Cheated By Death (15 page)

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I have my life and my job and my friends.
But sometimes it does feel like I’m missing out on a whole big part
of life.”

“You have me.”

Her smile warmed me. “You’re the best part.”
She brushed a kiss against my cheek, snuggled closer. “It’s a
pretty good life, too.”

“Yeah, this year’s been good.”

“Except for the whack on the head that almost
killed you,” she reminded me.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. That wasn’t much
fun.”

She stood, and held out a hand to me. “Come
on. Let’s eat. Afterwards we can do something else.”

“What did you have in mind?”

She glanced in the direction of the bedroom.
“As you noticed, we are quite alone.”

“That’s right.” I rose, leaned closer,
pressed my lips against hers then gently covered her mouth. “Are
you really all that hungry?” I whispered.

Her smile was seductive. “No.”

“Neither am I.”

As Maggie pulled me to the bedroom, I noticed
the photos on the wall. Maggie and her two sisters, their two
parents, her nieces and nephews. She missed a life she didn’t have.
So did I.

So did I.

10

Richard’s house was dark when I pulled up the
driveway after leaving Maggie sound asleep. I wondered if he’d
call-forwarded their phone. My answering machine wasn’t blinking,
so I hit the sack. The phone never rang to wake me, either.
Richard, on the other hand, would’ve made a fine alarm clock. He
called before he left for the clinic the next morning to remind me
the security people were coming out that morning. He’d had no prank
calls the night before and was grateful for a night of undisturbed
slumber.

I sat down at my kitchen table to call the
phone company. Passing myself off as Richard, I learned all the
phone calls had been made from public pay phones. I took down the
addresses to check out later, then arranged for a new phone number
to take effect the next day, changing the designation to
unlisted.

I hung up and scrounged a map to pinpoint the
pay phones, which were scattered in a circular pattern downtown.
I’d take a drive and check it out later, but I suspected they’d
either be inside or near bars. Our prankster probably had a drink,
made a call, and moved to another location. I’d have to ask Brenda
if Willie was a heavy drinker.

The first batch of security guys arrived
precisely at nine a.m. Ken Tyler, the sales rep, and I discussed
motion detectors, lasers, adding more lights around the house and
placing an electric gate at the bottom of the drive.

The second team wasn’t as impressive, so I
went with the first company, although they couldn’t do the
installation until Friday. Tyler also offered me a discount for one
of their private security guards. I told him I’d think about
it.

With a couple of hours to kill, I decided to
check out Reverend Linden’s church. I had no time for a stake-out,
but drove around the lot and wrote down all the license plate
numbers of cars parked there. An uneasy feeling settled in my gut
when I noticed a pick-up truck with an empty gun rack in the back
window.

The mail hadn’t arrived by the time I got
home, which meant I was looking out my window every five minutes
for almost an hour. When I saw the carrier walk away, I headed for
the mailbox, grabbed the mail and opened Richard’s door—letting the
dog out as I went in.

I sorted through the stack of letters and my
heart sank when I saw that familiar envelope. Richard had left me a
pair of latex gloves. Normally I don’t open other people’s mail.
But then, normally Brenda didn’t receive prank—possibly
threatening—letters. I sat at their kitchen table, carefully slit
the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper. It read: WILL.
Putting both letters together read: YOU WILL

You will what? Win a Rolls Royce? Not likely.
I had a hunch I knew what the next envelope would contain. I didn’t
want to think about it.

I called the Williamsville Women’s Health
Center and told Tim Davies about the second letter, then placed it
and the envelope in a folder on Richard’s desk. Grabbing my coat, I
headed out the door. I had to work that evening, so decided to make
my duty visit to my father at the hospital beforehand. Since the
clinic was nearby, it made sense to stop in and see Richard
first.

The waiting room was stuffed with coughing
children, wheezing oldsters, and every make and model in between.
The receptionist told me Richard was with a patient. I stood near
the door and breathed shallowly for nearly fifteen minutes before
he could see me.

