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  “Why would you?” asked Hall contemptuously.

  “Who is this?” asked Melanie.

  Hall hesitated a moment, then said, “This is your grandfather, Marshall Wilson.”

  Melanie frowned. “Grandfather? You’re my grandfather?”

  Wilson tore his gaze away from the smashed human body on the bed and looked at the teenager. “Yes. Yes I am. I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”

  I read Hall’s thoughts as she was about to make a snide remark to Wilson, but then pulled herself back, realizing it would’ve been hypocritical to attack him for his lack of involvement in the lives of his progeny.

  More self-recognition. Another rare moment for Temperance Hall.

  The door opened.

  “Miss Wilson,” said the nurse, “your – um – there’s a young man out here insists on seeing you.”

  “I’ll be back,” said Melanie.

  She stepped out, and I heard the beginning of a conversation as the door shut. “I can’t believe your mom hit my dad! They still don’t know if he’s gonna . . .”

  The door clicked and the room was silent for a few moments.

  “Your – I mean, our granddaughter – seems to know Brad Miller’s son,” said Wilson.

  Hall looked down at Margaret. She didn’t respond for a few moments. But she was thinking.

  **This day is not turning out as planned.**

  Self pity. Avoidance. Typical.

  **Here I was, going to fire all of them, including Marshall and Brad Miller. Now we’re all huddled around in the hospital like a bunch of victims. Where’s that blasted doctor?**

  Right on cue, a man in typical white medical coat entered the room. His hair was a shock of white, his face rutted with lines. He held a tablet computer under one arm.

  “Mrs. Hall?”

  “Temperance Hall. Is my daughter going to be all right?”

  “And you are?” Dr. Fisher asked, turning to Wilson.

  “I’m the father – her father. I’m Margaret’s father.”

  “Didn’t I see you a few rooms down in Mr. Miller’s room?” asked the doctor.

  “Yes. I’m CEO of Hall Enterprises. Brad Miller is my CMO. He was involved in an accident.”

  “Yes. This accident, coincidentally.”

  “How is she?” urged Hall.

  Dr. Fisher smacked is lips, pausing to figure out how to break the news, even though he’d delivered bad news a thousand times before.

  But I knew the facts before he spilled the beans. He was easy to read.

  Broken arm, broken pelvis, shattered leg, lacerations and contusions. And the big one: a spinal injury.

  “It is unlikely your daughter will ever walk again. She is paralyzed from the middle of her back down. She will likely regain use of her arms and hands.”

  **Oh no!**

  Temperance Hall shrunk into her seat.

  Marshall Wilson brought his hand up to his mouth and pinched his face between fingers and palm.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dr. Fisher. A vibrating sound came from his hip, and he pulled a pager out from under his white coat, looked at it. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out.

  A few minutes passed.

  Melanie returned.

  “Nathan’s dad is dying! He’s slipped into a coma and they don’t know if he’s going to come out,” she said, breaking into tears.

  Hall looked up. “Brad? A coma?”

  “You know Nathan’s dad?” Melanie sniffed.

  “He works for me.”

  Wilson fell into a chair. He started to breathe heavily.

  “What about Mom?” asked Melanie, still agitated. “What did the doctor say?”

  Hall gulped, and took a deep breath. “She is going to live,” she said, opting to break the good news first.

  “And?”

  “And she’s not going to be able to walk. She’s – she’s paralyzed.”

  Melanie fell to her knees, and wept. Hall again fought the urge to touch her, but this time she really did want to comfort the girl, rather than herself.

  Margaret awoke. She tried to speak, but the ventilator tube down her throat made it impossible.

  “Get the doctor!” said Hall to Wilson.

  Wilson stepped out quickly, and returned after a moment with the green-clad nurse from before.

  “She wants to talk. Get that thing out of her mouth,” said Hall.

  The nurse checked the computer read out to confirm Margaret was getting sufficient oxygen, then carefully removed the ventilator.

  Margaret spoke weakly, breathlessly. “Mother.”

  “I’m here, Margie. I’m here.”

  “Where’s Mel?”

  “I’m right here, Mom,” said Melanie, stepping to the other side of the bed, wiping away her tears.

  “Mel. I’m sorry about this morning.”

  More tears ran down Melanie’s cheeks. “It’s all right, Mom. I’m sorry I yelled. And I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

  “How – how could I be disappointed in you?” asked Margie. “I did the same thing when I was your age. Yes, it’s a mistake, but we’ll make it through. I did. And now I have you.”

  I read Hall’s mind.

  **Oh, my. I’m going to be a great grandmother?**

  Wilson spoke before Hall could articulate her thoughts.

  “I’m going to be a great grandfather? I’m only fifty nine!”

  “Sixty, Marshall,” said Hall.

  “Not for another two months.”

  “Must it always be . . . be about you?” said Margie feebly, glaring at her mother and father through the swelling around her eyes.

  **She’s right. Oh, she is right!**

  “I’m sorry, Margie,” said Hall. “I’ve – I’ve been a terrible mother. I want to make it up to you.”

  Doctor Fisher returned.

  “How’s Brad Miller?” asked Wilson.

  “He’s pulling through,” said Fisher. “We were able to stimulate him back to consciousness. He’ll need serious physical therapy – months – but he’ll survive.”

  “What can I do for my daughter?” asked Hall. “Can I – can I provide the care she needs?”

  The doctor made a note on his tablet PC and looked up at Hall. “She’ll be here recovering for at least the next two weeks. Then we can move her to an outpatient facility where she’ll get some rehabilitation. Once she’s ready, she can be released to a home care situation. But she will require full-time assistance, Ms. Hall. Are you prepared to provide that?”

  **Am I? I have my own life to live. Do I really want to become a slave the rest of my life? I’ve always been so independent. My own person. I’ve always been so . . . alone.**

  “Yes. I am prepared to devote the rest of my life to taking care of my daughter.” She looked to Melanie. “And my granddaughter is of course welcome in my home. And her child.”

  Wilson looked shocked. “Temperance?”

  “And about this morning’s meeting,” she said, “cancel it.”

  No one was more surprised than me. So much for the power of mind reading.

  Suddenly, her yellow dress appeared sunny to me.

  THE END

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