Familiar Stranger (9 page)

"I'm semi-retired," David said.

"Um, I see. But before … what did you do?"

David didn't respond.

Marvin Edwards glanced up. The expression on the man's face was closed, so he tried another topic.

"Are you just visiting, or planning to stay?" he asked, as he reached for a small scalpel.

David didn't answer.

Marvin grunted. So the man wasn't a talker. That was all right with him.

"This might sting a little," he said, as he made the first cut. "Frances, swab that for me, will you?"

The nurse caught the instant flow of blood as he lifted the scalpel from David's flesh.

He made another small cut and then laid down the scalpel and picked up an instrument that looked to David a whole lot like the damned needle-nosed pliers he'd wanted in the first place. With a couple of tugs and one small sideways twist, the hook came out.

"That's got it," Marvin said. "Flood it with disinfectant, Frances, then I'll stitch it up."

David felt cold fluid running down his back, but nothing more. That would come later, when the shot wore off.

In between stitches, the doctor watched David's face, absently noting the military-straight set to his shoulders and an unflinching stare. It reminded him of a drill sergeant he'd known and hated.

"Who are you?" he asked.

David sighed. How the hell did he answer that one? Then he remembered what Cara had done yesterday and took his cue from her.

"David Wilson."

"I knew Cara and her husband for years. I never heard either of them mention you before."

"I don't doubt that," David said.

This wasn't the answer Marvin was looking for.

"Look, I'm not being nosy." Then he sighed. "Well, yes, maybe I am, a bit. Cara's a widow. Sometimes widows can be very vulnerable. I would not like to see—"

David took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet. "Do you know Cara's daughter Bethany?"

"Sure do. I delivered all three of her children."

"I'm Bethany's father."

Marvin Edwards's jaw dropped, but only momentarily.

"I'm sorry. I never heard them mention—"

"They thought I was dead."

"For all these years?"

David shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Suddenly, Marvin Edwards began to see things in a different light. The horrific scars on this man. The secrets. The military bearing of a man who was supposed to be dead. His gaze sharpened.

"I was a medic in Nam," Marvin said softly.

David shifted. "You must have been pretty young."

"Yes, a lot of us went in too young, didn't we?"

David resisted an urge to look around lest they be overheard. And then he realized it no longer mattered. Lots of people were veterans, which is exactly what he'd become. Finally, he nodded.

"So, did you die on your own, or did Uncle Sam help you?"

Again, David was surprised by the man's perceptions.

"It's no longer a factor in my life," David said.

"You planning to stick around?"

David sighed. "I would like nothing better." He refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that there was still a huge obstacle between him and a normal life.

Marvin grinned and held out his hand. "Then, welcome home, soldier."

David knew he was shaking the doctor's hand, but he couldn't feel it. He could tell that the man was still talking, because he could see his lips moving, but he couldn't hear what was being said. All sound had faded except Marvin Edwards's last words. He'd never thought of himself as a man without a country, because he'd given a good portion of his life in helping keep it safe, but it was true. Until this moment, David Wilson had never truly come home from Vietnam. The emotion of it all almost nailed him. His hands were shaking as the doctor continued to talk.

"So," Marvin said, as he took his last stitch. "Do you golf?"

It was the most benign question David had been asked in over forty years, and he didn't know how to answer it. Coping with the innocence of everyday life was more difficult than he would have believed.

"No. Can't say that I do."

"Shame," Marvin said. "I'm always looking for a buddy to play the front nine."

"I thought doctors were supposed to be notorious for their eighteen-hole games," David said.

Marvin shrugged. "Not doctors in towns this size. We're always on call and it seems as if I always get paged before I get to the back nine."

Before David could respond, Cara returned.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

"Ask me," David muttered. "I'm the one to whom he shoved a knife in the back."

Cara blinked, then grinned as Marvin Edwards calmly ignored David's petulance and answered.

