Oh, Larry, I hurried over to the hospital as soon as I heard. It’s so good to see you!”
Larry turned his head and squinted at the visitor. Before he could smile, a fit of coughing overtook him.
“You don’t have to say anything, you need to rest. Do you want me to get you some water?”
A string of faint yellow saliva dangled from his lower lip. It wobbled as he shook his head. Closing his eyes, Larry murmured, “It’s nice to see you. I’ve been thinking about you.”
Another fit of coughing shook his thin frame. The Maserati Quattroporte blinked its headlights in concern. The engine revved as it looked around the room for tissue. As the Maserati was about to roll out of the room to ask for help, the Stock Options ran into its rear bumper.
“Larry!” the Stock Options exclaimed, pushing past the car. Larry groaned, rubbed his ribs, and shifted in bed. The Stock Options flung themselves into his lap.
“The Monogrammed Shirts told me what happened! I’m so sorry! Is everything okay?”
Larry held the Stock Options between his thin fingers and nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll have to tell the Beluga Caviar and the Rolex Watches! We heard about the accident from the Gulfstream Jet! Everyone is so worried, they’re all heading over here to see you.”
Larry closed his eyes and winced. It hurt to breathe. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “The Summer House in Bridgehampton. It knows, right?”
“Yes, yes,” the Maserati said. “The Summer House is driving in right now. Probably stuck in traffic trying to get into the city.”
Exhaling, Larry sunk into the pillows on the bed. The Maserati brushed Larry’s hair out of his face. The Stock Options gently squeezed his fingers. He was falling asleep as the Callaway Golf Clubs stepped into the room.
When patients are in the hospital, their stuff won’t visit them. People who love them will.