Someone Like Her. Janice Kay Johnson
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to an old friend.
Tom Groendyk and he had shared an old house in the U district through grad school. Tom was an orthopedic surgeon now at Swedish Medical Center, having left the area for his internship and residency but coming home two years ago.
“Hey. I have a favor to ask of you,” Adrian said, after brief greetings. “You heard of a neurosurgeon named Ben Slater?”
“Are you kidding?” Tom laughed. “The guy looks like Santa Claus and grades like Scrooge.”
“Is he any good?”
“Only the best. Hell of a teacher, and hell of a surgeon from what I hear.” His voice sharpened. “Why? Is there something you haven’t told me?”
Adrian and Tom played racquetball once a week, had dinner or met for drinks every couple of weeks. Tom hadn’t married, either, although he was seeing a woman pretty seriously right now.
Adrian wouldn’t have told many other people, but Tom did know some of his history. “I’m over on the peninsula,” he said. “My mother has showed up.”
There was a momentary silence. “Showed up?”
“She’s apparently mentally ill. She’s been homeless. Nobody knew who she was until she got hit by a car. When they searched her stuff, they found an old driver’s license and tracked me down.”
He didn’t mention the photograph of his father, mother and him, or that Mother’s Day card. He still wasn’t ready to face the memories they had conjured up.
“If you’re looking for the best to treat her, Slater’s it,” Tom said, adding, “But the guy’s retired. I guess I could ask around and find out where he is, but I can give you some other names instead.”
“He’s here, believe it or not. Evidently his wife grew up here in Middleton, and they came back when he retired. He must have gotten bored. He’s consulting now.”
Tom let out a low whistle. “You got lucky then.”
“He says there’s nothing he can do for her. Either she comes out of the coma or she doesn’t.”
“So what are you asking me? Whether a different guy would tell you something else?”
Adrian squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I guess that is what I’m asking. Should I get a second opinion?”
“If it were my mother,” his friend said, “I wouldn’t bother.” However blunt the answer, his voice had softened. “Man, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Adrian admitted. “Go on over to the hospital, I guess. See how it goes over the next day or two. Then I suppose I’d better find someplace to move her to. I had Carol cancel my appointments through Tuesday. Fortunately, I didn’t have anything earthshaking in the works.”
“Yeah, listen, if there’s anything I can do…”
“Thanks.” He had to clear his throat. “I’ll call.” He hit End and sat there for a minute, his chest tight. What a bizarre conclusion to his childhood fantasies of finding his mom.
He felt no great eagerness to go sit at her bedside, but finally stood. He looked at his laptop and decided not to take it. Maybe this afternoon, if he went back to the hospital. He locked his room and left without seeing his hostess.
The hospital appeared even smaller and less prepossessing in daylight. He doubted it had sixty beds. It probably existed primarily as an emergency facility, given the recreational opportunities nearby in the Olympic National Park and on the water. Mountain climbers, hikers and boaters had plenty of accidents, and Highway 101, crowded with tourists, undoubtedly produced its share. Once stabilized, patients could be moved to a larger facility in Port Angeles or Bremerton if not across the sound to Seattle.
He knew his way today, and didn’t pause at the information desk. This time a nurse intercepted him upstairs and said firmly, “May I help you?”
“I’m Elizabeth Rutledge’s son.”
“Oh! The hat lady.” She flushed. “That is…”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Dr. Slater stopped in briefly this morning. He said to tell you he’d be back this afternoon.”
He nodded. “I thought I’d just sit with her for a while.”
“We’re so glad you’re here. We’re all very fond of her, you know.”
Adrian studied the woman, graying and sturdy. “You knew her, too?”
“Not well, but my sister owns the Hair Do. Cindy washed and styled her hair regularly. Gave her perms every few months, too.”
“Why?” Adrian asked bluntly.
She blinked. “Why?”
“Your sister is a businesswoman. Why would she give away her services to a homeless woman?”
She raised her eyebrows, her friendliness evaporating. “Lucy didn’t say what you do for a living.”
“I’m an attorney.”
“Don’t you do pro bono work?”
Everyone in the firm was required to handle the occasional pro bono case on a rotating schedule. “Yes,” he admitted.
“What’s the difference? Cindy likes your mom. Whenever I walked in, they’d be laughing like they were having the best time ever.”
That was the payback? Laughter? And what the hell did a woman who couldn’t remember who she was and who lived on the streets have to laugh about?
He went on to his mother’s room, feeling the nurse’s stare following him.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to hear Lucy’s voice when he walked in the open door.
She wasn’t reading this morning, just talking.
“Yesterday, I saw some early daffodils opening. I know you’d have been as excited as I was. Well, they might have been narcissus or some species daffodil. Is there such a thing? These had orange centers and were small. But they were beautiful and bright.” She paused, as if listening to an answer. When she went on, Lucy sounded regretful. “I wish I had time to garden. Every time I lug out the mower and tackle the lawn, I think about where I’d put flower beds. You know how much I’d like to grow old roses. I love to get out my books and think, too bad the China roses couldn’t stand the cold here, but I’ll definitely grow some of the really old ones. Rosamunde and Cardinal de Richelieu and Autumn Damask. Oh, and Celestial. And a moss rose. Have you ever seen one, with the fuzz all over the bud? I think they look fascinating. Even the names of the roses are beautiful. Fantin-Latour.” She made every syllable sensuous. “Comte Chambord. Ispahan. ” She laughed. “Of course, I’m undoubtedly butchering them, since I don’t speak French.”
So she was sentimental. Why wasn’t he surprised?
Adrian continued in, brushing the curtain as he rounded it. “Good morning.”
She looked up, startled. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
Irrelevantly, he noticed what beautiful skin she had, almost translucent. Tiny freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to her cheekbones. They hadn’t been noticeable until now, with sunlight falling across her.
“I heard you talking about gardening.”
Her cheeks pinkened, but Lucy only nodded. “Your mother told me spring was her favorite season. She loved to walk around town and look at everyone’s gardens. Sometimes we dreamed together.”
What a way to put it. Had he ever in his life dreamed together with anyone?
He knew