Those Weekends In New England

Chapter Nineteen

All tunes eventually comes to an end. If we're lucky, another song will start.

What time was it? All he could think about was time; how long she had been away, how many minutes had gone by since that terrible thing happened. The only problem was that he couldn't call to mind what exactly had happened. He remembered Hannah was involved, knew she had been taken away from him but he couldn't think of why, or exactly how.

Denny opened his eyes. He was propped up on a bed and the ground under him moved.

"How do you feel?" someone asked. "Mr. Lorenzo? Can you hear me?"

Denny took a few minutes to acquaint himself with his surroundings. I'm not imagining this, he thought. I am moving. He looked around; lifesaving equipment hung everywhere. He ran trembling fingers over the mattress beneath him, and understood he was in an ambulance.

Then he groaned. He began to remember.

He surely wasn't alone. At his head, with one elbow resting on a knee and the other hand checking an intravenous bottle which hung to the side, was the same paramedic who'd saved Hannah's life inside the hotel room.

Remembering what had happened was not fun.

Their eyes met and held before Denny realized he hadn't answered the guy's question.

"Hmmm? Mr. Lorenzo?" He touched his forehead with his fingertips. "Oh, you mean me, right?" Shading his eyes from the light falling in through the window, as well as the bright lights inside the vehicle, he groaned again. "Can't you turn off the sun?" Another medic, one with whom he hadn't yet spoken, pulled down a shade. Denny nodded his thanks. That helped a little.

"How do I feel? Couldn't walk if I had to. My whole body, mostly my leg but really everything, hurts like hell. My leg...." His eyes widened as full, final, complete recollection flooded back. "Oh yeah. I was shot." His voice was soft. Flat. "Can't believe I didn't realize that."

"Pain, anxiety, shock. Your emotions ganged up on you. This isn't surprising." Denny remembered the man speaking as being Hannah's "kiss of life" in the motel room. "Fortunately you didn't sustain a bad hit bit the bullet did cause a nasty laceration to your thigh. I have stopped the bleeding. Missed a muscle by little more than an eighth of an inch, though. You're a lucky man, sir."

Denny grimaced. As if he didn't already know that! "Call me Denny, please. This 'sir' shit makes me feel older than I already feel right now."

The man gave a short laugh and nodded. "Sure, Denny, I'm honored to cut the 'sir' shit."

The excitement was over. Denny didn't yet allow the pain-filled horror of what had transpired to overcome him. Surely everything would be okay. God, his and Hannah's, would have to let them rest in their love now. Wouldn't He?

"Hannah?" he asked anyone who would answer. "What happened to Hannah?"

"Sorry, we can't answer that. We haven't received word yet."

Denny felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience. He thought he should want to cry. Terrible things had gone on and Hannah's condition was still in question; yet whatever he'd been given for pain had him grinning through a haze of unreality. He half-raised a shaky hand in a never-mind gesture. "Nice day for a ride, huh?"

The paramedic checked the patch on his patient's leg. "Lovely day. By the way, I'm David Lundberg."

"Thanks, David. For everything. You saved her." He reached for the medic's hand, who took hold with the grasp of a reassuring friend.

Denny was fast tiring; the medication had him fighting to keep his eyes open. "My head! I got a million brains and they're all falling out right this second. Besides my head and body," he exhibited a goofy smile, "I'm great. Let's go dancing!" His smile faded behind a sudden cloud of thought and he fought to keep coherent. "Georgi. Where's Georgi?"