Heart of the Country (19 page)

46

I
THINK
I
really did make my kids sick. A mom can do that. When she’s off kilter, everything else is too. I’d made Nell cry, twice, by being snappy. Now both kids were sitting in front of the TV, wrapped in blankets, sniffling.

“I’ll get their lessons done.”

“I just wish you’d talk to me about it,” Hardy said, bringing the books and notepaper to the table. “Why won’t you tell me what happened over there?”

I couldn’t. I could barely keep myself from crying. I needed to focus on something else. I could cry later, when the family was in bed and I was up at 2 a.m., unable to sleep.

Hardy stopped me as I headed back to the kitchen. “What happened?”

I glanced at the girls. They were enthralled with the TV, which I never let them watch during the day. “I knew this would happen . . . ,” I whispered.

“What? That she couldn’t take him? We can take him.”

“She is taking him. That’s the point. She’s taking him away from me.”

Hardy pulled me into the hallway, out of the girls’ line of sight. “Your dad loves you, Olivia. How can you doubt that?”

“Yeah, he loves me. But he loves her more. And I knew the day she returned, she’d get all the attention. She’d get his heart. I mean, are you kidding me? New York? She’s convinced him to go to New York? I can’t convince Dad to go to Whiteville. He says it’s too big and crowded.”

“He’s going to New York?”

“Some fancy surgeon at some big hospital. She called Luke for help, to get him in. They’re going to drive to New York, hoping Luke can come through.”

Hardy took a deep breath, rubbed my shoulders. “Well, maybe this is what your dad needs. It’s a serious tumor.”

I nodded. “I guess I’m feeling left out,” I said with a sad smile. There was only one person I could be this vulnerable with, and he’d known me since I was eighteen years old.

He pulled me close. Stroked my hair.

“I’m being a big baby about this, aren’t I?”

“Olivia, you care about people. You care deeply for your dad. That is no crime.”

Outside, we both heard the sound of a car driving up. I peeked out the window.

“Ugh! No!” I turned to Hardy. “It’s Faith’s car. I thought they’d be off to New York by now.” I stood on my tippy toes and put my face close to Hardy’s. “Please tell me I don’t look like I’ve been crying. Am I splotchy? I always get splotchy.”

“You look just fine.”

I opened the front door but was surprised to see it was Dad walking up the porch. Faith stayed in the car. I could only see her shoulder.

I waited for him. Kept my hand on the door, don’t know why. Dad looked pensive. I’m sure I looked peeved. I tried not to, but I’m just one of those people who can’t hide their emotions very well.

“Olivia, I want to talk to you.”

I flashed back to when I was fifteen and I’d snuck out of the house.

“Yes?” I tried to hold my ground.

“I know you’re upset. And I’m sorry about that.”

I nodded, mostly surprised because Dad wasn’t one to talk about emotions. Ever.

“You know how I hate big cities. And New York . . . well, I’m not sure I’ll survive the traffic there.”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“But I want you to see the big picture.”

“The big picture.”

“The biggest picture you can see.”

I wasn’t sure I was following.

“Dad,” I said, “what if you have a seizure along the way?”

“Lee gave me some medicine that should help that. And he told Faith what to do if it happens.”

I gestured toward the car. “You’re leaving now? This late?”

“Faith’s driving. She’ll be fine.”

“Dad, I have to say, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I know.” And then he reached out and hugged me. “Liv, you’ve been the best daughter a man could hope for.”

Tears gushed down my cheeks so fast they fell off my face for lack of room.

“There, there,” Dad said. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where this is coming from.” Each word came out breathy.

“I couldn’t have made it without you,” Dad said. That’s all he said. And maybe that’s all I needed to hear. He stepped back. “I have to get on the road.”

I nodded.

“Take care of that sweet family of yours. Hope they get better,” he said with a wink that told me he hadn’t bought my story. Maybe he knew what I had planned. Maybe he was letting Faith sprout her wings and fly.

But to New York?

As Dad walked back to the car, Faith ducked so I could see part of her face. She gave me a quick wave. I gave her a quicker wave back.

And then they left.

I wiped my eyes and prayed that whoever this Dr. Sinclair was, he’d be a miracle worker.

47

D
AD SLEPT FOR
most of the journey, woke up around 7 a.m., and was ready to eat. I knew he’d pick the greasiest truck stop we could find, and sure enough, right off the interstate in Philadelphia, we found Tubby’s and it looked the part.

“I bet they serve chicken-fried steak for breakfast!” Dad said, rubbing his hands together as we got out of the car.

“Glad to see your appetite’s back.” I opened the door for him. “Don’t make me return to New York to find you a heart surgeon.”

“Come on,” Dad growled. “A little gravy never hurt anyone. My grandparents had biscuits and gravy every single day of their lives.”

I didn’t argue, but I was starting to see what Olivia had to put up with.

