Bloodroot (41 page)

“You’re right,” Mom said, “you should keep your promise. If you change your mind, let us know.”

“Thanks, Ma. I love you. See you tomorrow.”

“I love you, too, son.” She hung up.

I set the phone on the coffee table and stubbed out my smoke in the ashtray. I reached down and scratched Maxie’s ears. While I was in the process of moving, old Mrs. Hanson had died in her sleep. She was found when Maxie’s incessant howling drove a pissed-off neighbor to call the cops. It took six officers from Animal Control to subdue him and get him away from her body. A blind dog that old had no chance in the city system. He needed a family to take care of him. I claimed him before they got him in the cage. I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. With someone looking out for him, there was no telling how long that old dog could last.

When Maxie dozed off, I reached for one of the Christmas cards Kelsey had on display. My favorite. It had come addressed to Colonel G. Washington. I’d waited a week to open it, hiding it in my sock drawer under the blank postcard from Vegas. I was afraid of what the Christmas card might say, afraid of what it might offer, but Kelsey’s gentle encouragement that we would face whatever happened together finally gave me the necessary courage to read it.

On the front of the card, against an emerald background, two angels hovered above a Christmas tree, each with one hand on the golden star. The inside was blank, white as snow. Except for one sentence, written in black ink. Its author’s handwriting hadn’t improved since the eighth grade. I knew it well.

Not for Christmas,
it said
, but soon, I hope. God Bless America
.

I closed the card and closed my eyes, warm and comfortable on the couch, drifting toward sleep. He was waiting this time. Waiting for my invitation, for my permission, and for my forgiveness. We both knew it was the least he could do. And we both knew I’d eventually give him everything he asked of me, as I always did. Not for Christmas, but soon. I couldn’t see it any other way, and I didn’t want to, either.

Brothers have to stick together. It’s the only way the world makes any sense.

WHILE THE BLOODROOT CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL
is a fictional place, its creation was partially inspired by the awful history of the Willowbrook State School on Staten Island, an institution for the mentally and physically disabled that was closed not long after the media revealed the terrible abuse and neglect of its residents. As mentioned in the novel, the exposure of Willowbrook inspired a chain reaction that led to momentous change in the care of the disabled throughout the country.

Writing this novel had a profound effect on me. In response, I am lending my support to children’s aid organizations such as the Matheny Center in New Jersey (
www.matheny.org
) and the Roots of Music organization in New Orleans (
www.therootsofmusic.com
). I encourage you to make an effort, no matter how small, on behalf of the children in your neighborhood. A little kindness and respect goes a long way. Danny will be proud of you.

GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO
the Four Families: Lambeth, Loehfelm, McDonald, and Murphy. Love especially to my bighearted brothers: Stephen, John, and Michael McDonald, and Kevin and Kory Loehfelm.

Thank you, Jarret Lofsted, Joe Longo, Jackson Moss, and everyone at
nolafugees.com
, for always speaking the truth. Thank you, Joseph and Amanda Boyden, for consultation, straight talk, and love. Thanks to the owners and staff of the Rue de la Course and CC’s coffeehouses, the Garden District Book Shop, and the Wild Lotus Yoga Studio. Love to Vince Booth and the rest of the Ibervillains rock ’n’ roll band. Deep affection and gratitude to the UNO Creative Writing Workshop, where so many great stories begin, and to the Krewe of Parkview, where so many great stories are told.

Thanks also to Barney and the Krewe of Karpfinger, for efforts above and beyond the call of duty; to my stellar editor, Chris Pepe, for keen-eyed stewardship, inspiring conversation, and infinite patience; to Erin, Ivan, Stephanie, Summer, and everyone else at Putnam and Penguin Group (USA) for their faith and enthusiasm.

Merci beaucoup
to the Tragically Hip, a great band whose powerful, inspiring music helped me write this book.

Thanks also to Syracuse University, for preserving the stunning, heartbreaking photography of Burton Blatt and for their online resources, and to Kevin Walsh and
forgotten-ny.com
.

All of my love to my magnificent wife, AC Lambeth. The true compass of my heart and soul, you always light my way.