Yes, I Know the Monkey Man Read online

  By the time we pulled into the driveway, the worst of the storm had passed. Just a light rain was falling now. “Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

  “No problem.”

  Coach waited while I walked up to my house and unlocked the front door. As soon as I did, Sherlock lunged at my knees and wagged his tail in greeting.

  I smiled. “Hey, boy,” I said, bending to pick him up. I held my dog in one arm, waved to Coach with the other hand, then nudged the door closed with my foot. At least he didn’t come in and make sure I wasn’t alone in my house. I guess he wasn’t worried that someone might break into my house and kidnap me. He only worried about something happening to me on the 4:44 bus.

  Sherlock wiggled around in my arms and licked my face. I kissed him on his nose and he licked me even more.

  “Is Joe here?” I asked my dog as I carried him past two overflowing baskets full of laundry into the kitchen. I doubted it. The house felt empty. And I didn’t see Joe’s wallet or keys on the counter.

  I checked the answering machine. No blinking red light.

  Well, if he couldn’t even leave me a message telling me where he was, why should I wait around for him? I put my dog down and grabbed the leash from the hook by the back door. Sherlock went totally nuts, leaping against my legs and running all around me.

  “Yeah, you need a walk, don’t you, boy?” I said as I snapped the leash to his collar and gave his head a quick rub.

  I checked the clock on the microwave on our way out: 5:15.

  We took a quick jog around the block, splashing through every puddle along the way. Then we loped over to the park across the street. Usually when Sherlock and I run around in the park, Nick or Dave comes over with one of their dogs. But their house looked pretty dark. They probably weren’t home.

  I wished we had a real dog park around here. Sherlock likes to run free, but I didn’t dare let him off his leash completely. He might take off for Penn Avenue and get hit by a car. So I just let his leash go and ran with him a little bit. That way if he got away and didn’t come when I called, I could catch him by jumping on his leash. But he stayed right with me today. He was getting better about that.

  The storm had cooled things down. It actually felt kind of nice outside now. The trees dripped water, but the sun was trying to poke through the clouds again. After half an hour of chasing sticks and squirrels, Sherlock was ready to go home. So we walked back across the street and went in the house.

  Joe still wasn’t home.

  I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my wet clothes, and changed into dry ones. It was almost six thirty and I was starving. I had a feeling the Chinese food wasn’t coming, so I stuck a frozen burrito in the microwave. While it spun on the carousel, I poured food into Sherlock’s bowl. The microwave dinged, and I took my dinner into the den and turned on the TV. The game would be starting soon. Where was Joe? I’d really believed him when he said he’d pick me up at softball and we’d do something special tonight.

  I peered out the window. I didn’t see or hear our truck rumbling down the street.

  Had he gone to see Gram without me? Had he forgotten we were going to go see her together? Or … had something happened to Gram? Oh no! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I picked up the phone and quickly punched in the number for the nursing home.

  Someone picked up on the second ring. “Valley View. This is Kari. How can I help you?” Kari was one of the nice nurses.

  “Hi,” I said, gripping the phone with both hands. “This is T.J. You know, Eva Wright’s granddaughter?” I waited, but Kari didn’t say anything about Gram being rushed to the hospital or anything. So I said, “I was wondering if my dad was there?”

  Kari paused. “No, he’s not, T.J.,” she said. “In fact, he hasn’t been in at all tonight. That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?”

  “A little,” I said. Joe wasn’t the most reliable guy in the world, but he was pretty reliable about visiting Gram. He visited her twice a day. Once on his way to work and once on his way home. Half the time Gram doesn’t remember the last time someone visited, even if it was just ten minutes ago. But he still visits her twice a day anyway.

  “Can I talk to my grandma?” I asked.

  “Sure. Hang on.” It took a while for Kari to take the phone to my grandma.

  “Is it Joseph?” I heard Gram ask Kari.

  “No, it’s your granddaughter,” Kari told her.

  There was a shuffling on the phone, then Gram came on the line. “Hello? T.J.?” she said in a gravely voice.

  “Hi, Gram.”

  “Where’s your dad? Where’s Joe?” I had to hold the phone away from my ear because she talked so loud.

  “I … don’t know. He’s got a big job right now.” She always forgot he had a job. “I think he’s working late. He might not be able to see you tonight, but he’ll be there tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Something’s happened,” Gram said suddenly.

  “No—”

  “Yes,” Gram insisted. “Something’s happened. That’s why he’s not here.” She sounded a little freaked out. She got that way sometimes.

  “Listen, Gram.” I scratched the top of my head. “Do you want me to come see you?” I could probably still catch a bus over there if it would make her feel better.

  There was a shuffling sound on the phone again. Then a thud.

  “Hello? Gram, are you still there?”

  Nothing.

  “Hello!” I said louder. I pounded my hand against the phone, even though I knew that whatever was wrong wasn’t in the phone. “HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?”

  “I’m sorry, T.J.” It was Kari again. “Your grandma doesn’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Is she okay? Should I come down there?”

  “No. She wants your dad. She’ll be going to bed soon, though. She’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” I said, hanging up.

  I looked out the window again. Still no truck.

