Ambush (Michael Bennett 11)

Her stomach growled, and she realized she had forgotten to eat. She needed to get out, relax a little bit, and wait for the information she needed to become public.

Alex stepped into the bathroom and combed out her long, dark hair. At five feet six, with muscular shoulders and other curves, she knew she’d never be a model, but she appreciated what God had given her to work with.

Her version of self-reliance would terrify most people. It required constant physical fitness and mental sharpness, without slipping. And right now, self-preservation meant she had to get the hell out of New York as soon as possible.

Chapter 10

Despite my arguments, the doctors wouldn’t release me from the hospital that night, and it was too late to let the kids visit me. A day without seeing my kids was torture. When I told the doctor that, all she said was, “Then this is our version of waterboarding.”

Dr. Carole Fredrick looked like she was fifteen, but I could tell by the way she handled me that she was a veteran of emergency-room medicine and experienced at dealing with stubborn patients. Even patients who were with the NYPD and had an army of children to back them up if they needed it.

Dr. Fredrick said, “And please don’t think you can change my mind. I have a three-year-old at home, and I can assure you that if she can’t make me budge on a decision, neither can you.”

I believed her.

They set me up in a semiprivate room where my obese roommate was unconscious when I arrived. I didn’t know if that was a permanent state or one that just occurred nightly, but it was clear that the man wasn’t stirring for the rest of the night.

Mary Catherine tucked the blankets around my chin like I was a child. She began updating me about the kids, speaking so softly it was hard for me to hear.

Seamus said, “You don’t need to keep it down on account of his roommate. That guy is sawing wood.” He chuckled as he looked over at the man.

I said, “Is that any way for a priest to talk?”

“What? I’m not hurting his feelings. I’m not even saying anything bad. It’s just that we don’t have to worry about disturbing him.”

I looked at the thin, eighty-one-year-old man who’d been a pillar for me throughout my life. After my grandmother died, he sold his bar and, to everyone’s surprise, was admitted to the seminary. He became a priest with life experiences unlike anyone else in the Catholic Church, but his new vocation had not changed the man he was one bit. All it did was alter his clothing. He was still obnoxious and opinionated. He was also loyal, caring, and more devout than any man I knew. He loved each one of my ten adopted children as if he had been there at their births, and he cared for my first wife like she was his daughter. When she died of cancer, he was as lost as I was. And now, years later, he had accepted Mary Catherine into the family wholly and unconditionally.

I said, “It’s getting late. Why don’t you guys get some sleep? I’ll be home sometime tomorrow.”

Mary Catherine said, “I’m staying here tonight.”

“In that chair? I don’t think so. Get a good night’s sleep, and I promise it will be better for all of us tomorrow.”

Mary Catherine took a sharp tone, which always brought out her Irish accent more acutely. “I won’t sleep a wink tonight, whether I’m lying in our bed or sitting in that chair. So please stop arguing with me.”

I knew when I was beaten. I had to be satisfied that at least Seamus was going to go home and rest.

Mary Catherine moved to the edge of my bed and carefully brushed hair away from the stitches in my forehead. I liked the feeling of her fingers playing with my hair and the warmth of her body close to mine.

After a few minutes, I said, “Thank you for staying. This is nice.”

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry you have to get blown to smithereens just so I can have a few quiet moments with you.”

“You know that’s not true. I always have time for you.”

She smiled and said, “I know you do. It’s just that with the kids and everything else, alone time is a precious commodity.”

“You know, if we went on a honeymoon, we’d have plenty of time alone together.” I said it casually but was afraid I was crossing a line. We had discussed dates for our wedding, but I kept getting the feeling Mary Catherine wasn’t quite ready.

She said, “If we went on a honeymoon while you were in this kind of condition, I’m afraid you wouldn’t survive.”

Somehow I managed to chuckle. The movement hurt my back.

She said, “Let’s not talk about a date just yet. We’ve got plenty to work out before we take on the planning of the wedding.”

It was hard to argue with logic like that. I was about to suggest she climb under the covers with me when the door to my room burst open.

A tall African American nurse with stylish glasses and a somewhat severe expres