Families and Other Enemies Page 6

  She walked down the corridor to his hospital room, then, at the sound of weeping, paused outside the open door.

  Inside, she could hear two nurses helping him into his wheelchair. One of them was the one crying; he was patting her hand and murmuring to her softly. “It’s okay,” he was saying. “Hanima, it’s okay.”

  “But you did so much for me.” She choked on every word.

  The other nurse was less emotional, but she watched Hanima with a worried frown.

  “Do you know it was a privilege to be able to help you?” Ralph continued to pat Hanima’s hand.

  “A privilege,” she scoffed. “I was a wreck when you found me, a drug-addicted teenager who—”

  “Who had never done one stupid thing I didn’t do first. You’re here now. You’re an LPN, and you’re working toward your RN. You’re someone I’m proud of. You’re someone you can be proud of.”

  “Because of you.”

  “Because of you. I try to help lots of people. Most of them insist on screwing up more. I sure did. But at the first offer of assistance, you set your foot on a new path and you’ve never deviated.”

  “I don’t want to see you go,” Hanima said.

  Man. In the last few days, Kellen had spoken with and met a lot of Ralph’s rescues, but none of them had been as emotional as Hanima. Because she’d been caring for him?

  “We all go eventually. But if you really want to do something for me, pass it on.” He was still bruised and battered, but more than that, he looked bad, with a yellowish tinge to his skin and sunken eyes.

  Kellen didn’t like the sound of the whole conversation. Something was going on she didn’t understand. She stepped into the room. “Ralph, your ride is here. Are you ready to go home?”

  “Home?” Hanima scoffed. “To his cardboard shack?”

  “Until he fully recovers, the church is going to allow him to sleep in the old bell-ringer’s room. He’ll be safe there,” Kellen assured her. “No one will hurt him.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Hanima snapped.

  “That’s enough,” Ralph told her sternly.

  Kellen looked between the two of them.

  Hanima thanked the other nurse for the help and sent her on her way, and went back to work preparing him for departure. “Ralph, I wish I could be there today when—”

  Kellen cleared her throat ominously. If Hanima spilled the beans about Ralph’s reception, the wrath of Bridget would descend upon them all.

  Hanima blinked and sucked back her words. She took the handles of the wheelchair, and the three of them started for the front door of the small hospital. Ralph was weak; it took the efforts of all three of them to get him into the car.

  While Hanima checked his oxygen tank, Kellen went around and got into the driver’s seat.

  His breathing was harsh and uneven, worse than Kellen could have imagined.

  “Today, Ralph, you...you...you’re going to get what you deserve. I do wish I could be there—” Hanima gave Kellen a defiant glare “—but I have to work.”

  “Work is more important than this old carcass.” He smiled at the still-emotional young woman. “Goodbye, dear. I know you can do whatever you decide, and I have faith you’ll make all the right decisions.”

  Hanima stepped away from the car.

  Kellen pulled away from the hospital. When she looked in the rearview mirror, Hanima was crying again, and still waving. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Kellen said, “May I ask? What was that all about?”

  Ralph relaxed against the seat, eyes closed, limp and tired. “When they took me in for surgery, they found lung cancer. Lesson learned. Don’t smoke, don’t snort stuff up your nose, don’t go into combat with poison gas.”

  Kellen had suspected something like this. The way Hanima had acted... Bridget had raised money, but not enough for cancer treatment. “What do the doctors want to do?”

  “I don’t care. The disease is too far gone. There’s no hope, no cure, so I’m refusing treatment. I’m not suffering through chemo and radiation to prolong my life for a few months.”

  Kellen understood. She really did. “How much time...?”

  “Between the cancer and the punctured lung, things are progressing rapidly. Not long. A few weeks. A month. I’m glad. I’ve already admitted I’m not a brave man, Captain. I don’t want to suffer for long.”