Inside, the air was so thick with grease that the floor actually felt a little sticky. Despite the fact that three waitresses were wiping down tables, I still didn’t hesitate to pull out antibacterial wipes from my purse.

Dad watched me as I wiped the tabletop. “Not a bad idea,” he said. “The closer we get to New York, the bigger the germs are.”

“Funny,” I said as I rubbed antibacterial gel onto my hands. “So how are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

“Dad.”

“What? Isn’t that a good sign?”

The waitress came, took our drink orders, and then Dad said, “You know, I miss your mom’s cooking. Still to this day, I miss it.” I tried not to look startled, but Dad wasn’t good at this kind of talk. “It was so hard after she was gone. I tried to cook for you girls. That didn’t work out too well, if you remember.”

“I remember a roast with black smoke rising from it.”

“And that was still edible. The other times were even more disastrous.”

“You did fine, Dad.”

“But I miss her cooking. The way she oversalted the vegetables. Undercooked the eggs. The way the icing on her cakes was so . . . there’s not even a word . . .”

“Perfect?”

“That’ll do.”

The waitress returned with drinks, then took our order. Dad had the chicken-fried steak. I had the vegetable omelet.

“I talked to Lee. About the accident.”

Dad sat there, didn’t say anything.

“It was just something I had to do.”

“Fine.”

“I guess I was hoping she said her good-byes to us, said something
 
—anything.”

“Her injuries . . . she wouldn’t have been able to speak.”

“I know. You still miss her as much? I do.”

“Yes. As much as the first day.”

We talked about some of our favorite memories. It was how someone deceased should be remembered. But I couldn’t help but wonder what my memories of Luke would be. He wasn’t deceased. And he wasn’t dead to me. So how was I supposed to remember him?

It was like Dad read my mind. “You heard from Luke? About that doctor?”

“I got a text from him. Said he’s still working on it.” It was the first time I’d heard from him since I left, and that’s all it said:
I’m working on it.
Of course, all I was calling about was my sick dad. Maybe that’s how we’d be: just two people communicating on the most basic level possible.

Once we were back on the road, Dad fell asleep again. It was so obvious now, how tired he was. It broke my heart to see such a strong man falling victim to this illness. I prayed hard, the rest of the way. Prayed for my daddy. Prayed for
things to be okay. Prayed Luke would find this doctor and we’d get in, and I wouldn’t look stupid for driving us all the way out to New York on “a wing and a prayer.”

It’s just that something, other than Lee’s recommendation, told me to go. I couldn’t identify it. But there was an urgency there, and just like before when I left, I was following my heart, praying it wouldn’t lead me astray.

But this time I wasn’t running from something. I was running to something. Hope. Answers. Healing.

“It’s going to be all right, Dad,” I whispered. “Everything is going to be fine.”

I turned on my GPS and listened for directions to the hotel Dad insisted we stay in, a Holiday Inn Express in Midtown, one that I hoped wouldn’t stand a chance against my wipes. But as I turned in, my heart sank. This was going to save us money, but probably not my sanity. I drove into the half-circle drive and kept the car running as I went inside to check us in. Dad stayed asleep, which bothered me because he was a light sleeper in the car.

Inside a tired-looking woman with a sagging chignon and a “Becky” name tag tried her best at a bright smile. “Welcome. How can I help you?”

I gave her my credit card and prayed Luke hadn’t suddenly decided to cancel it. I kept telling myself Luke would come through, Luke would come through. But my heart tugged a different direction, reminding me there was only one who promised never to leave me or forsake me. So as
Becky ran my card, gathered the room keys, printed papers for me to sign, I prayed for help. For everything.

I glanced outside to see if Dad was okay. Becky was in slow motion as she walked four feet to the printer, then back to the desk. With bloodshot eyes she willed into merriment, she explained our room location, that a complimentary breakfast was served, and that elevator two was broken.

Back in the car, Dad grumbled as I shut my door and drove to the rear of the hotel. He woke up as I parked.

“We’re here.”

“That was some kind of nap.” He grinned at me. “I might stay up all night.”

“Good for you.”

“Did they say if they have SportsCenter?”

“I forgot to ask. Come on, let’s get our bags up there.”

Dad insisted on carrying the luggage, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. Soon enough, though, we were in the room. Thankfully there was ESPN. Dad viewed our modest accommodations like we’d landed a five-star. He kicked his shoes off and fell on top of the bed with his hands crossed behind his head. “This is nice!”

“It’s just temporary until we can get a little apartment or something more long term. They have breakfast here, you know, and I’ll pick up some food so you have something in the room if you want. You want something to eat?”

Dad had something in his hand, a brightly colored pamphlet that he’d grabbed off the nightstand. “I want to go to a show.”

I pulled the heavy curtains shut, hoping to block out some of the noise. “Sorry it’s so loud, Dad. But everything is loud in New York.”