"Right as rain," Marvin said. "And he'll be just as pretty as he was before. My stitches are as good as my grannie's quilting stitches were."

David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Quilting stitches? Have mercy.

Marvin Edwards put a small bandage over the stitches and then gave David a thump on the thigh. "Don't forget what I said about that golf."

David nodded. "I remember … I remember everything you said." He hesitated, and then impulsively shook the doctor's hand. "And I thank you."

"For what?" Marvin asked.

The words "welcome home, soldier" were still ringing in his ears, but he couldn't bring himself to admit how much they'd meant. Instead, he just shrugged.

"For everything."

"You'll get my bill," Marvin said, and handed him a prescription for pain pills.

"What's that?" David asked.

"Something for the pain."

"I won't need it," David said.

Marvin Edwards arched an eyebrow, purposefully letting his gaze linger on the big scar on David's chest.

"Oh, right, what was I thinking?"

Cara ignored them both and took the prescription from David before he could protest.

"We'll get it filled at the drive-through pharmacy," she said.

"Better yet, take these instead," Marvin said, and handed Cara some pharmaceutical samples from a drawer.

"Thank you, Dr. Edwards."

"You're welcome," he said, than waved a finger in David's face. "Mind that woman, you hear me, boy?"

David didn't answer, but a smile teased the corners of his mouth as they left the hospital.

"I'm still driving," Cara said.

David didn't argue.

"I like that," Cara said.

"Like what?" David asked, as she started the car.

"That smile on your face. You should wear it more often."

David thought about waking up beside Cara each morning and sleeping beside her each night. Of buying groceries and getting haircuts and playing golf with a friend. Yes, it would be easy to smile about a life like that.

"You think?" he asked, and gave her a wink.

"Yes, I think. Now make yourself comfortable, darling. We're going straight home."

Home.

God. His fingers curled in his lap as Cara accelerated the car.

* * *

Frank stood before the bathroom mirror, adjusting his wig and running his fingers over the mustache he'd affected, testing its position. Everything seemed stable enough. He straightened the collar of his white Gucci shirt, checked one last time to make sure it was tucked neatly into his navy blue slacks, then picked up the sunglasses from the back of the commode and slipped them on before looking up.

Perfect! The man in the mirror was a stranger.

He grinned, and as he did, the movement puckered the burn scars on the side of his face, giving him a slightly demonic expression. If she'd still been alive, his own mother would not have recognized him.

Frank was a master at disguise. It had kept him alive all these years without detection. He had no reason to suppose it would fail him now. The wound on his shoulder was almost well. Only now and then did he feel a real twinge of pain. The fact that he was missing most of the top half of one ear was hidden nicely by the hairstyle of the wig.

Convinced that all was well, he strode out of the bathroom, picked up the suitcase he'd packed last night and then paused at the door, giving the apartment a final look. Satisfied that he'd left nothing of himself behind, he opened the door and walked out. No more roach motel. It was time to move up and on, which meant once again changing his persona.

When he passed through the lobby, he tossed the room key on the desk and kept on walking. The clerk didn't bother to look up, which was just as well, because he wouldn't have recognized the man as the former resident of room 413.

Frank was on the street less than a minute before hailing an empty cab.

"Where to, buddy?" the cab driver asked.

 "LAX, and step on it," he said. "I've got a flight to catch."

* * *

David lay on his side on the bed. At Cara's insistence, he was supposed to be resting, but in truth, he had a lot of thinking to do. Before he'd come, his expectations of seeing Cara had not included a future. All he'd wanted to do was see her—ask her forgiveness—and if possible make a place for himself within his daughter's life. Not as a father, of course. He didn't deserve that much consideration. But he wanted to know her—and he wanted her to know him. That had been the apex of his dream. Making love to Cara within minutes of his arrival would never have occurred to him, not even in his wildest imagination. But it had happened and he had accepted the fact that she'd been making love to the boy he'd been, not the man that he'd become. However, that didn't account for the other times since, or the fact that Cara had openly admitted she wanted him to stay. And he wanted to, desperately so. He wasn't going to lose her again.

