My Name Is River Blue (39 page)

"River,
it's good to see you," said Mrs. Bell. "I'm so sorry about the
accident. It just broke my heart when I heard. Are you getting along
okay?"

"Yes, ma'am.
I'm hanging in there. Thanks for asking. Mrs. Bell, would you mind printing my
balance on the receipt? I haven't really looked at my statements or balanced my
checkbook in months. Oh, another thing. Could you update my address in your
computer? I wrote it underneath the old one on my deposit slip." I wondered
what she thought about my new address at Deer Lake Farm.

"I'll take
care of everything." As Mrs. Bell typed on her keyboard, I noticed a
sudden change in her expression. My stomach sank, and I hoped that my account
had not been overdrawn for months. I couldn't afford to owe more return check
fees than my little check would cover. I could transfer money from my small
savings account into my checking to pay the fees, but I hated to use the money
I struggled so hard to save.

"Is
something wrong?" I asked.

Mrs. Bell typed
on her keyboard again before answering me. "Well, no. Not at all. I thought
I might have entered the wrong account number, but I double-checked. Here's
your cash and your receipt, River."

I breathed
easier as I watched her count out my cash. I took the money and my receipt,
thanked her, and placed the bills in my wallet. On the way out the door, I
glanced at the receipt and abruptly stopped. I studied it carefully. I thought
how nice it would be if it were only accurate. I turned around to speak to Mrs.
Bell, who was still free of customers.

"Mrs. Bell?
This can't be right. It says that I had $25, 158.03 before today's deposit. That's
at least $25,000.00 too much."

"Well, River,
I have to admit that I wondered, but I assumed that it might be an insurance
payment or money the boosters collected for you after your accident. I'm going
to let you speak to Mrs. Carson. She can help us figure out where the mistake
is."

"Thanks,
Mrs. Bell." How I wished that I really had that much money, but it would
have been stupid to spend any of it. I knew that the bank would eventually
catch the error and want their money back.

I watched Mrs.
Bell call Mrs. Carson from her office. I played football with Gary Carson, her
son, and I knew her pretty well from the times that Gary invited Ant and me to
swim at their home. She was always nice to us, especially to Ant, but sometimes
we thought that she tried too hard to show that she wasn't prejudiced against
any of her son's non-white teammates. Rather than treating us exactly as she
would the white boys, she treated us better. On one occasion, it was so obvious
that Gary apologized to us, but Ant and I both laughed it off and told him that
his mom meant well, and I really believe she did. She was a kind woman.

"River,
it's so good to see you, honey. How have you been doing?" Mrs. Carson was
as friendly as ever. Just as I would expect the bank manager to be. The only
difference was that she probably didn't hug most of her customers as she did
me.

"I'm fine,
ma'am. Good to see you too."

"What can I
help you with?" Mrs. Carson looked to Mrs. Bell and then to me. Mrs. Bell
explained the problem, and Mrs. Carson directed me into her office where I took
a seat in front of her desk.

"Okay, River,
let's see if I can figure out what happened. I'm not surprised that you would
do the right thing. I have always said what a good boy you are. Oops, excuse
me, I mean a
good man
. Gary corrects me now that he's eighteen and a
high school graduate."

I chuckled
politely at Mrs. Carson's joke and watched as she typed on her keyboard,
studied her monitor, and then changed to another screen. She repeated the
process until I wondered how many different ways she had of looking at the same
thing. I must have sat there for at least fifteen minutes while she continued
to enter key strokes and study her monitor. It was long enough for my back to
begin screaming, as it usually did, when I sat too long. Finally, she turned to
me.

"Well, River,
I have verified it every way that I can, and I can tell you that your balance
is correct. Someone
made a deposit of
$25,000 in your account on Wednesday, January 7, and the person used one of your
deposit slips. Unfortunately, we went live on a new system that week and lost
partial information for the three days of Monday through Wednesday. We lost no
information that would affect anyone's account balance, but we did lose some details,
most of which we never use unless it's for a situation like this. For example, I
can't even be sure which branch took the deposit. However, the important part
is that the money is yours, River."

I couldn't speak
for a moment and when I did, I could only register more doubt. "Mrs.
Carson, it's not possible. You know my situation. Can you logically think of
anyone who would deposit that money into my account?"

"Maybe
Papa? Is it possible that he or the boosters did something nice for you?"