  I even went outside and jogged down the driveway. Sherlock didn’t like that I’d left him in the house. I could hear him barking at me.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I told him. Then I walked down to 76th Street to see if I could spot Joe’s truck getting off the freeway. I saw a blue truck turn onto Penn Avenue, but it wasn’t rusty enough to be Joe’s. I stood there watching the cars and trucks and minivans for what felt like half an hour, but in reality it was probably only about ten minutes. Then I slowly dragged myself back home.

  Sherlock had his little paws up on the screen door when I got there. He woofed when he saw me walking up the driveway. I went inside, picked him up, and carried him back to the den.

  I didn’t even care about the game anymore.

  Where was Joe?

  At 8:45, the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Finally! You’re home,” a strange man’s voice said. “Is this Joseph Wright’s daughter?”

  Joseph Wright’s daughter? “Yes,” I said carefully. “Who’s this?”

  “You don’t know me, but my name is Russell Teagues. I’m the contractor who hired your father.”

  The phone grew slippery in my hand. “Uh-huh,” I said, gripping the phone tighter.

  “I’ve tried calling you a couple of times this afternoon and this evening, but I didn’t want to leave a message. I wanted to tell you directly.”

  Tell me what?

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” The man paused. “Your dad was involved in an accident today.”

  My throat closed.

  “We were shingling a roof over on 16th Street, and I don’t exactly know what happened … but somehow he slipped.”

  “He slipped off the roof?” I felt sick. Really sick.

  “Yes. He was taken to Fairview Southdale hospital.”

  “I-is he okay?” I asked.

  “I don’t know—”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I shrieked.

  “He’s in the hospital. It
looks pretty bad.”

  Oh, God.

  “D-do you have someone to take you to the hospital? And someone to stay with you tonight? I know it’s just the two of you; I could maybe make a few phone calls—”

  “No,” I stopped him right there. “I mean yes. Of course, I have someone to stay with me, and someone to take me to the hospital.” The last thing I needed was some stranger making a bunch of phone calls. I had the MTC bus driver to take me to the hospital, and I had my dog to stay with me overnight.

  I didn’t need anyone else.

  Chapter Three

  The first thing I had to do was find out just how badly Joe was hurt, so I headed over to the hospital. Unfortunately, it was almost nine o’clock. There weren’t many buses running this time of night, but I walked along 76th Street instead of the side streets, just in case one came rumbling along behind me.

  As I walked, I replayed everything Russell Teagues had said over and over inside my head. Accident … slipped off the roof … Fairview Southdale Hospital … pretty bad …

  What did pretty bad mean?

  A broken neck? Something with his head? Whatever it was, Joe wasn’t going to … to die or anything, was he? He couldn’t die. Not now.

  As I got close to the Hennepin County Library, I saw a brief gap in traffic along York Avenue, so I darted across the first two lanes, then ran along the median until it was safe to cross the last two lanes. I kept running, as hard as I could, all the way across the Target parking lot. My arms and legs ached. My lungs burned. But I didn’t slow down.

  I thought about how when I was little, I used to worry about Joe dying. He always told me my real parents had died (before I found out he was my real parent), so I thought that if my real parents could die, then he could die, too.

  “I’m not going to die, T.J.,” he promised.

  But everybody dies sometime.

  Some guy honked at me as I zipped across 66th Street. I flipped him the bird and kept right on going. I was almost to the hospital now.

  I scrambled up a small grassy hill next to the road, crossed another parking lot, speed-walked past a couple of office buildings, and finally, I found myself panting outside the hospital’s emergency entrance.

  The door whooshed open as soon as I stepped on the mat and a cold blast of air conditioning hit me when I walked inside. The dimly lit lobby was practically deserted. An older woman dressed in a pink smock sat at an information desk in the corner. She had her nose buried in a thick paperback.

  I walked over to her and pounded my hand on the counter to get her attention. “My dad’s in here somewhere,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “But I don’t know where he’s at. I don’t know what room.”

  “Is he a patient here?” she asked.

  “Yes!” Didn’t I just say that?

  The lady slid her chair over a few feet and parked herself in front of a computer. “Patient’s name?” she asked.

  “Joseph Wright,” I said, my foot tapping against the wall.

  She typed something on the computer, then squinted at her screen. “Looks like he’s in ICU, bed 5.”

  “ICU? What’s that?”

  “The Intensive Care Unit.”

  My foot stopped tapping. “Is that bad?” It sounded bad.

  The lady smiled uneasily. “I don’t know. If he’s in ICU, that means he’s being monitored.”

  “Monitored for what? What’s wrong with him?”

  “I can’t answer that. You’ll have to speak to his doctor. Or maybe your mother should speak to the doctor. Is she with you?”

  “No,” I said. “There is no mother.” Not one who counted at a time like this, anyway. “There’s just me.”

  “Oh. Well, why don’t you take the elevator over there to the third floor? Turn right and go through the double doors. That’s ICU. The nurses up there can help you.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I dashed over to the elevator and pushed the button. I pushed it three times before the doors finally opened. A guy around my dad’s age was already in there. He wore tan shorts and a white shirt, and carried a huge bouquet of daisies and some other white and pink flowers. He smiled when I stepped into the elevator. I smiled back and moved to the other side of the car.

