Striking Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

not to worry.”
    There was a commotion behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man in a leather jacket coming in the door, followed by a camera with the Citytv logo. Ace crime reporter Darren Donnolly, hot on the heels of his favourite kind of story. Nothing like a downed cop to get City’s juices flowing.
    “Is there somewhere else we can wait?” I asked.
    “There’s a waiting area on the second floor, next to the O.R. I’ll take you up.”
    Stimac got to his feet, ready for action.
    “Leave those guys to me,” he said. “I’ll catch up.”
    All I could do was nod. I could feel the camera’s eye on us as we followed the doctor to the elevator, which, mercifully, arrived almost immediately.
    It was cold and sterile, stainless steel, and big enough to carry stretchers. There were a couple of white-coats gossiping inside, who looked us over with some curiosity. We must have made a strange picture, especially me. I suddenly realized that I was filthy from gardening. I even had muddy knees.
    We got off on the second floor, and Dr. Usman took us to a small area in a corner, with a few chairs. It was pretty bare-bones. There weren’t even any stale magazines.
    “I’m going into the O.R. now. It’s going to take at least a couple of hours, if you want to go and get something to eat.”
    We thanked him, then sat down, silent, each of us wrung out. Jim couldn’t let the bloodstains on his clothes alone. He kept scrubbing at one on his knee with his right hand.
    “Shouldn’t you change?”
    “Carol will be here soon,” he said.
    “I should call Andy’s mother before it gets on the news.”
    She lives in Peterborough with her second husband, a retired police chief. Andy’s father, also a cop, was killed, shot on duty when Andy was in his teens. I didn’t relish making the call to tell her that her son was in the operating room.
    “I’ll do it if you like,” Jim said. “I’ll call Meredith, too. The kids shouldn’t hear from the radio either.”
    Meredith is Andy’s ex-wife. I thanked Jim, realizing that I wasn’t capable of dealing with either one of them.
    After he left, I turned to Sally and T.C.
    “You guys go home. There’s no point in us all sitting here. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”
    I didn’t really want to be alone, but I was worried about T.C. This was no place for a kid.
    “Listen,” I said to him. “Go feed Elwy, and then you can watch the videos Andy and I got. There’s even a Steve Martin movie.”
    T.C. and I share the same warped sense of humour.
    “Really,” I said. “I’d rather you left. You heard the doctor. Andy’s going to make it. Besides, Elwy’s out and you know he’ll be howling for dinner. I’ll phone the minute I have news.”
    “If you’re sure,” Sally said.
    “I’m sure.”
    I got up and hugged them both, then walked them to the elevator. Once they were gone, I went looking for a place to smoke. On the next floor up I found a washroom down a corridor with a lot of closed offices, where I figured I wouldn’t be bothered. I checked for smoke detectors, then locked myself into a cubicle for the next twenty minutes, perched on the toilet, sobbing and smoking.
    I’ve talked to other women involved with cops. Each responds differently to loving a man who carries a gun to work and spends his days trying to put bad guys in jail. Some deny the fear, others carry it everywhere. I’m somewhere in between.
    I figure that there’s no use worrying about something over which I have no control. Statistically, I’m more likely to be hit by a bus than Andy is to be killed on duty. Most days, I figure he’s a good bet to die in bed at eighty of something mundane.
    It’s a kind of denial, I suppose. In refuse to think about the violence of his work, it will never touch him, or me.
    Fat lot of use that philosophy was dealing with the panic that had me in its grip in that stupid washroom.
    Finally, I calmed down and splashed my face with cold water.