A Stranger's Wish (7 page)

“Come on, Kristie, don’t be silly!”

“Aha!” With that final word, I fell silent, and we drove around Lancaster in brooding silence.

Well, we’ve finally touched.

5

W
hen we arrived at Alexander Bailey’s, my favorite restaurant, Todd and I both behaved as if nothing had happened. With no difficulty whatsoever, we slid the glass barrier back between us as we ate a delicious meal of Caesar salad, steak
au poivre
, and baked Alaska.

Truth to tell, I was appalled about my behavior in the car. I never yelled at people. I considered it undignified and the mark of a thoroughly undisciplined person. I grew up with three people who automatically expressed themselves at full volume, and in reaction I kept my own volume control firmly in the low digits. I might jump to conclusions, the mark of an imaginative, creative person. I might burst into song at the least suggestion, the sign of a culturally literate person. I might like flashy things like yellow cars and beautiful swirls of color, the mark of an
artiste
. But yell in public? No, no, a thousand times no.

My supervisor during my student-teaching days had recommended strongly that I not even consider teaching high school.

“You’re too gentle and soft spoken,” she said. “Too sweet and kind. They’d eat you alive.”

I spent a long time trying to decide if she was really telling me I was wishy-washy and spineless before I decided she just meant I was quiet. Introspective. Deep. At least, I hoped that was what she meant.

All through dinner Todd and I stayed safely on the surface in our conversation. He told me about a case he was working on, a nasty divorce where the parents were using their kids as pawns and both sets of grandparents were also seeking custody.

“All the grandparents agree that the parents are unfit. Their own kids! Of course, that’s all they agree on.”

I told him about my preparations for the coming school year, rhapsodizing at great length about my new bulletin boards. “I found the most wonderful marbleized paper for the background, and there’s lots of room for the kids to display their work.”

He told me about his difficulty finding a car mechanic he was happy with. “This guy thought that just because I wore a suit to work, I wouldn’t recognize incompetence when I saw it.”

I talked about a new art supply store I had discovered. “Brushes of all sizes and of such quality!” I even regaled him with an expurgated version of my afternoon in the emergency ward. “I was so scared I could barely breathe!”

By the time we left the restaurant, I think we were both thoroughly bored. It was not one of our better evenings.

“Can we stop by the hospital so I can check on Mr. Geohagan?” I asked as I snapped my seat belt. I had to do something to redeem the time.

Todd turned to me with the key almost in the ignition. “Now?” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “We’ll miss the movie.”

“Now. There’s just enough time before visiting hours end, and we’ll still make the nine thirty show.”

“But it’s Saturday night.”

I blinked. “People aren’t allowed to get visits on Saturdays?”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a totally uncharacteristic lack of grace. “We’ll stop if you’re going to be that way. But please don’t be long.”

I bit back a retort and glanced at my watch. “Don’t worry. They’ll kick me out soon.”

I stopped at the circular desk in the lobby of the hospital and, smiling as sweetly as I could, asked where Mr. Geohagan’s room was.

The receptionist turned to her computer, pressed a few keys, and said, “He’s not allowed visitors except family. Are you family?”

“Just a very good friend.”
Oh, dear. I’ve raised my level of relationship again.

“I’m sorry. No visitors.”

“Please,” I said, dropping my smile and looking as desperate as I actually felt. “If I can’t talk with him, I need to talk with someone who can tell me how he’s doing. I’m going crazy not knowing, and I’ve come all this way because I can’t get any satisfaction over the phone.”

Just then an announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Visiting hours are now over. Visiting hours are now over.”

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said. “Even if they would tell you anything at the nurses’ station, it’s too late.”

I nodded, turned toward the door, and paused. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that she was already packing up to leave, her head buried in her purse. I spun around and walked as quickly as I could past her and toward the elevators. I kept waiting to hear her yell, “Lady, I told you no!”

But I got around the corner and onto the elevator without a problem. I hit the button for the coronary care floor and held my breath until the door slid tightly shut without a security person appearing to escort me out of the building. When I reached my floor, I followed the signs to the nurses’ station.

A nurse was reading some reports, and I stood and waited until she became aware of me.

“May I help you?” she asked. “Visiting hours are over.”

I nodded. “I know. I’m looking for information on Everett Geohagan.”

“Family?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Friend. I just want to know how he is and if he can have visitors tomorrow.”

She clicked some keys on her computer. “He’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“Yeah, I know that. But what does that mean?”

She smiled sympathetically. “He had a mild coronary. The next few days are critical, and we will watch him carefully to be certain nothing further happens. If nothing does, he’ll be able to leave here soon.”

I felt relieved. A mild coronary. That didn’t sound too bad.

“If he’s still doing well tomorrow, may I see him for a few minutes? I promise not to upset him.”

“I’ll leave a note asking his doctor. Call tomorrow before you come in.” She put the report back. “I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

I found Todd sitting in the car listening to a Phillies game. He was rapping his fingers against the wheel, obviously annoyed at the length of my visit—or was it at the Phillies and their three-point deficit?

“We missed the movie,” he announced with the import of a president announcing, “We lost the war.”

I shrugged. “So we’ll see it next week.”

He just looked at me. Todd was a man who didn’t shift mental gears easily. If you planned to see a movie, by George, that’s what you were supposed to do. “Now what?” he asked.

