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Being Thankful
A Missing Scene from 'The Plague'

By

Katherine

Starsky’s POV

   I don't know what I expected. Well, I guess I do really. Only it seems so stupid now, after what he went through. I guess I thought that finding Callendar would fix it all. Judith and Meredith would make a serum from his blood, they'd give the serum to Hutch, and he'd be fine. Just like that. I even said that to him when I visited him in the isolation room, "Callendar comes in, Judith gets the serum out of his blood, gives you a shot and ‘Alakazam! Captain Marvel’, you’ll be up and around."

   Only trouble was, the serum didn't make him well. It stopped the "little sucker" that was killing my partner. Stopped it cold. But, it didn't undo the damage the little parasite did while it was living off of his body. Didn't undo the damage to his liver and kidneys from the hemorrhaging, didn't clear up the congestion in his lungs, didn't take away the pain in his muscles from endless hours of spasming, didn't take the soreness out of his joints, didn't restore the strength taken away by hours of suffering, didn't undo the damage to his lungs that made each breath a debilitating task. You like that? ‘Debilitating?’ Ya didn’t know I know words like that, didya? Well, actually, Judith used it first, but don’t tell Hutch.

   Anyway, after I finished my report and made arrangements for Callendar to be protected while he recuperated, I was free to do what I'd wanted to do since Hutch got sick. I was free to go to him, to sit with him, to be with him. I was havin’ a hard time with the idea that Callendar had immunity, but I’d think about that later. I wanted to see Hutch.

   Just before they gave him the serum, he went into convulsions. Judith though it was from the high fever, but nobody knew anything for sure. It seemed like hours before they got him stable; the convulsions seemed to have taken the last wisp of strength he had, and I don’t think any of the doctors thought he’d make it.

   After they got him stabilized, Judith let me come into the isolation room, but she wasn’t happy. She was worried. And she stayed worried. So did I.

   The blond blintz took a long time to wake up. Even almost 24 hours after he got the serum, he was still unconscious. I guess she kind of hoped that he'd wake up and be as good as new, too.

   "His fever is going down, slowly," she told me when I joined her in his isolation room the next morning. She had insisted I take a shower and get something to eat. I insisted that he not be left alone. She agreed to stay with him while I showered and ate, even though she was exhausted too.

   We weren't wearing masks then, there was no need for them anymore. She already gave me a shot, and everyone on the staff had been inoculated. So I sat on the edge of his bed, stroking my hand through his hair, willing him to wake up.

   He tossed his head, caught in a nightmare. He was in pain, or reliving the pain he'd endured when the plague was tearing through his body. Even Judith wasn't sure. He moaned, his pain reflected in his face, his body trembling. I stroked his forehead with a cool cloth and talked to him as calmly as I could. I guess he heard me, because he got quiet. But he didn't wake up. I didn’t like it, not at all.

   I kept talking to him, holding onto his hand with all I had. He had been quiet for several minutes. The shaking had eased, and the agony was slowly fading from his features.

   "Temperature's down a little more," Judith said from the other side of the bed.

   "Will he, will he…?" I asked, stroking the sweat saturated hair back from his forehead.

   "It's too soon," she told me. "Listen, I'll come back. I have to check on other patients." She started to leave, pausing to put a hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you come, too? You haven't slept…"

   "I'm stayin' here," I told her. "I ain't leavin' him."

   She sighed and took her hand away. "I'll be back." She stopped again and looked me in the eye. "Call if…"

   I nodded. "I will."

   We were alone. I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed to touch him, to hold him, to know that he was alive. First I closed the curtains, so no one in the corridor could see into his isolation room. There was no need for anyone to watch him through the glass anymore. He wasn't contagious, and anyone who wanted to check him could just come in and do it. Those curiosity seekers who just wanted to look at him could go find something else to ogle.

   I sat down on the bed and reached for him. I gathered him into my arms, pulling him up and pressing his damp hair against my shoulder. He lay limply against me, but that was okay. I'd be his strength until he had his own again. He was in my arms, where I could protect him, take care of him. I'm never comfortable when I can't touch my partner, when I know he needs my comfort and I can't give it to him. Havin' to watch him through that glass had nearly killed me. I could see how much pain he was in and there was nothing I could do. That was over, thank goodness. I could do something now.

