Chapter 116

HOSPITAL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

Bobby and Sandra walked into Hanes' room and closed the door behind them. Sandra pulled the sheet down to his knees. "Time to get that Foley out."

"Yes," Hanes enthused. "I hate that thing."

"Just hang on a minute while I deflate the balloon, then we'll get the catheter out." When she was ready, she spoke to Hanes again. "This might make you feel like you need to pee, but it will be over in a second."

"I'm ready," Art said, expecting pain.

Bobby leaned over and kissed him on the mouth while Sandra pulled the Foley out. If there was any discomfort, Art didn't notice it.

Sandra just stood, Hanes' dick in one hand and the catheter in the other, as she stared at her sister. When Hanes' cock began to swell, she finally realized what she was doing. She turned his dick loose as if it were going to burn her, pulled his gown back down, and covered him with the sheet while her sister stood blushing.

Bobby grabbed the tubing and the bag. "I'll dispose of these. Your turn," she finished, walking out of the room.

Art wasn't sure what had just happened, but he knew he damn sure liked it.

Sandra took the couple of steps to the head of the bed. She knew this could get them fired, even disciplined by the board of nursing, if the hospital found out, but she was going to do it, anyway. Leaning over, she put her mouth against his, her world suddenly becoming the kiss. She didn't know how long it lasted, probably not very long, though. When she moved her face back, Bobby was again standing on the other side of the bed, a smile splitting her face.

Sandra stood there numb as Bobby said, "If we have offended you, you can get us in big trouble with a complaint of sexual harassment. We won't lie or deny it."

Agent Hanes was having a hard time controlling the grin on his face — not that he was trying much — then when he saw Bobby's eyes shift toward his groin and the tent in the sheet there, he desperately tried to control something else.

"I'd be a fool to complain, Ladies, and my mom didn't raise any fools," he finished, chuckling.

"We need to get you up and into that chair there," Sandra said, trying to change the subject as she nodded to a comfortable-looking armchair by the bed. "But we'll let you sit on the side of the bed for a few minutes to see if you have any dizziness. Try to put only a minimal amount of weight on your right leg this time. Just put your weight on your left leg and us, then pivot toward the chair. Normally we would have you using a walker to begin with, but with just your right arm functional, that wouldn't work very well. You'll use a crutch to help in the beginning, but PT will soon have you moving on the leg."

A moment later, grimacing, Hanes sat on the side of the bed with both nurses holding him.

"Dizzy?" Bobby asked.

"A little," Hanes said, his voice low. "Crap, I'm weak."

"You're doing fine. Just sit there until you feel like standing."

A couple of minutes later when Hanes said he was ready, "Okay, here we go," Sandra said as they helped him. "Just stand up very slowly. If you feel like you're going to fall, or you get dizzy, just put your weight on us. Okay?"

"Yeah," Art said, shifting his weight off the bed onto his left foot and with both women helping him, he pivoted and sat in the chair. "I'm weak," he said again. "I hope I didn't put too much weight on you two."

The sisters looked at each other, both proud of the way he had handled himself, realizing there must have been a lot of pain, but he had not complained about it at all. Used to whiners, as the nurses called them, they were doubly pleased when they had a patient who didn't complain so much about pain, even though they knew it must have hurt like crazy for Art to move around.

"You'll gain strength quickly now that you're up. We'll let you sit there for thirty minutes or so, then get you back to bed, but if you start to feel dizzy, or feel anything unusual, you tell us, okay? Tomorrow, we'll get you up several times, and have you sit up longer," Bobby said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"The bathroom seems like it's a long way," Art said with a sigh. "I know it's only a few steps, but..."

"Not as far away as you think," Sandra giggled. "You're sitting on one."

"What..." Hanes said, looking down at what appeared to be a perfectly normal-looking armchair.

The nurses smiled. "The cushion comes off and there is a pot under it. If you need to go, we'll stand you up, move the cushion and presto you have a commode."

"Damn, there goes what little modesty I have left," Hanes chuckled, but the chuckle was weak.