  “Right.” Kellen thought of the celebration prepared for him. That might have been a bad idea; it would wear him out even more than the transport from the hospital. But those people waiting at the food bank, they wanted to thank him, and there was no other time. Still, she thought he should be a little prepared, so she said, “We’ve got a little welcome home party waiting for you.”

  His eyes lit up. “Dorothy, Lena, Sandra and you and...and Bridget?”

  “Definitely the four of us, and a few more.” What an understatement!

  “I can hold up for another half hour.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat.

  In less than an hour, Kellen pulled up in front of the food bank and parked, and one of the people who had come for his celebration was waiting at the curb.

  Ralph recognized him immediately. “My God, it’s Dr. Nouvelle.”

  DR. NOUVELLE:

  MALE, 40S, WEALTHY AMERICAN, TALL, OVERWEIGHT, BLOND, BLUE-EYED. INTENSE, WELL DRESSED, WITH SCARS ACROSS ONE CHEEK AND EAR.

  “What’s he doing here?” Ralph asked her.

  She didn’t even try to answer.

  Dr. Nouvelle opened the passenger side door and leaned in. “Ralph, I hear you need a little medical assistance.”

  Ralph grasped his hand and they shook like long-lost brothers. “Where did you come from?”

  “San Francisco.”

  “To help me out of the car?”

  Dr. Nouvelle grinned. “That’s right.”

  Kellen got the rented wheelchair out of the trunk and brought it around.

  Ralph told her, “I haven’t seen this man in ten years. He’s a top-ranked pediatric neurologist, one of the best in the country.”

  “In the world.” Dr. Nouvelle handled Ralph, his oxygen tank and his incredible weakness with admirable efficiency. “Let’s give you a moment to catch your breath before we go in there.”

  Ralph nodded. “Please.”

  His breathing was harsh enough that Dr. Nouvelle shot a questioning look at Kellen.

  Kellen spread her hands. What Ralph had told her was in confidence, but this medical professional recognized that something was wrong. Soon everyone would know, but for now, she could only hope Ralph would be able to enjoy the celebration of his life.

  Dr. Nouvelle took charge of the wheelchair, pushing Ralph up the ramp and into the food bank.

  They met Sandra first, positioned just inside the door, smiling a smile that trembled. “Ralph, I’m so glad you’re back. We don’t know what to do in a crisis without you.”

  Ralph beamed. “It’s good to hear I’ve been missed.”

  She took his hand. “I want to say... I need to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You gave me my life back.”

  “All I did was say a few words and give you a push in the right direction.” He pressed her fingers between his. “You took your life back.”

  She tried to speak again, but tears welled in her eyes.

  Dr. Nouvelle walked on.

  Dorothy sat on her stool in the door of the prep kitchen. In her cranky old-lady voice, she said, “It’s about time you got back.”

  “I was just lolling around,” Ralph told her.

  “So I thought.” Carefully she climbed off the stool and put one hand on the handle of the wheelchair, over the top of Dr. Nouvelle’s. “The soup makers are busy, and they wanted to see you, too, so we’re headed in there.”

  As they passed Bridget�
�s office, Ralph gestured. “Is Mrs. Soderquist in there? I’d like to say hello.”

  “She’s back this direction,” Dr. Nouvelle said.

  They moved slower now—with her bad hip, Dorothy couldn’t move quickly—and Kellen and Sandra brought up the rear. Ralph didn’t know it, but behind him, people were coming in from every open door, following Ralph as if he were a magnetic field. Dr. Nouvelle pushed him into the soup kitchen to meet Bridget and one other person, a young teenager with Down syndrome.

  Bridget gave the child a little nudge.

  She wasn’t shy. She marched up to Ralph and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  “I don’t.” Confused, he looked around at Dr. Nouvelle, at Sandra and Kellen, at Bridget, then back at the child. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Ellie Pettijohn. My mom is Melissa Pettijohn.”

  “Oh!” Ralph offered his hand with a smile. “I do know who you are.”