   I settled my back against the raised head of the bed, Hutch lying against my chest. He moved occasionally, still enduring pain from the fever's effects, but nothing like the agony that had held him captive when his temperature was so high for those endless days. His breathing was still labored. Judith had said that a high fever like he had could cause all kinds of problems, but they wouldn't really know his condition until he woke up. No one was saying "possible brain damage" when I was there, but I’d heard some of the doctors talkin’ when they didn’t know I could hear them. I pulled him closer, resting my cheek against his still-warmer than normal skin. "Me and Thee, partner," I whispered. "We'll handle it, whatever happens."

   I wished I could just hold him like that until he woke up, but I was really tired. I'd worked non-stop for days, tryin' to find Callendar, tryin' to keep my partner and the other plague victims alive. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I laid him back on the pillow and moved to the foot of the bed. I had a pillow, and I curled myself around his feet and went to sleep, my hand on his blanket-covered ankle. It wasn't easy. He's so tall there wasn't a whole lot of room between his feet and the end of the bed, but I didn't care. I was able to sleep deeply and dreamlessly, holding onto my partner, keeping him safe. I woke up to find out that I had slept for 6 hours. I was ashamed because I'd let my guard down, glad that I wasn't nearly as tired as I had been and worried because he still hadn't waked up.

   He still seemed hot to me, so I got dampened a washcloth from the bathroom and used it to wipe his face and neck. I’d been doing that for awhile when Judith came in and checked him out. She didn't make me leave him, and that worried me even more. She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes. She didn't want Hutch to die alone. I put the cloth back in the bathroom and pulled a chair next to his bed and took his hand. I wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

   Much to my relief, and Judith's, he woke up a little later, just for a minute. He looked around, finally turning a little to see who was holdin' his hand. At first he was real agitated, and his lips moved. He didn't even have the strength to form a sound. He looked so scared. It took me a minute to figure out what was wrong. I put my hand against his cheek. "It's okay, Buddy. Everything's gonna be okay. We found Callendar. We've got a serum. You're gonna be fine." I could still see the fear, and his lips formed, "Starsk…sick?" Again, I knew what his problem was. "You're not contagious, Buddy. I won't get it. We have the serum now, and it’s working great. It's okay." I pulled his hand against my cheek and whispered, "Everything's okay."

   He was so weak; he just couldn't stay awake. But he knew I was there, and he settled back with a small smile and slept, a real sleep, not delirium or unconsciousness. It felt so good to watch him, knowing he was alive; I relaxed and fell asleep in the chair beside the bed.

   The next time he woke up, he just lay there for a minute. Then he started blinking like mad, and waving his arm around. "Starsk? Starsky?" He sounded panicky. I sat up and grabbed his hand.

   "I'm here, I'm right here, Blintz."

   "Starsky? Can't…can't see." He tried to put his free hand on his eyes, but I held his arm away. He was breathin' hard, like he'd just run a race or somethin'. Made me think of the breathin' problems he had after he had to run around, tryin' to deliver the ransom to Joanna Haymes' kidnappers.

   "Sh!. Judith will be here, soon. Don't Blintz. It'll be okay."

   He'd fallen asleep again, and I was still in the chair next to the bed, holding his hand when Judith came in, followed by Meredith. I told them about his eyes, and they just nodded. Seems that high fevers can cause damage to the optic nerve. It would be several days, or weeks, before we knew if the effect was permanent.

   He was so weak. The plague had taken all of his strength. For the next few days, he woke up for very short periods. He couldn't eat, so he was fed through an IV. Antibiotics were in another IV, an attempt to prevent his picking up an infection that his weakened body couldn't fight off. They put him back in the oxygen tent for a couple of days because he was really having a hard time breathing. And when he was awake, I could tell that he was still in pain, although he didn't complain.

   Instead, he worried about me. Every time he woke up, he insisted I should go home and rest. I finally gave in, afraid he wouldn't rest himself because of his worry for me. I have to admit it helped. I was pretty wiped out from worrying about him. And I knew I needed to be in good shape so I could take care of him when he came home.

   His weakness made it hard for him to control his emotions, and sometimes all he could do was cry in my arms when the pain in his joints got really bad. He didn't want drugs. He still remembered what Forrest did to him; still panicked at the thought of needles. But I put my foot down when he was hurtin' so bad he couldn't sleep. He needed to rest, so he could get strong and be well.

   And come back to the streets with me.

   So I promised him I'd make sure they didn't give him too much, and that he could decide when he needed another dose. He was still scared, but he trusts me, so he gave in. After the nurse gave him the shot, I sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand while he drifted into a peaceful, painless sleep.