"Do you have to go?" Bobby asked.

"No, not now, but the next time I have to, I'd still like to try for the bathroom. I'll never get stronger if I don't get my butt to walking — well, hobbling. But that bedpan is a truly humbling experience, and this bedside commode, or whatever you call it ... Crap, hospitals take every bit of your dignity from you."

He looked over at the IV stand that the nurses had pushed nearer to him as he sat in the chair. "If I could get rid of this IV, I would feel like I'm on the way back," he said, trying for a chuckle.

Sandra, had put the blood pressure cuff on his right arm, then a few seconds later read from the machine beside his bed: "108 over 70 with a pulse of 60. Looking good Mr. Hanes."

"Art. Just Art."

There was a quiet knock on the door. When Bobby opened it, Grigsby stepped in. "Well now, what do we have here?" he said looking at Hanes sitting in the chair.

"I'm finally out of that bed. Well, in a manner of speaking," the young agent said, his voice still weak and a bit shaky.

"Have they told you?" Grigsby asked.

"Told me what?" Hanes said, looking at the nurses.

"They've offered their home as a safe house for you. I just got it cleared with my boss, and he received the okay from the hospital administrator for these two to be off for a period of time up to six months while they take care of you."

"How did he get the administrator to agree so quickly?" Sandra asked.

"Well ... I think it was a little of the old 'I've scratched your back, now mine itches, ' kind of thing," Grigsby said. "Maybe we just need to go with it and not worry too much about the details." Grigsby knew that if the SAC didn't tell him what the favor was, he didn't need to know; probably didn't even want to know.

A little while later, Hanes, exhausted, was back in bed asleep. Grigsby, Sandra, Bobby and one of the guarding agents sat in the living room of the suite drinking coffee the agent had just made. Grigsby leaned back in his seat as the two nurses sat together on the couch. "As I said, my boss just approved everything, so I dropped by to let you know. There are a number of details to be worked out, yet, and I'm worried about one of those details. With you two suddenly leaving the hospital at the same time Agent Hanes does, it shouldn't take people long to figure out that you're with him."

"Uh," Bobby spoke up, "Sandra and I have been talking about that. We've been thinking about applying to CRNA school. If it were not for us trying to remodel our house, we would have already. We had planned on one of us attending, then after she finished and was back at work, the other one would go. The school is expensive, but the difference in income would make it well worth it in the end."

Grigsby took a sip of coffee while he tried to unravel the acronym. Finally, smiling, "I'm beginning to believe that the medical profession has more alphabet soup than the federal government. What..."

The two nurses chuckled, then Sandra said, "CRNA stands for Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist. The job pays really well, but there are several requirements to get into the school, plus you have to have recommendations — which we have. Several people in the unit know we have been talking about going, so we could act all excited about getting a grant or something."

"Hmmm," Grigsby said, "that sounds as if it should work, but ... I think the rumor would work better if you two weren't there to have to answer questions that are sure to come. Why don't I have the administrator send word down to your supervisors that you got a grant, and there were two last minute cancellations at the school, allowing the two of you to get in? Maybe we need to get you new cell phone numbers so some of your nurse friends don't call trying to dig for information. Do any of them ever visit?"

Bobby and Sandra looked at each other for a second. "Trey moved to Virginia, didn't she?" Sandra asked Bobby.

"Yeah, I think it was Virginia." Then Sandra turned to Grigsby. "Trey was the only nurse that ever visited, and she was just an acquaintance. Like we said, we've pretty much been loners between working on the house and the time we spend at the hospital. No one should miss us. But..." Sandra and Bobby looked at each again, then Sandra turned back to Grigsby.

"There's a problem with the CRNA school rumor."

"Oh?"

"Wrong time of the year. The schools don't start this time of year. No one at work will believe it."

"Oh, crap."

"There's something simpler," Sandra offered.

Grigsby just looked a question at her. "The administrator could send down a rumor that we had been fired for getting too 'friendly' with our patient."

Grigsby frowned. "Wouldn't that precipitate a lot of curious nurses trying to get in touch with you?"

