Point No Point by Mary Logue Read Free Book Online Page B

ammonia in the air, the constant scent of hospitals. She wasn’t one of those people who hated hospitals. She found them rather calming and reassuring, maybe because of a pleasant stay she had spent recovering from pneumonia when she was twelve. While being provided with all the chocolate milk she could drink, she read ten books in four days and thought she was in heaven.
    She peeked into Chet’s room and saw him asleep in the all-white bed, his head turned toward the window, his mouth ajar. His body was sprawled on the bed as if he’d been tossed there. Even from across the room she could see the ligature marks on his neck.
    Earlier that morning a doctor had called and said Chet would survive the suicide attempt, but they weren’t sure in what shape he would be, slight possibility of brain damage, a good chance of serious trauma to his esophagus.
    Sympathy for him flooded Claire, but she pushed that feeling away. Unfortunately it was followed by guilt. She should have kept a closer eye on him. Her relationship with Chet had always been a little problematic. Rich so admired him—the
    good farmer, the great hunter, the county official. Claire had always felt like he was a bit of a bragger and also a bit corny.
    While she could tell that Chet adored Anne, he did it in such a sappy way that she found it slightly offensive. Which strengthened her sense that he might have killed her. With Chet, Claire had always thought that he was pretty controlling and if Anne had done something wrong, he might have gone off on her. Claire had certainly never thought that Chet would try to kill himself, because of how highly he thought of himself. That was her mistake.
    She hadn’t officially put him on a suicide watch, which would have involved a more constant surveillance, instead of the hourly checking by the guards. On some level she had to admit she had failed Chet. What was she going to tell Rich?
    Claire needed more information on Chet’s current status, especially on the possible brain trauma. She walked over to the nurse’s station and looked up at the board: Chet’s nurse was Jennifer. A dark-haired woman at the desk was filling out reports and didn’t even look up when Claire cleared her throat.
    “Excuse me. Are you Jennifer?” Claire asked.
    “I think she’s back in the break room.” The woman pointed to a small room behind the desk, still without looking up.
    Peeking into the room Claire saw a young tow-headed woman sipping a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. Claire asked if she was Jennifer. At the sight of Claire’s uniform, the young woman pushed herself up as if she had been caught at something, said she was Jennifer, and asked how she could help.
    “I’m here about Chet Baldwin. Can you give me an update on his prognosis?” As Claire heard herself using the lingo, she
    wondered if she had been watching too many medical shows on TV.
    “Pretty good considering. You’re the first person to check on him, poor guy. Are you related to him?” the girl asked.
    “Haven’t you been told about him?”
    Jennifer gave her a quizzical look. “No, I came on an hour ago. Betty rushed out of here to do something and didn’t tell me much, just his status. But I did read over the doctor’s notes.”
    “No, I’m not related to him. His wife—” here Claire stopped, thinking about the scene in their house last night. “She’s recently deceased. I’m not sure who else he has in his family. I know they had no children.”
    Jennifer held up her cup. “Coffee?”
    Claire said, “That’d be great. Long night last night.”
    “I hear you. I’m working a double shift, came over from another floor.” Jennifer poured her a cup and Claire took it gratefully.
    “Dr. Ramstad thinks he’s going to be okay. But he did a number on his larynx and he’s going to have a very sore throat. I think they want to do an endoscopy on him later this afternoon, just to be sure there’s no permanent damage. When I first