   Sitting there, watching him sleep, I thought back to the scene in the lab, when Meredith told us one of us was infected. We'd looked at each other. I was hoping it was me. And he was hoping the same thing, hoping that it was him. Neither of us wanted to have to watch the other one die.

   And when they said it was him, he started making all these wisecracks. But I knew what he was doing. I could see the panic in his eyes. He hates hospitals, and since Forrest's goons filled him with heroin, he can't stand needles. All the blood work they'd taken during our 72 hour quarantine had meant he'd had to endure a lot of needles. I guess we kept each other sane then. He kept me from screaming when the walls started closing in, and I kept him from screaming when they came at him with the needles.

   And more than that, he was trying to protect me there in the lab. He knows I hate soapy scenes. So he kept things light, or tried to. Nobody thought he was funny, not even him, but it kept me from breaking down and helped him keep his head up in the face of probable certain death.

   Then there was that awful scene in his isolation room. Tellin' me to get out. He was panic stricken at the thought of me getting sick. If I had, it would have been his fault. Or so he thought. As if I hadn't already been exposed enough to have picked it up somewhere. He had been in such pain, and I couldn't do a thing for him. Not a thing. Just hold on to him while he rode it out. And he knew how seein’ him like that was hurtin' me. That's why he was insistin' that I leave. He didn't want me to have to watch his pain. Thinkin' of me first, like always.

   But all of that was over. He was recoverin’. When he started feelin’ better, he started sayin' he wanted to go home. He could hardly hold his head up most of the time, and he had to have respiratory therapy a few times a week, and his joints were so sore he could hardly move, but he wanted to go home.

   And his eyes. He was havin' real problems with his eyes. Judith said there was damage, either to his brain or his optic nerve. They just didn't know whether it was permanent or how bad it was. Who says medicine is a science? No wonder I don't trust doctors. Half the time, they don't know what's going on. His eyes did seem to be getting better. He could see, a little, but he says every thing was fuzzy most of the time. He kidded me that I looked better than he’d ever seen me, and I told him that I was sure that his car would look better too.

   Judith thought he was still too weak to go home, but I promised her I'd take care of him. He was supposed to stay in bed for at least the first few days. I didn't relish trying to keep him down when he started getting better, but I knew he'd do better at home. I rented a hospital bed for him to sleep in 'cause he couldn't sit up under his own power for long. Judith told me to get an oxygen tank, and have it ready in case he had breathin' problems. I had prescriptions for pain pills and antibiotics. Luckily they didn't make me give him shots. Knowing how he feels about needles, I don't know if I could have or not. I'm glad we didn't have to find out.

   Judith said there wasn't much they could do except wait and keep monitoring his condition, and I told her we could do that at his apartment. So she let me take him home.

   We moved him to his place the next day. After that, all we had to do was wait for him to heal.

   The first day, he slept most of the time. The trip from the hospital exhausted him. I knew better than to suggest that we bring him home in an ambulance, but that's what we should have done. I asked Huggy to come over to help, and it's a good thing. I could never have gotten him up the stairs to his place by myself. By the time we got to his door, after easing him up the stairs with his arms over our shoulders and our arms around his waist, he was barely conscious. We put him to bed and put the oxygen mask over his face until his breathing evened out. He went to sleep and didn't move for hours. I had to wake him up to make sure he took his medicines on time, but he went right back to sleep. I finally woke him up and insisted he drink something and eat a little. He swallowed several sips of water and ate a few spoonfuls of soup, and went back to sleep. He didn't wake up on his own until the next morning.

   Hutch is the nurturer, you know. He always knows how to make people feel better. Whenever I'm hurt or sick, he's right there to take care of me. He always seems to know just what I need. I'm not real good at that kind of stuff. I'd gotten quite a bit of practice in the last year, though. Hutch was trapped under his car for two days in a canyon in the hills. I finally found him, but he wasn't in good shape. Internal injuries, a concussion and a crushed leg kept him out of circulation for a couple of months, and I took care of him most of the time. Not that it was hard. Hutch tries real hard not to be a problem when he’s sick, at least most of the time.

   And there was the time he got burned when a bomb in the trunk of his car went off. Third degree burns covered his right hand and made it almost useless. At first his girlfriend, Abby, helped take care of him, but she got hurt herself, then she just walked away from him. So I stayed with him. He's right-handed, so he couldn't do much for himself, and Abby leaving left him reeling. He was a mess, physically and emotionally.