  Ellie took his hand. “My mother says you saved my life. After I was born, my father got mad because I have Down syndrome. He ran away and took all our savings. She couldn’t work because I was sick and I cried all the time, and no one would take care of me. We lost our house and we were starving. She wanted to kill us both, drown us in the ocean. So she came to Virtue Falls, and you recognized her because once you had been in despair and wanted to kill yourself, too.”

  “That’s all true.” Ralph nodded encouragingly.

  The child continued. “You gave us all your money and you found us someplace to live, and someone to help us.”

  “That someone was Dr. Nouvelle.” Ralph indicated the man who held the handles of his wheelchair. “Did you know that?”

  “I did know that. He did it because you helped him out of trouble and to become a doctor. He wanted to pass on what you had done.” Ellie smiled at him, an unaffected smile that lit up her face. “I want to thank you for saving my life and helping my mother be happy and healthy.”

  A woman walked out from behind Kellen and took her place in front of Ralph. She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a yellow carnation. In a choked voice, she said, “Thank you, Ralph, for helping me and giving my little girl life—and for showing me how to pass it on.”

  Dr. Nouvelle turned the wheelchair toward the door, toward the crowd of fifty people who now filled the room. They crowded in, more and more of them—teachers, parents, the homeless, a state senator, a college president—all smiling and crying, offering carnations and roses and lilies, and murmuring thank-yous.

  At first, Ralph stared incomprehensively, then as he recognized the faces of the people he had helped, and shook hands and accepted the flowers, tears began to leak from his eyes and trickle down his pallid cheeks.

  Bridget leaned close to his ear. “We’ve raised seventy-five thousand for your medical expenses, and more is coming in every hour.”

  Ralph looked at her in amazement and choked out his gratitude.

  “No, we’re grateful for you,” she replied, “for all the things you do to help people, and for your soup, too!”

  His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something to her, but Sophia came through the line, hugged him and said, “I’m sorry you got hurt helping me, but I’m going to do good like you. Me, and my brothers and sister.” Her siblings—fourteen, thirteen and eight—were lined up behind her, and they nodded as fiercely as their sister.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he said.

  “Of course you do,” she scoffed. “Mister, don’t nobody do something like this for someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I don’t deserve it. Remember what I told you?” Ralph asked. “About me and my...my family?”

  “About your daughter? Yes. And remember what I told you? That you should find her and explain? If she was here, she’d see what you’re really like. She’d forgive you for sure.”

  “It’s never easy like that.” His tears flowed slower and hotter. “Not when it’s so important.”

  With the confidence of youth, she said, “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE RECEPTION WAS OVER. Many tears had been cried, many thanks had been given, donations had been offered and taken, television news had arrived and departed. Now Dr. Nouvelle pushed Ralph in his wheelchair toward the small room at the back of the church altar where he would recover.

  Kellen and Bridget walked beside them.

  Ralph drooped, exhausted by events and emotions.

  “You’ll sleep well tonight!” Bridget said.

  “No,” he blurted. “I can’t sleep until I... I make a confession.”

  “This is the place for it.” Obviously not a religious man, Dr. Nouvelle was lightly sarcastic.

  “I mean—to her.” Ralph indicated Bridget.

  Kellen stopped walking. Oh, God. Oh, no.

  Bridget?

  Bridget asked, “What is it, Ralph?” She sounded kind, as if expecting some platitudes about the reception and how much he appreciated her work. The woman didn’t have a clue.

  Kellen did not want to be here for this.

  Ralph set the brake. The wheelchair skidded to a halt. He turned, looked up at Bridget and, without preamble, said, “You’re my daughter.”

  Dr. Nouvelle muttered a curse and backed up, moving out of range.

  Bridget laughed, still at ease, completely disbelieving. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t be my father.”

  For Kellen, the pieces clicked into place. This made sense. Ralph had traveled the country, homeless and broken, and when he had remade himself at last, he had found his daughter and stayed near her, supporting her efforts to help the hungry.