I thought about
it and while it was possible, it was farfetched. "The boosters would never
give that kind of money to a former player. Papa and I are very close, but he
knows that I wouldn't accept that much money."

"Maybe
that's why he did it anonymously," offered Mrs. Carson. "He might
have made the deposit in a neighboring town where people in the bank wouldn't
recognize him. He could have even used cash, so it couldn't be traced to
him."

"Wait a
minute. How would someone get one of my deposit slips? It would have to be
someone really close to me unless there were two people involved."

"Isn't that
more reason to believe it was Papa?"

"I guess
so, but I can't imagine him thinking I would accept it." I paused and then
I had to ask one more time. "Mrs. Carson, I don't want to get on your
nerves, but are you absolutely sure that the money is mine? I mean that no one
is coming after me later on if I spend any of it?"

Mrs. Carson placed
her hand on mine. "River, honey, I'm sure. The money is yours to do with as
you see fit. If there had been an error, we would have caught it long before
now. I think with all that you have been through that you deserve some kindness
and good fortune, and maybe that's exactly what your benefactor thought."

"Maybe so. Well,
I don't want to take any more of your time. Thank you, Mrs. Carson."

"River, I
want you to come see us. We'll have a few more pool parties, and I know that Gary
would like to see you before he leaves for college. Give him a call."

"Yes, ma'am.
I guess I haven't been a very good friend to Gary or anyone else since the
accident. I'll try to do better. Thanks again for your help."

Gary had visited
me a few times in the hospital and at Tolley House. I had been polite to him, but
things were different. I didn’t feel comfortable around my former teammates. It
was worse seeing Gary and Max because both of them had football scholarships
and reminded me of what I had lost. Max had a full ride to the university that
Ant and I would have attended. As wealthy as his family was, Max didn't even
need the scholarship, but it was a matter of bragging rights to him and his
family. To me, it sucked to take a scholarship he didn’t need. It meant there
was one less scholarship for a poor kid.

On the way to my
new home at Deer Lake Farm, I thought of how to approach Papa about the money
he must have deposited in my account. As much as I wanted to keep it, I didn't
feel right about it. Papa had always been generous, but I never took advantage.
He would have to take back the money, or I would donate it to the booster club
or the boys at Tolley House. The state wouldn't allow me to have that much
money and accept disability checks, so no matter what, I would have to do
something with it or stop my checks. Someone's good deed was stressing me more
than helping me.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

When I arrived
at the farm, I drove around behind the barn that housed Manny's upstairs
apartment. I parked near the outside stairs because it would be a shorter trip
than lugging my belongings through the barn. I had just opened my trunk when I saw
Papa walking towards me. Dressed in his usual farm attire of a plaid shirt,
jeans, and a Hawks baseball cap, the big man grinned widely and greeted me in
his loud, friendly voice. With Papa's help, we had all my possessions inside my
new room in two trips. It would take more time to unpack, but there was no rush,
and Papa invited me up to his house for lunch.

We ate vegetable
soup and ham sandwiches, and I was much hungrier than I thought. It had taken a
long time after the accident for me to regain my appetite, but with time to
heal and the right combination of medicines lessening my pain, I was
maintaining a healthy diet again.

As usual, Papa
dominated our conversation in which we discussed my responsibilities in return
for room, board, and wages. Papa didn't want to set conditions for me living on
the farm, but he did as I asked because he understood my desire to feel as useful
and independent as my health allowed. I had too much pride to be his charity
case, and I was determined to do all the work I could within my limitations. I knew
that it would be a long time, if ever, that I would be able to do any strenuous
work, and that I would require frequent rest periods during a day of even light
work. My plan was to increase my activity, as I grew stronger.

Since Manny and
Papa hated computers and paperwork, Papa planned to teach me how to do those
chores so that it freed them for other tasks. I had to learn how to pay bills, take
inventory, and order supplies. I would schedule riding lessons, trail rides,
and vet visits. I would also be responsible for billing customers for riding
lessons, horse training, and boarding. There was much more to the horse farm
business than I ever knew, and I was interested in learning it all.

When he finished
his lunch, Papa studied me a moment before speaking. "River, I'm really
happy to have you here. It will be a good situation for both of us."

"Thanks,
Papa. I hope I can help enough to make up for all that you're doing for me."

"You'll do
fine."

"Papa,
there's something else I need to discuss with you."