   He’d barely gotten over that trauma when he met a nurse named Diana Harmon. It’s my opinion that Abby walking out and then having his girlfriend, Gillian, murdered hurt a lot more than Hutch even let me see, and because of it he was a prime target for Diana. Turns out she was a psycho, and she attacked him in his apartment when he didn’t fall into her arms like she wanted. She cut him up bad; I got to her before she could kill him, but he almost bled to death before the paramedics got him to the hospital. He had trouble using that arm for quite a while. The first few days, everytime he moved it, the arm started bleeding again. Anyway, he had to be real careful until the arm started healing good, and I stayed with him to make sure he didn't hurt himself again.

   But those were all injuries. I took first aid, and I’ve been injured enough to know how to take care of someone who’s injured. After all, I have the best nurse in the world for a partner. I knew what he did when he took care of me, and I just sorta followed his example, if you know what I mean.

   But, I never had to take care of anyone who had been as sick as Hutch was. I hope I never have to again. The high fever had really done a number on him. He'd lost so much weight, his pajamas just hung on him. He couldn't see real well, and even the smallest exertion could cause his lungs to spasm. Coughing was agony, but he had to cough to clear up the congestion in his lungs. And I was so scared he’d have a relapse. Every time he moaned I was ready to take him back to the hospital.

   Slowly, but surely things started improvin’. Hutch was able to get up and move around the apartment if he took it real easy. Just bein’ able to get up and take care of his jungle seemed to help his spirits. ‘Course, all he did was go from plant to plant, talkin’ to ‘em and tellin’ ‘em how good they were lookin’ and givin’ me orders on how much water and plant food to give ‘em. Then I made him sit on the sofa the rest of the day, and he made a half-hearted complaint. He was smilin’ though, and that made it all worthwhile as far as I was concerned.

   Pretty soon he was able to take short walks around the block, if we took it easy. His vision was clearin’ up and he was getting stronger every day. He was so glad to be able to be outside, but he was still having some breathin’ problems so we never hurried or tried to go beyond our regular route. Judith warned us that he might have some problems down the road, but Hutch told me not to worry unnecessarily. Mr. Champion Worrywart actually told me that. But I wasn’t really surprised. Hutch worries about everything but himself.

   Our Thanksgiving Day was quiet. Edith Dobey sent us some turkey and dressing, and Huggy provided cranberry sauce and some other fixin’s from the dinner he always throws for the homeless people in the neighborhood around the Pits. We didn’t have any visitors. Judith Hoffman said he should be around crowds for awhile. She didn’t want him to catch somethin’ and get sick again. Neither did I, and Hutch just rolled his eyes and muttered something about "mother" under his breath when I told him.

   I called my Ma and wished her a happy Thanksgiving. She was a little unhappy because I wasn’t in New York City with the rest of the family, but she understood that I needed to be with Hutch.

   Hutch’s parents called to check on him and to tell him what they were most thankful for. He was really touched, and he promised to try to come home as soon as the doctors would let him. He told them they were welcome to come to Bay City, but his Dad had a big business deal in the works. I talked to them for a minute, and they thanked me for taking care of their son and told me to come with him the next time he visited. I assured them it was no trouble taking care of the blintz (only I said "Ken" instead of "blintz") and that I would try to come with him if we could arrange it.

   Mrs. Hutchinson asked me to let her talk to Hutch again. Whatever she said made him blush, and he got a little choked up. He finally hung up after saying, "Me, too, Mom." Even a quiet day like than wore him out, and he went to sleep on the sofa while we were watching Meet Me in Saint Louis.

   He was able to get himself ready for bed by then, but I always checked on him before I turned in. That night, he was still awake when I looked in on him.

   "You okay, Blintz? You’re supposed to be asleep."

   He looked at me and shrugged. "Just thinking."

   I sat on his bed and asked, "About what?"

   He looked at his hands. "About Thanksgiving, and the things I’m thankful for." He looked up and smiled. "About you."

   "Is this gonna be a soapy scene?" I asked suspiciously.

   He took my hand and his smiled widened. "Only if you want it to be."

   I stood up and shook my head. "Nope. Not at all." But I combed my fingers through his hair and whispered, "Good night, Blondie."

   "’Night Partner," he murmured, curling on his side with a tired sigh. And I heard him whisper, "Thanks, Starsk."