Somehow, he had to find a way to stop Frank for good without losing his life in the process. Frustrated with the mess he was in, he rolled over on his back, wincing slightly as the pressure caused a slight pain, then be closed his eyes. In spite of himself, the pain pills were having their way.

He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping when the phone rang. He woke abruptly, waiting for Cara to answer, but she didn't. On the fourth ring, he thought he heard water running from the faucet outside and realized she must not be in the house. He reached for the phone and answered as it rang again.

"Justice residence."

There was a soft gasp on the other end of the line and then a young woman's voice, hesitant and suddenly anxious.

"Who's speaking, please?"

David hesitated briefly, then opted for minimal introduction.

"This is David."

"Um … David, this is Bethany. Is my mother there?" David stood abruptly, his heart pounding against his chest. All he could think was,
My God, I am hearing my daughter's voice.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Bethany asked. David felt like crying. Instead, he took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, making himself focus.

"Sorry. Yes, I'm here, and so is your mother, but I think she's outside. Do you want to wait while I check and see?"

"Yes, please," she said.

David didn't want to break the connection, but was not about to explain his reluctance.

"Okay. You'll hang on?"

"Yes."

He hurried through the house and then ran into Cara as she was coming in the back door.

David held up the phone. "It's Bethany. She wants to talk to you."

Cara's eyes widened. She could tell from the stricken look on David's face that he had been sideswiped by the call.

"You didn't say anything about who you are?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

He shook his head.

Even though she wanted to tell Bethany everything about David's arrival, it wasn't news to be told over a phone.

"Hello? Bethany?"

"Mom, are you all right?"

Cara rolled her eyes at David, who was pushing her toward a chair.

"Yes, I'm fine, sweetheart. How's the vacation going?" Now David was the one rolling his eyes at her as she struggled to make conversation.

Cara made a face at him, and they both smiled.

"So … Mom?"

"Yes?"

Cara heard an exasperated sigh and knew Bethany wasn't anywhere near satisfied with what she'd been told.

"Who is David?"

Cara looked at the man sitting across the kitchen table from her.

"He's a friend."

Bethany snorted. "I've never heard you or Dad mention anyone by the name of David. When did you meet him?"

"Years ago," Cara said. "Enough about me. How's the vacation? Are the kids having fun?"

This time Cara could hear noise in the background and deduced that the rest of Bethany's family was just returning to the hotel room.

"Yes, they're having a ball. Actually, we're all having a wonderful time. We've got to come here again and when we do, you have to come with us. You would love Disney World as well as Epcot Center."

Cara smiled. "I'm glad everything is going well."

Bethany continued, "I didn't really have a reason to call other than to say hello and to tell you we'll be home Sunday. I think our plane lands around two in the afternoon. We should be home before dark. We'll talk more then."

"I can't wait to hear all about the trip," Cara said. "Oh, by the way … when you get home, we need to talk. It's important."

David flinched. Just the thought of facing his daughter and trying to explain why he'd absented himself from her life made him sick to his stomach.

"Mother! It's about the man who answered the phone, isn't it? I knew it! You haven't been out with a man since Dad died. Who is he? Is this serious?" Then she shrieked. "It can't be serious. We've only been gone for eight days. Please tell me you've known him longer than eight days!"

"Much longer than that," Cara said. "Now calm down. We'll talk when you get home."

"How much longer?" Bethany asked. "Weeks? Months?"

"Years, darling. Years and years. Now have a safe trip home and call me when you get in."

"Mother, you're not telling me what I want to hear."

"I love you, Bethany. Take care and give my love to Tom and the girls."

"Mother! Don't you dare hang up until you—" Cara calmly punched the off button and then laid the phone down on the table beside her.