The Older Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

let that stop him. If he felt like singing, he sang. The residual huskiness from the fire and who knew how many hospital breathing tubes didn’t particularly concern him. The good news was that his fingers were much more inclined to do what he wanted them to do of late. They still hurt, of course, but what else was new?

    Just to break the monotony, he hobbled to the window a couple of times to look out at Meehan’s house. Absolutely nothing was going on there. She hadn’t come home yet, and the boyfriend hadn’t returned with another little white bagel bag.

    It took considerable willpower on his part not to make a third trip to the window.
    “I
    have
    got to get out of here,” he said to no one in particular. He was becoming way too interested in the neighbors—sort of like the guy with the broken leg in the Hitchcock movie he’d stayed up late watching the other night. Of course, that guy had had all kinds of people to spy on. Doyle only had Meehan and the boyfriend—and it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t all that interested in the boyfriend. He was interested in Meehan, and he was letting himself get all concerned about her just like he did with Rita. He needed to go somewhere, do something, anything to take his mind off his troubles—and hers.

    He looked at the noisy, battery-operated clock on the wall and sighed. Oh-nine-thirty.

    He could call Sergeant Beltran. Beltran would have transportation here in a heartbeat. Doyle could go to the grocery store—except that he didn’t need groceries. Or to the barber shop—except that he didn’t need a haircut, either. And he had way too much pride to let it be known that he just needed company—somebody to baby-sit.

    He ate the bacon after all and read yesterday’s newspaper. His dress uniform hung on a hanger on the half-open closet door, and he hobbled over to put it away. He smiled slightly to himself as he hung it in the closet. He hadn’t exaggerated too much when he’d told Meehan he had looked good at Rita’s wedding. At least he’d regained enough weight so that he wore the uniform instead of the other way around. Except for the fact that he couldn’t half walk, he was a lean, mean fighting machine.

    Hoo-ah!

    “There it is,” he said out loud. His audacity. It was back after all. And as long as he was up and moving, he got a can of cola out of the refrigerator and hunted up an empty plastic grocery bag. Then he took himself out into the summer heat of the upstairs hallway, hesitating for a moment to secure the can in the bag before he tackled the back stairs. He had no real plan other than to get himself and the can down the numerous steps in one piece. Once he accomplished that, then he’d decide what to do. No problem there. Given his physical limitations, the list of possibilities was very short.

    He ultimately ended up sprawled on the cushions on the wicker swing on the shady front porch. It was hot, though—shade or no shade—but he could put up with the heat for the prospect of a little entertainment. Something was bound to happen—mail delivery, garbage pick up, a dog fight.
    Something.
    Anything.

    “There you are,” someone said behind him, making him jump. He turned in the swing to see Meehan standing with the throw she’d said he could have over her arm. She must have come down the back stairs after he had. She was wearing her nurse clothes and she looked sleep deprived and tired.

    “For a man who can’t get around you’re hard to track down,” she said. “You forgot this.” She draped the throw over the back of the swing.

    “No—hey—I don’t want to put you out.”

    “I told you I have three. I can spare one. Use it when you get the muscle spasms in your legs. If you’re not going to take your pain med, it’ll help as much as anything.”

    “You really don’t have to—”

    “I know that, Doyle. Just take it, okay? I’ve had a very rough night. Don’t make me hurt you.”

    He couldn’t keep