The Chauffeur 33 Thanksgiving
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For Blood Or MoneyChapter 25: Thanksgiving free porn video
THANKSGIVING DAY DAWNED DREARY and gray like every other November day in Seattle. I woke up feeling pleasantly well. I did an assessment of all my vital signs to make sure I was alive. After dinner with Riley Wednesday night, I came home and went soundly to sleep in my bed instead of my chair. This morning my heart rate was normal, I had no headache, even my back didn’t hurt, and I could take deep even breaths without gasping. As Methuselah said, “I feel like I’m ninety again.”
I was relaxing with the morning newspaper and a bit of Sibelius on the stereo when the phone rang.
“Mr. Hamar,” the woman on the other end said, “I hope I’m not bothering you too early in the morning, but you said you wanted to know. Oh. This is Wanda Martin. Billie had heart surgery early this morning. She is in intensive care now, but the doctors say it was successful.”
“Wanda, that’s wonderful,” I exclaimed. I was so afraid that it was going to be bad news that my breath must have sounded like an explosion. “I’m so happy,” I continued. “You must be exhausted. Is Billie awake yet?” I looked at the clock. It was after ten, but I had no idea what “early in the morning” meant.
“She’s awake, but pretty groggy,” Wanda said. “The first thing she said was tell Mr. Hamar. You’ve had a big impact on her, and she’s been talking about becoming a private investigator when she grows up.” When she grows up. I thought about it. The real victory was that she would grow up.
“Tell Billie that I will come see her soon,” I said. “And congratulations! It’s truly wonderful news.”
I hung up and sat in my chair thinking. I’d had a long leisurely morning and was still in my robe. I got up, got dressed, and called a cab.
I arrived at the hospital a little before noon and went to the IC Unit to see if I could look in on Billie. Her mother came out to meet me and begged a nurse to let me in to see her daughter. After a quick phone consultation with Doc Roberts, she approved a five-minute visit.
Five minutes isn’t much, even when you are visiting a ten-year-old. But I left that room filled with hope and confidence. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hamar,” she said as I was leaving. “Your heart is trying to find its way to you.” How true, in so many ways.
I glanced at my watch. It was nearly 12:30.
I called Riley. She was just leaving to pick me up for Thanksgiving Dinner at the Swedish American Center in Ballard. I could hear her gasp when I said I was at the hospital and quickly explained that I was visiting a friend and to please swing by there and pick me up instead of at my apartment. She arrived about fifteen minutes later.
I must have been looking pretty fit because she relaxed visibly when I got in the car.
“You had me worried for a minute there,” she said as we pulled away. “Is everything okay?”
“It is,” I smiled. I told her about my original encounter with Billie and the issues surrounding her wait for a new heart. I omitted the part about setting up a trust fund for her, but Riley looked at me a little strangely when I said an anonymous donor had come to the rescue. I’m sure she was associating it with Simon’s dispersal of funds. She was kind enough not to pursue the idea out loud.
“Well, I have a bit of news, too,” she said. “I got a call last night from Cinnamon. She invited me to the girls’ night holiday party at the condo Saturday night. Apparently they are closed to men for that night.”
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go?” I asked. “You know they are recruiting.”
“That’s their problem,” she answered confidently. “I just want to see inside again. Besides, I have a feeling there is a clue there that a man’s eyes might not notice, being so filled with female beauty.” I let that pass in silence. If she thought I hadn’t noticed the security cameras she was wrong. But knowing Riley like I was beginning to know her, she was probably thinking about removing some evidence that I couldn’t approve of. Better I kept my mouth shut.
We got to the cultural center and found parking. I was amazed that my euphoria was holding on and that I had no trouble making the block-long walk from our parking spot to the doors. Riley wanted to drop me off, but I told her I wasn’t giving her the opportunity to escape. We would walk in together. She took my arm as we walked to the doors, but I couldn’t tell if it was for her security or mine.
It made no difference when we walked in. Chaos reigned. Our coats and hats were hung on a rack and we were ushered into the milling throng. In one corner of the room a television had been set up and a fuzzy picture of the Thanksgiving Day Parade was being broadcast for a crowd of older men and children.
I introduced Riley to old friends. Several spoke to her in Swedish. I leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Just smile and say ‘thank you’,” I said.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I don’t speak Swedish.” We shared the laugh, but whenever anyone said anything to her in Swedish, she smiled and said “thank you.”
“Dag!” said matronly Mrs. Seafeld. “Did you bring knäckerbröd?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Seafeld. I completely forgot it. I left it on my table,” I said, picturing the neat package sitting next to the door as I left to catch a cab this morning.
“It’s okay, Dag,” she beamed. “You know we always have plenty. And I see you brought a feast for the eyes with you instead. No wonder you forgot the crackers!”
I glanced over at Riley and was surprised that she was actually blushing under Mrs. Seafeld’s happy gaze.
Gert
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