He was sitting up in bed, watching a football game on TV when Whitman entered his room. An IV was stuck in the crook of his left elbow. His heart rate, oxygen intake, and blood pressure were being electronically monitored.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“How you feeling, señor?” Whitman dragged a chair to the side of the bed. Personally, he hated when people loomed over you while you were flat on your back and in pain. Bad enough the doctors and nurses did it.

“Good news! The doc says I’ll be able to play the piano,” Flix said.

“Yeah? You couldn’t play it for shit before.”

The two men laughed as only comrades who have shared real danger can.

“But seriously,” Whitman said when they’d had their fun.

“What can I tell you? It only hurts when I shrug.”

“Not so bad, right?”

Instead of answering, Flix pointed to the shallow wardrobe against one wall. “My wallet’s in the back right pocket.”

Whitman crossed to the wardrobe, fetched Flix’s wallet, brought it back to him. Opening it, Flix took out a photo, showed it to Whitman.

“Beautiful girl,” Whitman said. “Who is she?”

“Lucy. My niece.”

“I didn’t know you had a niece.”

“I don’t,” Flix said. “At least not now I don’t.” He took the photo back, stared down at it, his eyes growing dark with painful memory. Being shot, lying here immobile had made him contemplate his own mortality. He had needed something to combat that. Showing what had been hidden to Whit now somehow helped dispel his morbid thoughts. “She left home, ran away when she was fifteen. Before I knew you. This was taken a week before she disappeared. It was the one we showed around, the one I took with me when I searched for her.”

“You never found her?”

“Far, far away, compadre, you get me?”

Whitman nodded. “She didn’t want to be found.”

“You’d have liked her. She was smart, feisty, lawless … Shit.”

“Don’t talk about her as if she’s dead, Flix.”

“Why the fuck not? She’s been dead to me and my sister for years.” He glanced up briefly, but it was clear that taking his gaze from her photo for even a moment caused him pain. “Why’d she do it? I wish I knew. I wish she were here now. I wish she weren’t dead. Family, you know?”

Whitman nodded again, touched his friend’s hand. “Family’s a bear.”

Flix, smiling faintly, finally put Lucy’s photo back in his wallet, lay the wallet in his lap.

Whitman, figuring it was time to change the subject, held up a metal-jacketed file. “I took the opportunity of liberating your chart from the nurses’ station.”

“Fuck you.” Nevertheless, he leaned forward in anticipation.

Whitman flicked it open, scanned the pages. “Blah, blah, blah. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” He slammed the chart closed. “Another couple of days here, then they’ll ship you down to PT. You’ll be good to go in a week.”