"Well?" He said gazing deeply into her eyes.

"I want to go home," she murmured.

Malan turned slightly, regarding Burchski. But the doctor already knew what to expect. He waved the two orderlies to bring in the wheelchair.

Lathal collected her belongings packing them in her tote bag while Burchski went over the details of her care with her husband.

"Lathal has an appointment to remove her staples Friday. After that I want her to stop in to see me so I can check up on her," the doctor told him handing him a bottle of pills. "If she experiences any pain, she can take the Vicatin I prescribed for her. Her physical therapy sessions start Monday. She'll have sessions three times a week -- Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings for an hour. Her physical therapist is Dr. Ann Beurgeron," the doctor said. "Any questions?"

Malan shook his head as he helped the orderlies ease his wife into the wheelchair, then set her flowers, tote bag and stuffed animal in her chair.

"If you have any questions, you can call the hospital any time of day or night, and they'll page me," the doctor told him. "Good luck, Malan."

Malan stared at him. What was the doctor implying with his comment? Lathal wasn't in the best condition; the situation was tough.

But he could handle it. They both could. They'd be fine.

"Take care, Lathal," Burchski said, patting her fatty right thigh and stepping aside. "I'll see you soon."

Malan wheeled her out of the room. The scene was like Dorothy following the yellow brick road that led to OZ out of Munchkinland.

She smiled and waved back. They'd been nice to her here, but she was glad to leaving.

They rode the elevator down to the first floor, passing the gift shop and information desk, as they went through the hospital's main entrance.

"Stay here," Malan told her, snapping the wheel mechanisms in place so her wheelchair wouldn't move. "I'll get the car."

He dashed into the parking lot; she sat there and waited. She couldn't have gone anywhere anyway. She could barely move her left arm. She couldn't walk. That's why they set her home in a wheelchair.

A few minutes later, he pulled up along the red painted curb, designated as a no loading and parking zone, in front of the hospital. He flew out of the car, releasing the wheel mechanisms and pushing her over to his car.

He opened the door, then carefully lifted her from the wheelchair to the car set. Once she was settled in, he closed the door. He folded up her wheelchair and put it in the back seat of the car.

"Chapin wanted me to tell you you can be on con leave for as long as you need," he said while he drove home.

She didn't say anything. She didn't want to think about Chapin, work or anything else. All she wanted to do was heal so she could resume her normal life.

"Lathal, are you OK?" He said with gentle concern.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'm just glad to be going home with you."

The asphalt lightly crackled as he drove into their driveway. He assembled her wheelchair before helping her out of the car.

As they came up the sidewalk, a man, dressed in a gray suit, holding a briefcase, waited at their door.

"Can I help you?" Malan said coolly evaluating the man.

The man smiled. "I'd like a word with Ms. Harvey if I may."