After he and the officer left I felt suddenly exhausted. Max helped me drag the mattress from the daybed into Lotty’s room.

“You’ll wake me if something goes wrong?” he demanded.

“Of course, Max,” I said gently. It was only worry driving him, after all.

He smoothed her forehead with one square hand and went to the spare room.

23

Stiffed by Technology

Lotty made it safely through the night. She woke up around eight in a lot of pain, prepared to be grumpy. I moved the mattress back to the living room and helped her get dressed. Max brought her coffee and toast. She rejected the first for being too weak and the latter as too black.

Max kissed her on the side of the neck. “I didn’t sleep last night, Lottchen, too worried about you. But if you’re this rude I know you must be all right.”

She gave a twisted smile and put out a hand. I didn’t think I was necessary, either for the rest of that scene or for transporting Lotty to the hospital—that was clearly a duty Max was longing to take over. Telling Lotty I’d check in with her later I retrieved my car keys from her handbag and left.

I didn’t have the patience today to save money by riding the CTA—I flagged a cab on Irving Park and headed for home. I hadn’t had much sleep—every hour or two I’d imagine that Lotty had cried out and would sit up on my mattress, wide awake. After brushing my teeth and showering I was tempted to climb into my own bed for a real nap, but there was just too much to do.

I called Luke Edwards, who looks after my car for me. He’s a terrific mechanic who has the outlook of a mortician. I cut off his gloomy prognostication on my Trans Am before he could turn it into a funeral oration and told him I’d have the car over in an hour. “I’ll need a loaner. Can you give me one?”

“I don’t know. Not if you drove the Trans Am into a tree, I can’t.”

“Yeah, well, someone else was driving and the person who smashed into it did it on purpose. Do you have something I can borrow?”

“I suppose. Got an old Impala. It’ll seem like a boat to you after driving that little Pontiac, but I’ll bet you anything the engine runs better.”

“I’m sure it will,” I agreed hastily. “See you in an hour.”

Next I explained my tale of woe to my insurance agent. She told me that before they could authorize any repairs their own inspector would have to look at the car. Not wanting to waste time arguing the point I gave her Luke’s address and hung up.