He tossed and turned in bed.

"Malan," Lathal softly called to him.

He turned. "Lathal?"

She looked beautiful. She had on a sexy black dress. Her pose emphasized her slim sensual figure.

Her blonde hair shone in the sun. She wore a warm smile. One she was famous for. One he loved.

"Malan," she said, her voice light and alluring, as she gazed invitingly at him.

"Lathal," he murmured reaching out to touch her.

Except he touched nothing ... only the cold side of her bed.

He remembered. She was in the hospital. She'd been hurt in an accident yesterday.

He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stretched, then shuffled toward the bathroom. He had to shower and shave and get Lathal's things together before he went to visit her in the hospital.

Loud banging echoed through the house. Their neighbor, Mrs. Quiche, was at the front door.

He threw on a T-shirt. Running his fingers through his disheveled brown hair, he called to her. "I'm coming."

"Malan," she gushed the minute he opened the door. "I'm so sorry about Lathal."
He nodded. The kindly, old widower, who lived next door, got along better with his wife than him, but he appreciated her checking up on them.

"Do you two need anything?" Mrs. Quiche asked wanting to be helpful.

"I don't think so," he said. "If we do, we'll let you know."

"Tell Lathal we're praying for her," Mrs. Quiche said. "And to get better soon."

"I will," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me I'd like to get ready so I can go see my wife."

"Of course," Mrs. Quiche said waving as she walked away.

He closed the door. Heading down the hallway toward the latrine, he began to disrobe.

He didn't get far when the phone rang.

Swearing softly, he picked it up. "Malan Hamel."
"Malan," his best friend, Billy Markham's familiar voice came on line. "You must feel like hell."

"That's an understatement, Bill."

"I'm sorry this happened to you, man. Jena was really upset when I told her about Lathal," Billy said. "How is Lathal by the way?"

"Her left clavicle is fractured and so is her right leg. The doctor put a metal rod in her right leg."
"Ouch," Billy whistled softly. "Is it permanent?"

"Mmm," he murmured in confirmation.

"You're going to have your hands full," Billy said.

"Mmm," he mumbled distantly. He was thinking about how he was going to break the news to Lathal's mother. "Can you do me a favor, Bill?"

"Name it."

"Paul gave me a ride home last night," he explained. "I need a ride to the hospital."

"Sure," Billy said easily. "I'll have to bring Jena though. She'll kill me if I take you to see Lathal and not bring her along."
"OK," he said resignedly, wishing he could go see his wife alone. "I'll see you in an hour."
As soon as he hung up, the phone rang again. He saw a pattern forming here. He sighed.

"Malan Hamel."

"Malan," It was Tanya Johnson, Lathal's best friend but his too.

"Mommy, is Auntie Lathal OK?" Tanya's 6-year-old daughter said in concern in the background.

"Auntie Lathal's OK," Malan said, his voice filled with emotion. "She's in the hospital but she'll be better soon."

"Are you OK?" Tanya asked him.

"Sure," he said lifelessly. "I'll be better as soon as I can bring Lathal home."

"Let us know if you need anything," Tanya said.

"I will," he promised, then hung up.

The familiar melody of his cell phone buzzed for his attention. He picked it up on the counter.

"Hello," he said elusively.

"Malan, it's Erik."

"Erik," he said, his fingers raked through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"You're hard to replace," Erik admitted. "But I'll have to get along without you for a while. Paul Lerm called me and you're going to be an actor in resident until Lathal gets on her feet."

"Thanks, Erik," he said appreciatively. "I'll be in touch."

His cell phone clicked. Their house phone rang again.

Malan rolled his eyes. At this rate he'd never get out of here.

"Malan," said Carl Emerson, former Lathal's journalism professor and mentor. "I'm sorry that those vultures downtown splattered the story about Lathal's accident all over the news."
"Yeah," he said dryly. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

"Maggie and I are here to help if you need us," Carl said.

"Thanks."
"Take care, Malan," Carl said. "And tell Lathal to cover the news, not make it."
Yeah, he'd have to remind her about that.

Their phone rang again. He was really getting tired of all these calls.

"Hello," he said flatly.

"Malan," replied Chapin Roberts, Lathal's editor. "We're glad Lathal's OK."

He called a broken leg and collar bone OK. His level of disgust rose. Lathal would be OK if Chapin hadn't sent her on that story.

He shook his head. As much as he wanted to he wanted to blame Chapin, but Lathal's accident wasn't his fault.

"Malan," Chapin's voice cut into the silence. "Can you bring Lathal's notebook to us?"

"Sure, I'll get right on that," Malan said sarcastically, slamming down the phone.

He stared at the receiver. Don't ring.

It did.

"Mr. Hamel?" A twangy, unfamiliar masculine voice said snapping on some tobacco.

"Yes," Malan said, fatigue apparent in his voice.

"Name's Gene with Heaps Junkyard. We have your wife's car."

"OK," Malan said flatly writing down the company's name.

"I don't think you want her car," Gene told him. "Her trannie's shot. You can sell her to me if you want."

"Are you open today?"

"No," Gene said. "By the way I charge by the day."

"I'll get back to you," Malan said hanging up.

The phone rang again. His fists balled into tight wads. Anger seared through him. He wanted to rip it out of its socket.

"Hello," he said tiredly.

"Mr. Hamel, my name's Kevin Lance with BNO Insurance. We're calling about your wife's accident."
"My wife's not here," Malan said annoyed.

"We know. We heard she's in the hospital," Kevin said, his tone professional. "We know the accident wasn't her fault, but we'd still like to ask her a few questions. Do you know how we can contact her?"

"Can I call you back, Mr. Lance," Malan said. "I'd really like to see my wife."
"Of cour...," Kevin began, but Malan hung up, making a fast break for the shower.