I almost didn’t recognize my own brother.
Dressed in a white lab coat, with a stethoscope slung around his
neck, he looked different from the every-day Richard I was used to.
His eyes were weary. I hated to dump more bad news on him.

“We got another letter,” I said.

“Damn.” He snagged my arm, and pulled me into
the doctor’s lounge—a misnomer for the cramped room containing a
coffeemaker, a cot and a couple of tables and chairs.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

“It was the same type of envelope, the same
paper and font. A decent lab might get a DNA signature from saliva
from the seal, but until we have a suspect—”

“I’ve got one: Willie!”

“Okay, he’s a credible suspect. But we
haven’t got anything concrete we can pin on him.”

“How would we find it?”

“If I had his Social Security number, I could
make some inquiries. Your best bet is to hire a private detective
in Philadelphia.”

“Do you know anyone?”

“A year ago I could’ve given you a couple of
names. Since the mugging, my memory’s shot. Your attorney can
probably arrange something.”

“I’ll call him. Should we tell the
police?”

“There’s still no real threat. This whole
thing could be an elaborate prank.”

“But you don’t think so.”

I shrugged and avoided his gaze. My gut
instinct said no, but I had no impressions to rely on, either. “Are
you going to tell Brenda?”

“Not unless she asks.”

I nodded, and felt bad for him. Next, I told
him about my conversation with the phone company and gave him a
quick rundown on the security system. He agreed with my decision to
schedule implementation, said he’d think about hiring a guard. He
kept looking at the clock.

“I won’t keep you,” I said.

“Are you going to visit your father?”

“That’s where I’m headed now. Have you seen
him today?”

“Yes.” His solemn expression made the knot in
my stomach tighten. “Your father did his legal homework. He
requested—and I agreed to post—a do not resuscitate order. The
paperwork’s already on file at the hospital.”

Stunned, I stood there, blinking at him.
“What did Patty say?”

“She understands the situation. She’s been to
hospice counseling. She wants to make this easy on your
father.”

“Then I guess it makes sense,” I heard myself
saying, although I wasn’t sure I liked the idea. Richard kept
looking at me, like he expected an argument. As a newcomer to the
extended Resnick family, I had no right to voice an opinion either
way.

We stood there, not saying anything. I could
tell he had something else on his mind, but he wasn’t willing to
talk about it. At least, not yet.

“I’d better go,” I said.

“Thanks for everything, kid. I’ll talk to you
later.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and started for the
door.

I followed, and watched as Richard headed
down the hall to the treatment rooms. Hands thrust into his coat
pockets, his stooped shoulders and hanging head made him look older
than his forty-eight years.

At that moment, I felt older.

People sat
clustered in knots in the
hospital’s lobby. I sailed through without checking in. When my
mother was dying, they wouldn’t let more than two people visit at a
time. Did those rules still apply? If anyone was already with my
father, I figured he would still want to see me no matter what the
rules said.

I found his private room—Richard’s
doing?—with no trouble, and paused at the open doorway. Patty
leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Ruby occupied the
room’s only chair, her coat slung over one arm, her pocketbook
securely seated on her lap. The bed was cranked to a full, upright
sitting position, and the TV was on.

I knocked on the doorjamb. “Hello.”

Chet fumbled with the TV control, and pressed
the off button. “Jeffrey!” The timbre of his voice conveyed his
pleasure, reinforcing my sense of guilt.

Patty gave me a funny look—a cross between
irritation and relief. I couldn’t guess what she was thinking.
Ruby’s smile was welcoming, sympathetic.

“Hey, Dad. How’re you feeling?” I said,
feeling self-conscious, keeping my distance.

“Good. Good,” Chet said, an obvious lie. He
looked worse than he had the day before. His lips were a blue line,
the ever-present nasal cannula hung from his nose, encircling his
head like a fallen halo. But a spark of life still lit his brown
eyes.

Ruby gathered her purse and coat. “Let’s get
some coffee, Patty, and give these men time to talk.”

“Sure,” Patty said, her tone wary. “We’ll be
back in a while, Dad.”

