand, his other hand eased across her body to the paper in her fist. He tugged gently and she let go. He glanced at it, saw the cursive letters leaning to the left. Familiar handwriting. He tucked the paper underneath his sheet, secretly, and let her finish crying.

CHAPTER FIVE

    J acob Wells was released from the hospital on May twenty-ninth.
    Steve Poccora wheeled him from his room to the elevator on the day of his release. Jacob insisted he was fine, but Poccora said it was hospital policy to treat everybody like infirms until they reached the door.
    "After that, it's your business," Poccora said. "Trip and break your leg, for all I care. But we can't have you suing us for something that happens on the inside."
    Jacob couldn't tell if the nurse was joking. So he sat in the wheelchair and watched the elevator lights blink as they passed each floor down to ground level. The elevator opened and a man Jacob recognized from the Chamber of Commerce stepped on with a bouquet of pink roses, tulips, and Queen Anne's lace. Jacob couldn't recall the man's name, though he had the thick neck and jowly, red complexion of a former football player. Probably someone in masonry supplies.
    "Jacob," the man said, flashing his money smile. "How's it going? You doing okay?"
    "Never been better."
    The smile faded. "Listen, sorry to hear about... you know."
    "Don't mention it."
    "I've been praying for you."
    "That helps. Thanks."
    The man pointed to the flowers. "For my wife. She's in maternity. We just had our third."
    Jacob nodded, staring past him at the hospital lobby, the wax sheen of the industrial tiles, the patient information desk staffed by an old lady with pince-nez glasses. Poccora wheeled him out of the elevator and the doors closed with a soft hiss, cutting off the smell of the flowers.
    "Dawson," Jacob said.
    "Huh?" Poccora said.
    "The man's name was Dawson. You ever do that, draw a blank when you're talking to somebody, then it pops right into your head later?"
    "No, man. I think you've been in here too long."
    They reached the glass entrance and Poccora stopped the wheelchair. Jacob sat looking at the world outside, a changed world, a lesser world.
    "End of the ride," Poccora said.
    "Yeah," Jacob said.
    "Your wife picking you up?"
    "Yeah. She's right outside. I phoned her from the room."
    "Good. You two ought to work things out. Take care of each other. Maybe you can have another kid someday."
    Jacob stood. Though he had been walking the halls for the last few days, his legs were cotton candy. He waved to Poccora and went through the exit, wondering how much of himself he'd left in the hospital. The outdoors was welcome after the stale, recycled indoor air, but it somehow left an aftertaste of smoke on his tongue.
    The mountains were thick and bright green with new growth and a late spring rain had washed the dust from the streets. Kingsboro had only two cab companies, each of those operated by solitary drivers who kept their own hours. Jacob could have called Donald, or any one of half a dozen friends and business associates, but the walk seemed a worthwhile challenge after the weeks spent in the hospital bed. Besides, a borrowed ride might corner him into conversation.
    The talk would go to banal matters such as whether the Atlanta Braves would finally do it this year or how the late snows had affected the golf course at the country club. Anything except what Renee had called "the eighty-ton elephant in the living room." Jacob's loss. Or plural
losses
, depending on how deep into personal history the friend was willing to go. He never wanted to hear the words "I'm sorry" again.
    The burns had healed better than he deserved. The skin was still a little