“
West Side Story
.”

I turned. Was he serious? I’d been waiting on the punch line.

He held up the pamphlet. “Your momma told me she was going to play Maria on Broadway. It was her favorite. Her dream.”

I smiled. I knew the story. “And she told you this on your first date.”

“That’s right!” He slapped the pamphlet with the back of his fingers. “I want to see if anybody can do it better.”

“
West Side Story
it is.”

“We have to have some fun while we’re here, right? Why come to New York and not see the city? The sights?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Dad . . . you hate big cities.”

He turned up the volume on the TV. “Maybe people change.”

48

W
HEN
J
AKE SAID
we’d celebrate, I knew he hadn’t counted on Dad wanting to come along. We were both surprised when Dad said we’d be going to Malone’s for a long lunch the next day. A big deal because Dad didn’t stop work for lunch unless it was business. It was Dad’s favorite off-the-map place to take guests and people he wanted to impress. It was fun going with him . . . brought us back to when we were little kids. The smell of cigars and expensive liquor. Laughter that roared throughout the boys’ club. It was at the top of a high-rise, and Jake and I would press our hands and faces against the glass, just like we were asked not to, and peer into the city. The streets seemed alive with furious light. The sky looked
closer, heavier. We’d bring marbles or dominos to play. Those seemed better than our electronic toys. Inevitably, one of Dad’s friends would find us at a table and want to join in. We felt like giants. We didn’t realize that’s exactly what Dad was raising us to be.

Through a four-course lunch and three rounds of drinks, yesterday’s events weren’t mentioned at all. I still did not understand what happened and tried to ask Jake about it, but he said we’d talk later. “Enjoy this!” he said, toasting the air. “You’re free, little brother!”

It felt good. Even my cell phone was lighting up from time to time, a friend here and there who dared to talk to me again. But I was only concerned with two calls: Dr. Sinclair and Faith. Faith had texted to tell me she was in town but didn’t bother letting me know where they were staying. Nothing from Dr. Sinclair’s office.

Jake had sensed my concern, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. We toasted, poured, talked about the glory days, and shared dreams for our future. It was nice to see Dad’s face light up with gusto. “These are my boys!” he kept repeating to every new acquaintance he saw at the lounge.

I was back at my apartment by afternoon and drifted to sleep wondering how in the world I was a free man. I didn’t doubt it, but neither did I understand it. I slept fitfully, listening for the door to open and Faith to arrive. I knew it was only wishful thinking she’d come home, but I couldn’t give up hope.

I woke up an hour later and lay in bed watching the ceil
ing, planning. I had to come through for Faith. It might be my only way to win her back.

I showered, put on slacks and a button-up, then headed to Sloan-Kettering. Not so long ago, one phone call, from my secretary no less, would’ve had this taken care of. But those days were over. I had my freedom, but my mistakes cost me dearly. I had my family back, save one. And she was the most important.

Dr. Sinclair’s office was modest considering his reputation. The carpet was stained, the waiting room small, the magazines months old. A TV was mounted in the corner, its picture fuzzy and its screen
not
flat.

Sitting well below the fairly high Plexiglas window was a large woman in bright-blue scrubs. Her hair was slicked back in a tight ponytail with a blue streak in it and her makeup consisted only of bloodred lipstick. Without looking up, she slid the window open and continued typing as she asked, “Your name?”

“I wanted to see about getting my father-in-law in to see Dr. Sinclair.”

“You got an appointment?”

“No. I wanted to come in person and
 
—”

“Your name?” She grabbed a sticky pad and plucked the pencil from behind her ear.

“Luke.” My last name wouldn’t come out.

“Skywalker or what?”

“It’s terribly urgent that I get my father-in-law in.”

She eyeballed me. “Well, I’m Darth Vader, so unless you can unleash the Force or a last name, it ain’t gonna happen.”

“Carraday. Luke Carraday.”

“Carraday . . .” She stood, looked me up and down, put her hands on her hips. “And which brother are you?”

“The one who runs.” I kept my stare squared on hers.

“How’d those handcuffs feel?”

“Makes me appreciate my freedom even more. I was given immunity yesterday.”

“Whoopty do.” She sat back down. “That’s what’s wrong with this country. Money buys you out of your worst sins, doesn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t
 
—”

“’Course you didn’t.” She slid the window shut.

“Wait! Please! If I could just talk to Dr. Sinclair, I could
 
—”

“Explain this is a life-and-death situation?” Her voice was muffled through the glass. “You and hundreds
 
—and I mean
hundreds
 
—of other people.” She turned back to her computer. “Sorry. Money’s not buying you in this time.”

“I’m not asking . . . I just need to . . .” But the phone rang, she snatched it up, and I found myself backing out of the tiny room. I stood in the empty hallway. I’d failed Faith. Again.

My phone vibrated with a text. From Faith.
Any luck?