  And her—no wonder she had taken on the thankless job of finding, organizing and dispensing food for the soup kitchen. She’d been helping the faceless father she had never met.

  Kellen wanted to join Dr. Nouvelle in his flight, but a terrible fascination held her in place.

  “I am your father. I abandoned you and your mother, and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this—” Ralph met Kellen’s gaze, helpless and floundering.

  Because Sophia told you your daughter would be happier knowing the truth.

  “But it’s the truth,” he concluded.

  Bridget’s pleasant smile was fading. “My father’s name isn’t Ralph.”

  “My name is Ragnar Axel Hokanson.” He tried to smile, to make it a joke. “Ralph is easier.”

  “You have to be joking. Why should I believe you?” Bridget’s smile had disappeared, and her fingers flexed like claws. “This is a joke.”

  “If you want it to be—” He took a strengthening breath. “No! No, it’s no joke. I can’t take the easy way out. Not this time. I’m your father. You’re my daughter. I wouldn’t have come here, worked here, stayed here, if not for you.”

  Bridget enunciated carefully, as if her lips were stiff. “You don’t look anything like my father. Like the picture my mother showed me.”

  “Life has been tough. I’ve been in a few fights, on the streets and in prison.”

  “I suppose that would be true...of my father. Of the man who abandoned my mother and me.” Bridget had begun to believe him, for her voice grew guttural, angry, hellish.

  Kellen eased back a step, then stopped herself. She needed to stay, to make sure Bridget didn’t slam Ralph and his wheelchair into the wall.

  “I’d like to tell you why I... Explain. Beg forgiveness.” Ralph’s head trembled as if it weighed too much for him. “If you’ll let me.”

  “This should be good.” She folded her arms. Her eyes glinted and narrowed. “Go ahead. Father.”

  “You were born when I was out of the country.”

  “Serving in the military. Thank you for your service.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

  “Your mom sent me photos. Your first smile. It lit up the
world.” He sighed softly, sank back into his wheelchair and closed his eyes. “You don’t smile much anymore.”

  “No. There’s not much to smile about—” she waved an arm toward the kitchens “—here.”

  He opened his eyes again, focused on her as if no one else existed. “I came back when you were five months old. I was a mess. The VA doctors prescribed pills. I took them. I talked to a shrink. I even meditated.” He laughed a little, and coughed a painful cough.

  Kellen wanted to tell Bridget, Be kind. He’s dying. But no, it was better if Bridget could forgive him without knowing. Better for him. So much better for her. And if she didn’t...well, who could blame her? Because knowing the good he had done didn’t erase the neglect and the damage he had done to her. Worse, he’d been here for how long? A few years? If he’d told her the truth right away, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad now, but he’d never said a word. He’d made a fool of her.

  Ralph continued. “Your mother tried to help me. She took me to meeting groups for veterans, but their stories about lost friends and explosions and...well, they upset me more. Camilla...she was a good woman, and I loved her.”

  “Yeah. Sure you did. And how well you showed it.” Bridget’s words were broken by deep breaths, as if she needed oxygen to stay on her feet.

  For the first time, he straightened in his chair. “She wasn’t perfect. She got impatient. She said between me and you, it was like raising two infants.”

  Bridget clenched her fists; she wouldn’t brook criticism of her mother. “She was probably sleep deprived.”

  “She was!”

  Bridget looked taken aback by his vehemence.

  “I had nightmares. I would scream and wake her up, and you up, and you would scream, too. Everybody told me you were so sweet, so friendly. And you were—to them. But you were afraid of me. I was your father, and that made me mad. I couldn’t sleep, so everything made me mad. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t support my family, and that rubbed me raw.”

  “Mom worked. I never remember when she didn’t work. Two jobs, sometimes. It was never enough. After you left, after you abandoned us, we were poor.” Bridget—even-tempered, kind Bridget—had long hidden a fount of bitterness inside. Now it welled up. “But you...you were out there somewhere, still alive, so we couldn’t even collect your social security.”