B0092XNA2Q EBOK (28 page)

Two months passed. My hand healed up, the tarpon arrived en masse, and my schedule got busy. I fished seven days a week for seven weeks straight. I used to do what I call “work” but we all know better than that. It could be with the wrong clients but I weeded those guys out long ago. I was selective, didn’t have a large overhead, and wasn’t interested in making a million dollars. That allowed me to fish with who I wanted. Made for a better life. On more than one occasion, I’ve idled out of the docks only to return and unload my client thirty minutes later because he was of the idea that his money buys me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind serving people. It comes with the job. I bait hooks, serve sodas, clean up spills, you name it. The difference comes when someone expects it rather than appreciates it for what it is. It’s an attitude. A looking-down-upon. And I didn’t let you step foot in my boat so you could assume an air of indignation around me. If you were better than me, you wouldn’t hire me to take you fishing. It’s not arrogance. It goes back to value.

August rolled around. My client and I were headed back in. The sun going down. My client, a radiologist, looked at my wrist. “What happened?” The plastic had yellowed.

“Treble hook attached to a forty-inch red.” I showed him the scar.

He nodded. “You know, you don’t have to keep wearing that thing. You can take it off.”

I smiled, and nodded.

At nine p.m. that night, I stood next to the nurses’ station looking for the woman that I’d met months ago. To my surprise, she turned the corner. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I… um, I w-was here—”

She nodded. “I remember. Tiger. Airplane. You were looking for Randy.”

I smiled. “That’s r-right.” I set the box I was carrying at my feet. “I was w-wondering if maybe I could get h-hospital approval to h-hang out with the k-kids.” I tapped the box at my feet with my toe. “Maybe p-play a few video games… just whatever they wanted to d-do.”

She raised a single eyebrow. Her lips tightened. “Can you pass a background check?”

I nodded. “Yeah… And I w-wouldn’t b-blame you for doing one. Just don’t ask me about my p-parents or my real name. I’ve never kn-known, either.”

Her head tilted sideways.

“I was orphaned.”

“Oh, you were adopted.”

“Nope. J-just orphaned.”

She nodded. “If you leave me your information, let me make a copy of your ID, I’ll run it by admin and they’ll be in touch.”

Something had been bugging me since I’d walked onto this floor. I waved my hand down the hall. “What’s the story with this place?”

She pointed to a picture of a genteel lady on the wall. “See her?”

“Yes.”

“On August eighteenth, 1972, her daughter gave birth to twins who were a couple months premature. Both girls weighed about a pound. They would fit in the palm of your hand. Neither one’s lungs were developed and the hospital wasn’t prepared for preemies. We only had one incubator so the girls took turns.” She pointed to another picture on the wall. “He worked on them both for eight days. When one of the girls started failing, the other went into cardiac arrest. He was only able to save one.” Her finger waved at the first picture again. “That made her rather angry. Hence, River City Children’s Hospital.”

“Where are these k-kids’ parents?”

She tilted her head. “I thought you knew.” She weighed her head side to side. “They don’t have any.” A shrug. “Least not any that claim them. Most of them come from facilities around the Southeast. Most all of them are past the age of two so their chances of getting adopted are slim. Add in sickness or disease and… well, those chances don’t get any better. Through some private grants, we’re able to care for them. Give them a chance they might not have otherwise.”

I knew there was a reason I liked this place.

“Thanks.” I handed her my ID. She made a copy, handed it back, and said, “Somebody’ll be in touch.” Her voice softened as she glanced at the game room. “They’re always looking for somebody to hang out with. If you come up clear, then I’m sure someone will be calling.”

I handed her the video game console in the box. “H-hold it ’til I get back.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And if you don’t get back?”

I shrugged. “En-enjoy.”

She laughed and accepted the gaming system. “Thanks. We’ve been needing another. They’re pretty rough on these things. Seems like they wear one out about every six months.”

Two weeks passed and I’d almost written it off when my cell phone rang. It was a male voice I did not know. “Peter Wyett?”

“Sp-speaking.”

“This is Ward Stevenson. I’m the administrator at River City Hospital. I was given your name by some folks who coordinate activities with our kids.”

“That’s correct. I was j-just hoping to maybe… come up and sp-spend some time… whenever it was okay with… with you all.”

He paused. “Do you know someone up here?”

“No. Do I n-need to?”

“No. It’s just that your request is the first I’ve received in fifteen years in this hospital.”

I smiled. “Well, if it makes you f-feel any better, it’s the first time I’ve requested it in twenty-five years of l-life.”

“We can’t afford to pay you.”

“N-no bother. Long as the fish keep b-biting, I’ll be all right.”

He laughed. “Your background check came up clear. Says here you run a guide business.”

“That’s… correct.”

“You any good?”

“I’ve been known to c-catch fish when others don’t.”