“How about home?” I said brusquely. I was tired of the responsibility for ruining his life.

We rode the whole way back to the farm in sticky silence. If I put my mind to it, I could be just as stubborn and childish as he could, undoubtedly the mark of a petty person.

As we pulled into the driveway at the farm, our headlights illuminated Ruth and Elam seated in an open buggy, their horse impatiently shaking its head.

Todd pulled up beside them and stopped wheel to wheel with the buggy on my side. I rolled down my window.

“Are you coming or going?” I asked.

“There’s a barn dance tonight at Jake Lapp’s.” Ruth’s voice was bright with anticipation. “Everybody’s going to be there.”

“Including you two, I assume.”

“You’ve got that right,” Elam said.

“Have a good time!” I waved as they pulled onto the road.

“We will,” called Elam, flicking the reins across the horse’s rump.

They disappeared down the road, the soft jingling of the bridle mingling with the muted rattle of bottles.

“Beer,” Todd said critically. “Hear that? He’s got a case of beer in the back of the buggy.”

“I’m still amazed at Amish dating customs,” I said, momentarily forgetting how miffed I was at him. “Unchaperoned dances, drinking, smoking, pairing off in the darkness. Our pastor would have a fit if his young people acted that way, but the Amish elders seem to accept it—or at least put up with it.”

Todd shrugged. “
Rumspringa
. This kind of dating encourages early marriage, and the sooner they marry, the less likely they are to leave the group. A single person might risk being shunned, but a married person has many more golden chains binding him to the church and community.” He snorted. “Sort of like life insurance, only it’s lifestyle insurance.”

“That’s a pretty snarky tone,” I snapped in a pretty snarky voice of my own.

We sat awkwardly as silence enveloped us again. Such tension was so unusual between us that I wasn’t certain how to deal with it. Todd appeared as confused as I was.

Finally I said, “At least they’re in the buggy, not a car. Or on a motorcycle.”

“Meaning?”

“That they’re not being too rebellious.” Still, I imagined that after the experience with Jake, Mary and John worried about these two.

Todd shrugged and the sounds of the night creatures filled the car.

“Well, good night,” I said after a few minutes and climbed out of the car.

“Um,” he said eloquently, climbing out and stalking up the walk after me. He bent to kiss me good night, and I turned my head, offering only my cheek.

“What?” he said in that snarky voice. “I’m supposed to kiss it and make it better?”

That’s when I realized I’d raised my bandaged cheek to him. “Very funny.” I sniffed and let myself into the darkened house without a goodbye of any kind. It was a relief to be alone.

I crossed the main room quietly, taking care not to disturb Mary and John, who were already in bed in their room at the top of the main house stairs. Was Mary like my mother, who never slept until Patty and I got home from wherever we were? Or did acceptance of
rumspringa
allow her to sleep? Or maybe plain old exhaustion from her heavy workload pulled her under. Whatever, the house was silent about me.

When I went through to my stairs in Jake’s addition, I could hear his TV faintly in his front room. Did he have a social life, friends he did things with, or did he spend every Saturday night in front of the tube?

I got ready for bed slowly, weighed down not only by the humid August heat but by my thoughts about life and its complications. I hated it when I started thinking before I fell asleep. It guaranteed a restless night and a relentless morning headache. In a stab at getting a good night’s rest, I imagined myself picking up my thoughts about Mary and her worries and Jake and his sterile life and putting them in the chair by the window to bother Big Bird throughout the night.

But I couldn’t rid my mind of worries about Todd.

Here I was, twenty-seven years old, twenty-eight in November. For two years I’d been dating one man. At my age, that often meant marriage. Mom and Dad certainly hoped so. Todd was, after all, a lawyer.

“Not engaged yet, Kristie? But he’s so nice and handsome.”

“Not yet, Mom. Be patient.”

Unspoken was her thought that Todd would rescue me from the artsy life I was living. In Mom’s mind I was as Bohemian as they came, spending all my time kicking up my heels and accomplishing little. She had no concept of the thought and planning and time that went into a watercolor. She didn’t understand that the actual painting itself was only part of the process.

I climbed into bed and plumped the pillows behind me. I took a pencil and a piece of paper. I titled it TODD: GOOD QUALITIES. It didn’t take me long to make an impressive list.

1. Fine Christian

2. Good lawyer

3. Good salary

4. Active at church

5. Handsome

6. Intelligent

7. Loves me

I stopped and bit the eraser off the pencil. I spit it out and grabbed another piece of paper.

TODD: BAD QUALITIES

1. Thinks my ideas and preferences are dumb

2. And me too

3. Has no sense of humor

I placed the two lists side by side.

Dear Lord, do seven good qualities mitigate the force of three bad ones?

And what would Todd say if I told him about the key?

“What? You took a key from a man you’ve never seen before in your life, making a promise with who knows what implications? Who was this man, Kristie? Can you trust him? Was he setting you up for something? Why’d he give you the key and not his family or a friend? What are you supposed to do with it? What if he dies?”

He would run his hand through his hair the way he always did when he got upset. “Kristie, you should have thought!”

It’s terrible when you can’t even have a mental argument with someone without him pointing out your foolishness.

I snapped off the light and slid down on my pillow. Well, I might not have been thinking when I took the key, but I was thinking now. Too much.