Ruby bustled her out of the room.

I took the chair my aunt had just vacated,
and stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets. Left alone, my father
and I looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment.

“I’m glad you came, Jeffrey.”

I gave him a wan smile. Duty alone had
prompted the visit. Why? Why did I owe anything to this person?

Maybe it was time to find out.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked again. Talk
about a dumb question.

“Awful,” he answered truthfully this time.
“Will you come to my funeral?”

I blinked. “That’s a terrible question.”

“Why? We both know I’m dying. Maybe today.
Maybe next week.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I had a good life. Maybe it could’ve been
better. Maybe I shoulda done things different.”

The sentence hung between us.

His mouth drooped, his eyes growing watery.
“Patty says you don’t like her.”

“She thought I’d be a different person.”

“I tried to tell her. You’re more like me—you
keep to yourself. She’s like Joan—outgoing.”

“Joan was a lot different than my mother,
wasn’t she?”

My father looked away, took a breath and
coughed. He moved his legs restlessly under the covers and gazed
out the window.

“What happened with you and my mother? Why
did you leave?”

“That was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter
any more.”

“It does to me.”

“I’m an old man. I put that stuff out of my
head years ago. I made a new life with Joan. That’s the only life I
remember.”

My fists clenched in my jacket pockets. After
all these years, what the hell did he have to hide?

“I saw you early last summer,” Chet said.

I looked up, had to work at keeping my voice
steady. “Where?”

“Your brother’s house. Elena drove me. You
were planting begonias in the yard. Do you like to garden?”

“Yeah.” It was a new hobby. It had been
Brenda’s idea to transform the yard, but I found solace in the
task. “How long were you there?”

“Maybe ten minutes.”

“Why didn’t you come over, introduce
yourself?”

He waved a hand. “What for? You’d have just
been mad—like you are now.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Okay that was a lie.
“I’m disappointed. It’s too late now.”

“Too late for what? You didn’t have to know
me for me to love you, boy.”

“Why are you telling me this? You’re making
it so hard.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard. I’ve been sick a
long time. I’m ready to die. You don’t have to feel bad.”

“But I do. We could’ve been friends.”

“That wasn’t necessary.”

Maybe not for you, I wanted to shout, but
what was the use? Nothing I could say would change him. If I was
going to get answers, they wouldn’t come from him.

Our brief conversation had drained the old
man. He leaned back against the pillows, his breathing a hoarse
whistle. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat, staring at my shoes,
wishing Patty and Ruby would return so I could leave.

I hated the place, its smell, the lingering
aura of suffering. Memories of the week I’d spent in the hospital
in New York City after the mugging were still too fresh. My life
had changed since then. Some things were worse—the frequent
headaches and the damned annoying insight I sometimes got. Some
things were better. I had a family—Richard and Brenda—and a woman
who loved me.

Family.

What if this was the last time I saw my
father? What if I never got answers to all my questions? Maybe what
I really needed was to make peace with that.

I turned my gaze to the old man sleeping in
the bed and wished to God Richard had never told me about him. I
could’ve been blissfully ignorant when it came time for him to die.
Yet I couldn’t work up anger toward my brother. Richard longed for
family and he wasn’t going to get his wish. Was keeping that truth
to myself a blessing or a curse? Eventually I’d have to face that,
too.

The guilt just piled higher and higher.

The featureless walls seemed to be
converging. I got up, stared out the window at the ugly gray sky.
Bleak—just how I felt.

Voices at the door caused me to turn. Ruby’s
and Patty’s conversation stopped abruptly when they saw Chet
asleep.

I met them in the hall. “I have to go to
work,” I whispered. “Tell Dad I’ll . . . see him tomorrow.”

Ruby’s eyes filled with tears. “God willing.”
She drew me into a hug. There was nothing of her. A gust of wind
could have blown her away.

I pulled back, then nodded at Patty. “See you
later.”

“We should talk,” she said. “There’s things
that need to be decided.”