   A couple of days after Thanksgiving, I asked Edith Dobey to come over and stay with Hutch for a while. I told her I had a couple of errands to run. Of course she was glad to come, but Hutch didn’t like it. He said he was okay to stay by himself. We started to argue, but he gave in when he started coughin’ and couldn’t catch his breath. I didn’t even say "told ya so," but he knew I was thinkin’ it.

   Captain Dobey had called the night before. Luckily Hutch was already asleep, so he didn’t hear the conversation. He’d been telling me for a couple of days to get out and do somethin’ instead of babysittin’ him all the time, so I guess he just figured that’s what I was doin’ and didn’t ask me any questions. Lucky for me.

   When Edith got there, she had her little girl, Rosie, with her and seeing her made Hutch forget he was mad at me for bein’ overprotective. He loves kids, and he and Rosie are good friends. When I left they were playing cards and Rosie was takin’ great pleasure in tellin’ him he had to "Go Fish".

   The hospital was quiet, it being’ the holiday weekend. All of the plague patients were gone. The Yeager kid was doin’ real good. His mom and I kept in touch, comparin’ notes on how our patients were doin’, and they were both getting’ well. Richie was doin’ even better than Hutch, but he was a kid, and they usually bounce back really fast. But the patient I was visitin’ was still there, in the prison ward.

   Dobey met me at the door to the ward, and signaled the guard to let us in. "We’re moving him tonight," Dobey told me. He’d already told me that, but I just nodded. "Keep it short, he’s still a little weak, and he has a lot of traveling to do. We’re trying to keep this quiet, we don’t want the press to get wind of it. We’ve been able to keep it under wraps so far; I don’t want it to go wrong now."

   "Sure, Cap."

   Dobey turned to leave, but I stopped him. "Thanks for this, Cap. I really need to do this, ya know?"

   He smiled. "I know." He stood there for a minute, then whispered, "Thank him for me too, will you, Dave?"

   I nodded. I remembered what happened in his office, when I was tryin’ to talk him into puttin’ more men on the street to look for Callendar, and how he’d said, "I love Hutch as much as you do." Now, I’m sure that ain’t true, I don’t think anybody could love that big blond klutz as much as I do, not even his own family. But Dobey does love Hutch; I know that and so does Hutch. Cap loves me, too. I don’t know why. It seems to me we cause him a lot of trouble at times. But he’s always there for us, and he’s put his job on the line for us more times than I care to count. So I just grinned and patted his arm. "Piece ‘o cake, Cap." Dobey motioned to the guard, who opened the door of one of the patient rooms.

   The room was dimly lit, but I could see the man standing at the window, looking out between the half-drawn blinds. Thomas Callendar didn’t turn, but he knew I was there, ‘cause he said, "Don’t turn on the lights."

   "Okay."

   We just kind of stood there, me by the door and him starin’ out the window. Everything I wanted to say had flown out of my head, and I guess he wasn’t in a talkative mood, so we stayed like that for awhile.

   Finally he turned. "Detective Starsky, what can I do for you?"

   I shook my head. "Nothin’. Captain Dobey says he’s puttin’ you on a plane tonight. I just wanted to come by, and tell you how much I appreciate…"

   He waved his hand. "It isn’t necessary. I didn’t do it for you."

   "Yeah, I know that. But whatever the reason, what you did saved my partner’s life, and I want to…I need to thank you for that. Hutch’s life if important to a lot of people, especially me." My voice broke a little, but I didn’t care. Hutch is important to me, and I’m not ashamed to say so.

   Callendar shook his head. "If you thank anyone it should be Richie Yeager. I only came in because of him. He’s a good kid, and he didn’t deserve to die."

   "Neither did my partner," I told him, softly. "Or any of the other people who caught the plague."

   "Look, Starsky. I don’t want your gratitude. Not for savin’ a cop’s life." He turned back to the window.

   "You’ve got it, whether you want it or not," I told him. "What you want to do with it is your business, I guess."

   "Deal."

   "That’s all I got to say, except that my captain says ‘thanks’, too. I’d better go, I need to get back to Hutch."

   As I turned to leave, he asked, "How’s he doing?"

   "Okay. He’s getting stronger, and the doctors says he can go back to work soon, but he’ll have to take it easy for a while." I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to add, "The doctors say being so sick will probably cause some long term effects, but we’ll just have to see how things go." I guess I just needed to share my fears, and he must have heard the worry in my voice. Anyway, he looked at me and I thought there was some sympathy in his eyes.

