It was nearly Thanksgiving when Bernie finally called, and neither of them was ready. “Angel,” his little voice said. “Come get me. Please.”
“Bernie! Where are you?”
“In the hospital. I’m hurt.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Just come get me, Angel. I want to come home with you.”
She cupped her hand over the receiver. “Grandma,” she said. “It’s Bernie.”
“I ain’t deaf. Where is he?”
“What hospital, Bernie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask somebody. Is Mama there?”
“She’s here somewhere, but I don’t know where.”
“Bernie. Call the nurse. I need to talk to the nurse.”
“I want to come to Grandma’s house.”
“I know, Bernie. But we can’t come get you if we don’t know where you are. Call the nurse so I can talk to her. Now. Please.”
She could hear him yelling at the other end of the line. Someone told him roughly to keep his voice down, and what was he doing using the phone without permission, then, in a quite different tone of voice, “Hello. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Bernie Morgan’s sister,” Angel said.
“Is there an adult that I can speak to?”
“Grandma. They want a grownup.”
Grandma heaved herself out of the rocker. “Yeah?” she shouted into the phone.
The call consisted mostly of high-pitched, undecipherable conversation on the other end and “eh-yups” on Grandma’s end. Finally, when Angel thought she would bust a gut if it went on another second, Grandma said a final “eh-yup” and hung up the phone.
“Well, where is he? What happened?”
Grandma sighed as she hung up the receiver. “They’re over to Barre. Where Ray was.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bernie’s bunged up, sounds like. But he’s like me, too mean to die.”
“What about Mama?”
Grandma shook her head. “I don’t know. The guy had been drinking...”
“What guy?”
“Hell, how should I know? One of her boyfriends, I guess.”
“Did he beat them up?”
“They didn’t say that. They was in a car. It was a car wreck.”