Waking Up in Dixie by Haywood Smith Page B

had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. I just couldn’t stand having that tube in there anymore. It felt like a fire hose in my throat.”
    Not impressed, Nurse Mavis pointed to him in warning. “No more do-it-yourself, mister. Those IVs and that catheter stay till your doctor says they come out. And
we
do the takin’ out, not you.”
    Howell let loose another brief spate of coughing, nodding and waving her away.
    “All right, then.” Silent Nurse Rachel in tow, Mavis hitched her uniformed booty back to the nurse’s station.
    Howe subsided into his pillow, clearly exhausted. “Remind me never to cross her again.”
    He closed his eyes for a few minutes, then roused, focusing on his surroundings for the first time. “Where am I, anyway?”
    “At the new stroke center near Emory. You had a stroke. But you’re fine now.”
    “Stroke,” he murmured, drifting away. “My father had a stroke . . . He died.”
    “You’re not going to die, Howell,” Elizabeth told him. “You’re going to be fine.” She willed it for him. What they would do then, she didn’t know. P.J. . . .
    Howe didn’t say anything else for another ten minutes, then woke with a start. “Man. I’m starving.” He rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “I want a chili dog from the Varsity.” Hunger claimed his features, brightened by the prospect of junk food. “No, two. And a Glorified. And an order of rings. And fries. And a brownie. And a Big Orange.” His stomach growled so loudly, it all but echoed. Then he let out another huge fart—and laughed!
    Prim and proper Charles Howell Whittington II had not only farted but found it amusing. The world had turned upside down.
    “Who are you,” Elizabeth blurted out, “and what have you done with my husband?”
    “It’s me,” he said with a boyish half-smile. “At least, I think it is. And God, am I hungry.” He shot her a salacious glance. “I sure am glad to see you.” He reached out with both hands, arms open. “C’mere, Lillibet. I’m as horny as I am hungry. The Varsity can wait. How ’bout a quickie?”
    That tore it. “Not till you pass your AIDS test, and another one, six months later,” she snapped just as the curtain swished open to reveal their son.
    Charles froze, blinking in surprise while he took in the sight of his father’s arms open wide to his mother, then stammered, “Uh, hey. I know you said to wait, but I couldn’t. The judge gave me the rest of the day off when I told him.” Charles hesitated. “Do you two need some privacy, because I could—”
    “Charles!” Howe’s attention shifted abruptly to his son, his eyes welling with tears as he sat up. “Son! By damn, come here. Give your dad a hug. God, it’s good to see you.”
    Cussing and hugging? Charles shot Elizabeth a look of surprise, but she was so grateful for the distraction that she cocked her head for him to do as his father asked.
    Howe enveloped the boy in a bear hug, all but pulling him off his feet. Tears streaming, Howe clapped Charles on the back. “How’s my boy? You’ll make a fine lawyer. Much better than I ever would have been. I’m so proud of you for getting into Emory law. So proud.”
    Unable to believe what she was hearing, Elizabeth felt her own eyes well. All his life, Charles had struggled to win hisfather’s approval, but the most Howe had given him was an occasional
attaboy
. Like Augusta’s, Howe’s affections had been reserved for their daughter Patricia.
    Howe thrust Charles to arm’s length. “Look at this . . .
man
of ours, Lizzie. So handsome. So good. Can you believe he’s ours?” Abruptly, Howe looked stricken. “I haven’t been the father I should be. I have so much to make up to you, son.” He searched Charles’s shocked expression. “So much. But God’s given me another chance. I know He’s real, now. He spoke to me.”
    God spoke to him? Elizabeth must have fallen down the rabbit hole, for real! Howe had always said people who