"Both nurses let out sick chuckles. "Probably not," Bobby said, "because nobody wants to be associated with the 'leper.' The problem might 'rub off on me' kind of thing. Besides, we're loners, remember?"

"Then when this is over?" Grigsby said.

"Just put us back to work and tell the truth about what we had been doing."

Grigsby wondered how two women who looked as good as these two could be loners, but he just shrugged mentally and said, "Might work. I'll have my boss talk to the administrator and work something out." He hesitated a moment, thinking, then, "Whatley and I also discussed a couple things about Agent Hanes' therapy. We should be able to rent or buy some of the equipment the therapist would need for Hanes' PT, and we might even manage to get someone we can trust to come to the house, at least some of the time. Maybe she or he can teach you two to do some of the therapy, also. That would reduce the traffic in and out."

THE RETREAT

While Grigsby, Bobby and Sandra were having their discussion, Arlene and Selina were in the living room of the six-year-old's suite. Selina dried her eyes and offered Arlene a soft drink from the small refrigerator. The child took a sip of her own drink and started to sit on one of the overstuffed chairs, but Arlene grabbed her hand and pulled her into a hug. That started a new round of silent tears.

"I'm acting like a child," Selina sniffed as she looked up at Arlene. Both recognized the irony of the comment, causing Selina to smile past her tears. "Oh, you know what I mean."

"Sit here with me," Arlene said softly, as she pulled Selina down beside her on the couch.

Both girls were quiet for a time, both wondering what to say, then, "You know that Mom and Dad were just being courteous when they wanted you to call them by their first names?"

"I..." Selina started. "Upon reflection, I suppose you are correct. I seem to be overreacting lately. Perhaps I should return to the living room and apologize to them..."

"No," Arlene said, putting a restraining hand on Selina's shoulder for a moment. "Let's get to know each other a little better first. If you still think you need to, you can apologize in the morning. And both of them were going to follow you and apologize when you left the living room, but I asked them to wait. So, tell me again why you feel you have to refer to them by their titles. We do use the titles occasionally, but even then, it's because of something that's happened, or some occasion, or even sometimes when we just want to tease them a little."

Selina sighed much as an adult would. "As you have probably already realized, I have limited personal interaction skills. At home, I generally felt more secure when I was left to my own devices. I have extreme difficulty interacting successfully with children my age. They are so ... shallow. Before I arrived here, I also had to continually monitor my behavior around adults — especially my own parents.

"Doctor Boswell met with them in her office after they voiced concerns about the change in my personality. I am not certain that discontinuing the child persona when I talked to them on the phone was the correct thing to do at this juncture. Their questions concerning those conversations precipitated some interesting comments from Doctor Boswell concerning my intellect. I overheard much of the conversation, and my parents also seemed to be perturbed concerning my study topics — perhaps shocked would better describe their responses. When they returned from Doctor Boswell's office, their facial expressions were ... unusual, to understate."

Arlene sat with a grin on her face.

With an edge to her voice, Selina said, "I am unable to ascertain exactly what is amusing you regarding this conversation."

Arlene squeezed Selina's hand, the grin getting bigger. "I was just thinking that in all likelihood, my teachers probably had some unusual moments with me, even as far back as grammar school. Oh, my intelligence isn't in your category, but both Ann and I are pretty smart, and Jennie and Melissa are as well. So I can understand your wanting to keep your intelligence a secret. I can remember kids in grammar school becoming upset when I always made hundreds on tests and homework, mostly without studying. But after a while, I got smart," she giggled. "Smart, in that I would on occasion deliberately incorrectly answer a question or problem. Ann did the same thing.

"Even then, I would have problems with a teacher who complained about me not paying attention in class, despite the fact that my grades were higher than any of the other students in the room. That pissed me off and I stopped deliberately putting any incorrect answers on my tests. Mom and Dad went to bat for me on several occasions when some obnoxious ass would discipline me for 'daydreaming' while I sat in his or her class. Some even tried to accuse me of cheating."