Harry made another trip to Portland, alone this time. “Good to see you again, Rafe,” he said, shaking Raphael’s hand. He glanced at the crutches leaning in the corner. “I see that you’re getting around now.”
Raphael looked at him through the haze of the shot he had just been given. “What brings you down here, Uncle Harry?”
“Oh …” his uncle replied a bit evasively, “this and that. I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”
“I’m coming along.”
“Good for you. Have they given you any idea yet about when you’ll be getting out of here?”
Raphael shifted in the bed, wincing slightly. “I imagine that it’s going to be a while longer.”
“You going back to school when you get out?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet.”
Uncle Harry gave him a speculative look. “I’m going to give this to you straight, Rafe. I think we know each other well enough for that.”
“Okay,” Raphael replied, “what is it?”
“It’s your mother, Rafe.”
“Mom?”
“She’s always been a delicate woman, you know, and I’m afraid all of this has been too much for her—your father’s death, your accident, all of it. She’s a little—well—disoriented. Her doctors say
that she’ll come out of it eventually, but it’s going to take time.”
“I’d better go home. I can get around now—a little. I’ll see if they’ll discharge me.”
“Uh—that’s going to be a problem, Rafe. You see, what’s happened is that your mother has—well, sort of retreated. I mean, she’s not catatonic or anything, but it’s just that in her mind none of this has really happened. As far as she’s concerned, your father’s away on a business trip, and you’re off at college. She’s perfectly happy—talks about you both all the time. The doctors think that it might be best to keep her that way for the time being. If you came back with your—on crutches, that is—she’d have to face things she’s just not ready to come to grips with yet.”
“I see.”
“I hate to have to be the one to tell you, but it’s better coming from me than from somebody else. Just give her a little time, that’s all. Write to her from time to time—that sort of thing. I’ll keep you posted on her progress.”
“Thanks for telling me, Uncle Harry.”
“That’s what family is for. If you’re not too tired, there are a couple of other things I need to discuss with you.” “I’m fine,” Raphael told him.
“Okay, Rafe.” Uncle Harry opened his briefcase. “Financially you’re pretty well off.” “Sir?”
“You’ll have a fairly comfortable income. Edgar—your father—had a number of insurance policies. Edgar was always very interested in insurance.”
“He was a careful man.”
“That he was, Rafe. That he was. The policies will cover all your medical expenses here and give you an income besides—not very big, actually. Walking-around money is about all. You’ll also be receiving Social Security disability benefits.”
“I’ve never had a job, Uncle Harry—not a real one. I’m not eligible for Social Security.”
“You worked for four summers at the mill back in Port Angeles.”
“That wasn’t a real job, Uncle Harry. The owner hired me because of my father—and because I was a football player.”
“They withheld Social Security from your check, didn’t they?” “Yes.”
“Then you’re entitled. Don’t rush out and make any down payments on any castles, though. What’s really got you set up is the settlement you got from the railroad.”
“Settlement? What settlement?”
“I told you about that the last time I was here. I had you sign some papers, remember?”
“To be honest with you, Uncle Harry, there are some big gaps in what I remember. The painkillers sort of erase things.”
“I suppose they do at that. Well, to cut it short, the railroad’s insurance company got in touch with me not long after your accident. They made an offer.”
“What for? It was my fault. I was drunk and driving too fast. It wasn’t the train’s fault.”
“You don’t necessarily have to make an issue of that, Rafe—not that it really matters now, I guess. The railroad didn’t want a messy court case. Jurors in this part of the country are a little unpredictable where railroads are concerned. It’s cheaper in the long run for the railroad to make an offer in any case where there are personal injuries. Those ten-million-dollar judgments really bite into company profits. Anyway, you’ll be getting a monthly check from them. I still wouldn’t get my heart set on any castles, though. If you don’t go hog-wild, you’ll get by okay. I’ll put the money—your settlement, your insurance, and your Social Security check all in the bank back home for you. You remember Anderson, don’t you?”
“The banker?”
“Right. He remembers you from the football field, and he’ll take care of everything for you. You’ll be getting a check every month. I put a few thousand in the hospital safe for you.”
“A few thousand?”
“You’re going to have unusual expenses when you leave the hospital, Raphael. I don’t want you to run short. I’m afraid you’ll find out just how little it is when you get out on the street. You’re set financially, so you can just relax until you get back on your feet again.” Harry stopped abruptly and looked away. “I’m sorry, but you know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll need your signature on a few things,” his uncle went on. “Power of attorney for you and your mother—that kind ofthing. That way you can concentrate on getting well and just leave everything else up to me. Okay?”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Quillian,” Raphael said to his therapist a few days later while resting on his crutches.
“What is it, Taylor?” the balding man in the wheelchair asked him.
“Did you have any problems with all the drugs they give us?” “Jesus Christ, Taylor! I’ve got a broken back. Of course I had a problem with drugs. I fought drugs for five years.” “How did you beat it?”
“Beat it? Beat it, boy?” Quillian exploded. “You never beat it. Sometimes—even now—I’d give my soul for one of those shots you get every other hour.”
“All