   I had my hand on the doorknob when I turned back again. "Oh yeah, there’s one more thing, Callendar."

   He moved slowly to the bed and sat down on the edge, his hand pressed to his wounded side. I had almost forgot that he was wounded when he gave himself up. He was watching me. "What’s that?"

   "If you ever come back to Bay City, I’ll get you. No sympathy, no immunity, no gratitude. I’ll hunt you down like I do any other felon. You got that?" I raised my finger and pointed it just like a certain blond cop. It was a pretty good imitation, if I do say so myself.

   Callendar actually grinned a little. "I’ll remember that, Detective."

   "You’d better," I warned as I opened the door. "Gratitude only goes so far." I swear I could hear him laughin’ all the way to door of the ward.

   On the way out of the hospital, I stopped in the chapel. Callendar wasn’t the only One I had to thank for Hutch’s life.

   Judith Hoffman had been coming by every couple of days to check on Hutch, since he quit havin’ to go to the hospital for respiratory therapy. When she told us she had to head back to Alabama, I could tell that my partner was real disappointed. He liked Judith, but he hadn’t been well enough to do anything about it. And just when he was startin’ to really recover, she decided to go home. Personally I didn’t think it was a coincidence, but I didn’t tell blondie. He had enough to deal with. She did agree to let us take her to the airport on Sunday, but only because I promised that I’d bring my partner straight home and tuck him in after we saw her off. Hutch rolled his eyes, but he didn’t protest. Even he knew he still had some limitations to deal with, and walkin’ around the airport would take a lot out of him.

   The night before Judith left, we invited her over for dinner. She even agreed that Hutch was well enough for us to invite some other people over, too. So, with Hutch’s help, I fixed us a big turkey with the Hutchinson family recipe for stuffing, and all the fixin’s, including the pumpkin pie my mom sent me by way of my aunt Rosie, who had gone to New York for the holiday. She sat with it on her lap on the plane, all the way across the country.

   Sorry, I digress. Hutch says I do that a lot. I don’t know why he says that.

   Oh, sorry. We invited the Dobeys and Huggy and some of the other doctors and nurses who took care of Hutch, and Mrs. Yeager and Richie. It was our Thanksgiving Day, even if it wasn’t the one on the calendar. We had a great time.

   During the meal Dobey told us that Callendar was gone. They put him on a plane out of the country. There hadn’t been any charges on him, and Roper, the guy he tried to hit, sure wasn’t gonna press any. Yeah, Callendar was wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, but Hutch and me had been lookin’ for him because he was carryin’ the plague, not because of his record. The press had tried for days to interview the "Man Who Saved Bay City", but he was in the prison ward at the hospital and they couldn’t get to him. Luckily, a political scandal was currently occupying reporters’ time, and Callendar had faded into the background.

   After dinner, Dobey suggested that we each tell something we were thankful for. He said it had been a tradition in his family for as long as he could remember, and it always made him remember the blessings he had received.

   He started if off, saying he was thankful for his family, those at home and at those at the precinct.

   Edith said she was thankful that Dobey doesn’t work the streets any more.

   Cal said he was thankful that he had just gotten his driver’s license, but he’d be even more thankful if he had a car.

   Rosie said she was thankful that Hutch and me knew how to cook.

   Judith said she was thankful that a serum had been found and it helped so many people survive the plague.

   Huggy was thankful that The Pits was doing good business and his two best customers would be hangin’ around there again real soon.

   Mrs. Yeager said she was grateful that her son and Hutch were getting better.

   Richie said he was glad we’d had pumpkin pie, because that was his favorite.

   Hutch looked around the room at our friends and said, "I’m thankful that I can be here with all of you tonight." His eyes locked with mine for a long minute as we said a silent "Thanks, Partner" and "You’re welcome, Blondie."

   I added, "And I’m thankful it’s almost Christmas." I winked at Huggy and almost laughed out loud when Hutch just put his head in his hands and groaned. Everyone in the room was smilin’, except Judith. She just looked a little bewildered.

   I grinned at my partner, who was muttering something about "euphoric sentimentalism" behind his hands. "Happy Thanksgiving, Blintz."

   So what if it wasn’t really Thanksgiving Day? I still had a lot to be thankful for. Being thankful isn’t just a one-day a year kind of thing. Or at least it isn’t for me. Not ever again. You can count on it.

THE END