C H A P T E R

Twelve

Leszek has taken me into his home to

care for me. Would I have done the

same for him? I’m ashamed to answer.

Alan Christoffersen’s diary

The doctor came back several hours later. The clock on the wall read 1:04 A.M. The meclizine had knocked me out, and even though I had slept most of that time, I was still very tired.

“I think you’re okay to go. But you’re not safe to drive.”

“I can get a taxi to a hotel,” I said. “Do you know where my backpack is?”

The nurse said, “Your friend has it next to him in the waiting room.”

“My friend?”

“The man who brought you here.”

“He’s still here?”

“I think he’s waiting for you.”

I put my clothes back on, and the nurse wheeled me to the lobby. Leszek was sitting in a chair in the corner, not reading or anything, just sitting, his hands clasped together in his lap. The nurse pushed me up to him.

“Ah, you are done,” Leszek said, standing.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me.”

“Yes, the nurse said you would be out today. I thought you might need a ride.”

I looked at him in amazement. And doubt. Maybe my cynicism came from my years in advertising, or maybe it was because of the likes of my cheating ex–business partner, Kyle Craig, but I instinctively tried to figure out what the man’s angle could be.

“If you want to bring your car up to the door,” the nurse said, “I’ll wheel him out.”

“I will get my car,” Leszek said. He shuffled out of the waiting room.

My eyelids felt heavy. I desperately wanted to sleep and had started to doze when the nurse began pushing the wheelchair out to the curb. Leszek opened the car door, and I stood up and climbed in. He shut the door then got in the other side.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I will take you to my house. But first we will stop at the pharmacy for a prescription. The doctor prescribed meclizine, but we can purchase Bonine, it is the same thing, but it will cost you less money.”

“How do you know this?”

“The doctor wrote it down here.”

We drove to a Walgreens just a few blocks from the hospital. I stayed in the car while Leszek went inside. I dozed off, waking when he returned. He was carrying a small white sack. “Your prescription,” he said. “You should be feeling better soon. You just need rest.”

He drove me to his house. On the way to his home, he pointed down a lamplit street. “Down there, that is the Corn Palace. It is this town’s claim to fame.”

“It’s a building?”