  I watched the numbers on the panel above the door light up as we passed each floor. The elevator dinged when it stopped at the third floor. I got out and turned to the right, but when I got to the double doors, I stopped. There was a sign with big black letters posted on the door: Intensive Care Unit. Absolutely no live plants or flowers beyond this point.

  Whoa. Were some people so sick they couldn’t have flowers? Was Joe that sick?

  Oh, no. I massaged my forehead. This wasn’t happening.

  “Excuse me? Can I help you?”

  I turned to the nurse who had come up behind me. She was big. In fact, she was so big her smock was sort of bursting at the seams. But she looked at me with such concern that I wanted to melt.

  “I-I’m here to see my dad.” My voice sounded small and wobbly even to my ears.

  “Is he in intensive care?” the nurse asked.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Joe,” I choked out. “Joseph Wright.” My bottom lip trembled.

  “Oh, child,” the nurse said, wrapping her arms around me. I let myself fall into her because it felt so nice. Like falling into a nice warm bed and then being covered with a huge, fluffy comforter fresh out of the dryer.

  “It’s okay,” she said, patting my back.

  I will not cry … I will not cry … I bit down hard on my lip and blinked back the tears that welled in my eyes. I never cried. But the way that nurse kept patting my back made me want to. I pulled away from her.

  “Do you know my dad?” I wiped the back of my hand across my nose. “Is he in there?” I nodded toward the double doors.

  The nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a small package of tissues. I shook my head when she offered one. I just wanted to find my dad.

  “He’s in there,” she said, stuffing the package of tissues back into her pocket. “But he’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “How bad?”

  The nurse didn’t answer. Instead she asked in a really gentle voice, “Is there someone here with you?”

  I was getting awfully tired of people assuming there was someone here with me. “Just tell me how bad he’s hurt, okay? Please?”

  I could tell by the sad way she was looking at me that it was pretty bad. “He’s got a broken leg, a broken back, and some internal injuries,” she said finally. “We still don’t know the extent of all his injuries.”

  I swallowed hard, then stood up a little straighter. I could handle this. “Can I see him?” I asked.

  “You can …” She hesitated. “But you have to understand he’s pretty banged up. I’m not sure you’ll even recognize him—”

  “I don’t care. I want to see him.”

  “Okay,” the nurse said. “He’s under sedation, but you can see him for a little bit if you want to. No more than ten minutes, though, okay?”

  I nodded.

  The nurse led the way through the double doors, and I followed her into a huge, brightly lit open area with a desk in the middle and little glass rooms on all the sides. A telephone rang. The nurse turned toward the sound, frowned, then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, but I have to get that,” she said. She pointed toward a darkened room across the way. “Your dad’s over there.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I said. But she was already gone.

  I took a deep breath, then forced my legs to carry me the rest of the way to Joe’s room. I stopped just outside the door and slowly poked my head around the corner. All I could see was a white blanket that covered his legs and feet. One of his legs was a lot bigger around than the other one, like there was a cast or something on it, but I couldn’t actually see the cast through the blanket.

  I took another breath, then stepped into the room. I
edged closer to the bed. My eyes followed the white blanket from Joe’s feet up to his stomach and chest. Several wires ran under the covers to a machine next to the bed. I watched his chest rise and fall a few times before I raised my eyes all the way to his face.

  I gasped.

  That nurse wasn’t kidding about the bruising. A big white bandage circled most of Joe’s head, but even in the dark I could see that the skin that was visible between the bandages was a blend of nasty shades of red and purple. Even his eyelids were purple. A fat, bluish tube was taped to his mouth and ran to a machine beside the bed.

  I went over and sat down carefully on the bed. I was afraid to move at all because I didn’t want to jar him in any way.

  This looked bad. Really bad.

  “Joe?” I said softly, my eyes glued to his face. “Can you hear me, Joe?”

  No response.

  The only sounds in the room were the hum of the machine with a bunch of lights that stood next to the bed and Joe’s steady breathing in and out through that tube. It sounded scary. Like that machine forcing air in and out of Joe’s lungs was the only thing keeping him alive.

  I shifted on the bed so I could reach under the blanket and hold his hand, but his hands were tied down. His whole body was tied down. Why would they tie him down? I wondered.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there and watched him breathe. In and out. In and out.

  After a little while, I wiggled myself in between Joe’s arm and the bed railing, then slowly leaned over and laid my head down on the pillow next to Joe’s shoulder. It smelled like soap and bandages and medicine. I watched his chest rise and fall and listened to his raspy breathing. As I listened, I tried to match his breathing with my own. As though my breathing could somehow make him better. After a little while, my eyelids grew heavy. I pulled my legs up onto the bed and shifted around so I didn’t take up much space. I lay on my side, my back resting against the hard metal bar of Joe’s bed and my forehead resting against his shoulder. I just needed to rest my eyes for a few minutes … then—

  “Hey, you can’t sleep here!”

  What?

  “You can’t sleep here,” the voice repeated. “You aren’t even supposed to be in here for more than ten minutes at a time.”