The crowd parted to allow the ambulance through. It stopped ten feet from the ladders, from the man hanging by his feet and his would-be rescuers. Two medics and a fireman jumped out, removed the ladders, shooed back Frohmeyer and his cohorts, then one of them drove the ambulance carefully under Mr. Krank.
"Luther, what are you doing up there?" Nora yelled as she rushed through the crowd
"What does it look like?" he yelled back, and his head pounded harder.
"Are you okay?"
"Wonderful."
The medics and the fireman crawled up on the hood of the ambulance, quickly lifted Luther a few inches, unraveled the cord and the rope, then eased him down. A few folks applauded, but most seemed indifferent.
The medics checked his vitals, then lowered him to the ground and carried him to the back of the ambulance, where the doors were open. Luther's feet were numb and he couldn't stand. He was shivering, so a medic draped two orange blankets over him. As he sat there in the back of the ambulance, looking toward the street, trying to ignore the gawking mob that was no doubt reveling in his humiliation, Luther could only feel relief. His headfirst slide down the roof had been brief but horrifying. He was lucky to be conscious right now.
Let them stare. Let them gawk. He ached too much to care.
Nora was there to inspect him. She recognized the fireman Kistler and the medic Kendall as the two fine young men who'd stopped by a couple of weeks ago selling fruitcakes for their holiday fund-raiser. She thanked them for rescuing her husband.
"You wanna go to the hospital?" asked Kendall.
"Just a precaution," said Kistler.
"No thanks," Luther said, his teeth chattering. "Nothing's broken." At that moment, though, everything felt broken.
A police car arrived in a rush and parked in the street, of course with its lights still flashing. Treen and Salino jumped out and strutted through the crowd to observe things.
Frohmeyer, Becker, Kerr, Scheel, Brixley, Kropp, Galdy, Bellington-they all eased in around Luther and Nora. Spike was in the middle of them too. As Luther sat there, nursing his wounds, answering banal questions from the boys in uniform, practically all of Hemlock squeezed in for a better view.
When Salino got the gist of the story, he said, rather loudly, "Frosty? I thought you guys weren't doing Christmas this year, Mr. Krank. First you borrow a tree. Now this."
"What's going on, Luther?" Frohmeyer called out. It was a public question. Its answer was for everyone.
Luther looked at Nora, and realized she wasn't about to say a word. The explanations belonged to him.
"Blair's coming home, for Christmas," he blurted, rubbing his left ankle.
"Blair's coming home," Frohmeyer repeated loudly, and the news rippled through the crowd. Regardless of how they felt about Luther at the moment, the neighbors adored Blair. They'd watched her grow up, sent her off to college, and waited for her to come back each summer. She'd babysat for most of the younger kids on Hemlock. As an only child, Blair had treated the other children like family. She was everyone's big sister.
"And she's bringing her fiancé," Luther added, and this too swept through the onlookers.
"Who's Blair?" asked Salino, as if he were a homicide detective digging for clues.
"She's my daughter," Luther explained to the uninformed. "She left about a month ago for Peru, with the Peace Corps, not going to be back for a year, or so we thought. She called around eleven today. She was in Miami, coming home to surprise us for Christmas, and she's bringing a fiancé, some doctor she just met down there." Nora moved closer and was now holding his elbow.
"And she expects to see a Christmas tree?" Frohmeyer said.
"Yes."
"And a Frosty?"
"Of co............