said hello that night, but received no greeting in return, which was exactly what usually happened when our paths crossed in the presence of others in the Dunbar home. Then, as I was on my way out of the room with the bottle of Elmer’s, Louisa Lindahl said, “Nice of the Dunbars to take in strays and give them the run of the place, eh?”
I’m not sure what kept me from arguing with her, in spite of the fact that that was my first impulse. Was it the fear that this was an argument I would lose? Or could it possibly be the notion that I might benefit in the future from her belief that she and I had something in common? Whatever the reason, I stammered, “I guess,” and hurried from the room.
Now, when Dr. Dunbar took the cloth that Louisa offered, a look passed between them. Even if my vision had not been restricted, I still wouldn’t have been able to interpret it. Then the doctor smiled his best Rex Dunbar smile and said, “Anticipating my every need. Thank you, Louisa.”
She returned his smile.
Dr. Dunbar folded the cloth into a rectangle the size of a paperback. “Press this over your eye, Matt.” Behind me I heard a puck hit the pipe.
With his hand on my elbow, the doctor steered me inside. Mrs. Dunbar was in the kitchen, taking a tray of sugar cookies out of the oven. When she saw me and the bloody cloth, she exclaimed, “Oh my God, Matty!” Her expression of concern was that of a mother’s.
“Take it easy, Alice. It looks worse than it is. A few stitches and Gordie Howe here will be right back out on the ice.”
The doctor continued to guide me through the house as if blood had blinded me in both eyes, and I could hear Louisa’s footsteps as she followed close behind. She’d been watching the game ... she’d seen what happened ... but did she know why?
At the door to the clinic, Louisa asked, “Should I come in with you? Do you need any help?”
“No need,” replied the doctor, much to my disappointment. “Matthew could probably sew himself up.”
We went into the same examination room where Dr. Dunbar had treated Louisa Lindahl. “Lie down on the table, Matthew.”
I did as I was told. I wasn’t about to ask for it, but I wished I had the blanket he’d used to cover Louisa. My feet were freezing after standing out on the porch in my socks.
“Now, ordinarily I’d put a drape over the patient’s face, leaving only the laceration exposed. Hell, you might like to watch. I have a hand mirror here in the drawer.
“All right.”
Once I had the mirror in hand, I slowly took the compress away. Blood was leaking more than flowing from the cut, and that soon stopped when Dr. Dunbar numbed the area with lidocaine and epinephrine. “This is what a cut man uses to stop a boxer’s bleeding.” Dr. Dunbar was close enough that I could smell his sweat and his aftershave.
He continued to talk his way through the procedure, exactly as he would have done if I were watching him work on someone else. He cleaned the wound with 300 cc of saline solution and then prepared to sew. He explained the type of thread (6-0 nylon) and sutures (simple interrupted) he’d be using. “And notice that I’m not shaving your eyebrow, Matthew. Some doctors might do that, but it’s not necessary. And I’d probably mar your good looks. Takes a hell of a long time for eyebrows to grow back. Different kind of hair.”
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