He laughed again. “If you could get to the hospital any weekday afternoon between four and seven, ask for Judy Stanton. She’s in charge of kids’ activities. She’ll get you an ID, and show you around. Get you started.”

“I’d like that.”

“Peter?”

“Yes, s-sir.”

“In my experience, people who do what you’re asking to do don’t last very long. It can be… rough.”

I paused. “I understand your con-concern.”

“Good luck to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Two days later, I parked in the garage and began climbing the stairs to the kids’ wing.

Judy Stanton was not the nurse I’d originally met. She’d transferred. I was not told why although I can imagine. Judy was late fifties and spunky. Colorful, too. She looked like a walking color wheel. Today was primary-color day.

She met me at the door, hung a temporary ID around my neck, and then led me on a power-walk around the hospital, her shoes squeaking on the clean floors, ending at the kids’ game room. She turned to me. “Well…” She stared at her watch. “Kids don’t arrive ’til after eight but you can come and go as you like. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

The gaming system I’d left had been plugged in and was looking well used. As was the James Bond 007 and BMX disks I’d bought to go with it. Cords snaked out of the front of the TV, ending in two controllers that sat upright on the floor. With the room empty, I walked down to the cafeteria, ate a turkey dinner, and made it back to the room by eight.

When I was a kid, our favorite Christmas movie was
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
but not for the reasons you might suspect. Yes, we loved Rudolph and his red nose but we wore out the tape because of the Island of Misfit Toys. And because they were not forgotten.

Which should be self-explanatory.

At eight thirty, they began shuffling in. And when they did, I thought about that island.

They came in all shapes and sizes. Tall, short, boy, girl, freckles, glasses. By nine p.m., twelve kids were sitting in the room, in various stages of game, puzzle, toy, and book. Several were dropped off by their nurses, who didn’t stay. The kids were quiet, not too rambunctious. Even the Ping-Pong table was muted.

I stood, looking for an entry, but realized that Randy had helped me more than I knew. I scratched my chin and something poked me in the ribcage. I looked down. She was short. Maybe four feet. Coke-bottle glasses. Braces. Light brown hair. And she wore a robe that covered up most of her. The rubber bands on her braces made her speech sound thick and garbled. She poked me again with the book. “Read me a story?”

I looked around. No one seemed to mind. “S-sure.” She turned and began walking toward a large chair, exposing the fact that the braces weren’t just in her mouth. Strips of metal hugged the outside of her legs. The waddle reminded me of a penguin. The only thing missing was Morgan Freeman’s voice telling me how bad things were about to get.

Her legs came out of her hips at twisted angles. The shiny silver braces sought to help with that. They were clumsy, heavy, and noticeable. The Tin Man walked with more grace. She couldn’t climb into the chair so she plopped down on the floor and patted the chair for me. Her legs clanked, and flopped straight on the floor. Raggedy Ann stared up, waiting.

I sat. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Jody.”

That hand cracked a fissure in the universe. I held her hand. “P-Peter.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“It’s n-nice to m-meet… you.”

Her head tilted sideways. “What’s wrong with your mouth?”

“I have a s-stutter.”

“Does it hurt?”

I laughed. “No. It’s j-just that sometimes when I try to s-speak, the thought leaves my brain but gets h-hung up in my mouth. Not sure wh-why.”

She nodded. Scooted closer to me. One side of her lip curled up. “Do you take medicine for it?”

“No.”

“Can they operate?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

She turned her attention to the book. I turned the first page. I couldn’t speak in clear sentences to save my life. Sounded like a broken-mouthed fool, but give me a story, something I could read, something where the words weren’t mine, and… all bets were off. The same was true of Mel Tillis. Only difference was he sang. I read. “One fish. Two fish. Red fish. Blue fish.”

She stared up at me. Listening. Halfway through the book, she poked me in the shoulder. “Hey, your mouth.” She pointed at my face. “It’s fixed. You’re all better.”

“Well, wh-when I r-read stories, it sort of f-fixes itself.”

She nodded. “Then… you should read stories.”

Some things were just so simple. “Okay.”

As I read, more kids appeared. The hospital library was pitiful and sorely lacking, but by our fourth book, there were five kids sitting cross-legged in front of me. Every time I finished, Jody climbed off the floor, walked to the shelf, pulled another, and I read. An hour in, I looked down at the six faces looking back at me. Mall pet shops make me feel the same way.

At eleven o’clock, a nurse walked in, gathered the kids, and mother-henned them off to bed. The kids filtered out. The last to leave, Jody pulled herself up on the couch, muttering
to herself, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” I stood, not sure what to do. I put my hands in my pockets. Took them out. Put them back in.

She smiled, stuck out her hand. “Hold my hand?”

I took it.

She leaned to one side and sort of threw the opposite leg in front of her. Willing it up and onward. She looked up. “Sometimes…” Another step. “I fall down.”