Excerpt from The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"What we'll do is this. Why don't we watch what happens tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll see."

"That's great, Doctor. And thank you. Thank you so much."

I said good-bye to Pop, went down to the main lobby of the hospital, and took a cab to Mom's hospital in Biddeford. It was about fifteen minutes away. A four-cigarette ride. It was pretty cold by now. Usually I don't mind cold nights, but I did this night, and for some reason my hair hurt.

The hospital in Biddeford was new. It was set in a little forest of fir trees and looked nice, not all big and really nervous-making like Portland General. You got a sense of something bad in Portland. The way it smelled. The way you sounded in the crowded corridors, and the way all those people whispered into the banks of phones. Biddeford Hospital was different. There were plants in the reception area, and the retired volunteers seemed happy to see you. You got this good feeling that everything was going to be all right.

Mom was in the third-floor trauma unit. It was small, and, again unlike Portland, the walls were painted in a hopeful blue-sky color. Portland was green. Old green. Reception had called that I was on my way up, and this pretty black girl met me outside the unit's door. She wore standard green pants bunched around her ankles, and running shoes. Her blouse was white, with happy faces on it.

"Hi," she called out.

"Hi," I said.

"Are you Jan's son?"

"Yes. I'm Smithy Ide."

"I'm Toni, I'm one of her nurses. C'mon."

She didn't tell me about not looking into the rooms, but she didn't have to.

"Jan's in five. She's on a waterbed that tilts."

"My father is, too."

"How's he doing?"

"Well, he takes these blood thinners."

"Aren't you cold?" she asked as we walked.

"I wasn't cold a little while ago."

Mom was amazingly tiny on this big bed. She was tilted away from me, and I walked over so she could see me. Her eyes were half open.

"Hi, Mom," I said very quietly. "I'm here now, Mom."

"We don't think Jan can hear you. She's on a big morphine drip. But we're not sure; maybe some things get through. You can keep talking if you want. Dr. Rosa is Jan's attending physician, but I'm going to give you the rundown, and maybe you can link up with the doctor later."

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much."

I pulled the T-shirt away from my sticky breasts and kicked my leg out to loosen my riding-up underwear. I needed a smoke, so I fingered my Winstons.

"There's no smoking, of course," the pretty nurse said.

"Oh, I know that. Sure. It's important. I was just—"

"At first we were going to keep both of your parents together here, but Portland's head unit is state-of-the-art, and, frankly, we were not comfortable moving Jan. Her lungs collapsed, which is why we are inflating them artificially. Later on we'll wean her from the machine. Both hips are broken, multiple crushed ribs, bruised trachea, dislocated right shoulder. The good news is, no head injury."

"That's great," I said.

"Dr. Rosa is Jan's physician."

"Great."

"I'll be at the desk if you need me."

As soon as she left the room, I adjusted my shorts. I sat for about twenty minutes as Mom tilted, and then I got up.

"I'm going now, Mom. What I'm going to do is go back to the camp and pack up the stuff and drive up and get a room or something. I won't be gone long. You rest."

I waited in the lobby for Trooper Anderson, and after a while I figured he was busy—so I took a cab back to Bridgton. It cost seventy-four dollars. My old Buick was already packed with our summer stuff. The folding chairs, coolers, tackle boxes, et cetera. I cleaned the cabin quickly, then paid Pop's friend who owned the cabins, asked him to return the rented boat for me, and drove back to Portland in the deepest Maine dark ever.

From The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty; chapter 1 (pages 1-9). Copyright 2004 by Zaluma, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced without written permission from the publisher, Viking Penguin.