"Okay, shoot."

"I went by
the bank on the way over here and got a surprise when they gave me my checking
balance. I thought it was a mistake, but Mrs. Carson verified that it's not. Someone
used one of my deposit slips and put $25,000 in my account back on January 7."

I could tell
from the look on Papa's face that he didn't do it. "You don't have any
idea who gave you the money?"

"No, sir. I
thought it was you."

"No, River.
You made it clear that you want to work for what you get. No other ideas who
gave it to you?"

"I can't
think of anyone, and I wonder how the person got one of my deposit slips. It
would have been easy for the Mackeys, but I don't think they have that kind of
money, and I can't see them giving me that much if they did."

Papa immediately
gave me an idea. "One morning, a week or so after the accident, Jenny saw your
nightstand drawer open when she came to sit with you. She told me that someone
just entering your room was at the right angle to see the personal items that
they took off you in the ER. Your checkbook, wallet, keys, and watch. Jenny
thinks that one of the nurses placed excess "get well" cards in the
drawer, and didn't close it back all the way. Someone else could have seen your
checkbook like Jenny did, and took out a deposit slip while you were asleep.
Anyway, Jenny took your things home with her to keep them safe for you."

"But who
would have taken the slip and made that deposit? And why?"

"I don't
know, River. Obviously, someone who wanted to help you. People can do some
unbelievable things sometimes. Did you read all your "get well" cards
and the little floral cards on your flowers? Did anyone mention giving you a
gift?"

"Jenny
bagged them up for me and said I should write thank you notes, but I never even
read them."

"If you
still have them, take a look. Maybe someone mentioned it."

"Yes, sir. That's
an idea." I was embarrassed for Papa to know that I had not thanked people
for the plants and flowers.

Papa stood. "Well,
I'm going to get back to work while you unpack and get settled in. Take time
for a nap, and I'll have dinner ready at six. Manny is out running some errands,
and he'll probably be late coming home."

"Papa, are
you sure you don't want me to help with dinner?" He was looking for a new
housekeeper and cook. I didn't feel right about napping while he made my
dinner.

"No, I got
it."

"Thanks for
everything, Papa."

"You're
welcome, son. Now scoot on along and make sure you rest. It's no crime if you
don't finish your room today."

The first thing I
did in my new room was find the plastic bag that contained all of the greeting
cards and floral cards that Jenny had saved for me. With my back and left leg throbbing,
I stretched out on my double bed. I opened the bag and read the "get
well" cards first, but I found nothing that would tell me who deposited
the money in my account. Next, I studied the little floral cards that were
inserted on the plastic forks stuck in flowers and plants. I wasn't surprised that
Jenny had attached sticky notes to them.

On each yellow note,
she had written the name of the sender, the date, and an exact description, so
I could be specific when I thanked people. I felt guilty when I read the first
card, which according to Jenny's note was an expensive plant arrangement from
the Carson family. I wondered what Mrs. Carson must have thought when I not
only failed to send a thank you card, but also never mentioned it when I saw
her in person at the bank.

My first days in
the hospital, I was so drugged that I could remember only parts of what happened,
and I had a difficult time distinguishing  reality from dreams. Jenny said that
by the time they moved me from the intensive care unit to a regular room that I
had so many flowers, plants, balloons, and stuffed animals that the nurses
asked her to take some of them home with her.

I remembered her
telling me that I had flowers from nine universities, and all of them were waiting
for me to decide where I would play college ball. About a week after the
accident, the media reported that I would never play football again. I never
received another call or visit from any of those schools with the exception of SC.
One of their coaches called several times while I was in the hospital to wish
me well in my recovery.

As I read the
floral cards with Jenny's notes attached, I recognized the names with no
trouble. I noticed that a few of the cards had the same handwriting, and they
were all from the same florist, which I took to mean that someone ordered the
flowers over the phone, and then the florist filled out the cards and delivered
the arrangements. Other cards appeared to have the handwriting of the people
who bought the flowers and signed the cards before they personally delivered
them.

I saw the card
from the plant that I remembered Carlee delivering, and I knew that it was her
handwriting on the card. When I placed Carlee's card in my "viewed"
stack and saw the next card, I had the strangest feeling that I had seen the
card already, but I knew that I had not.

I read Jenny's
sticky note and instantly remembered the expensive plant that became the centerpiece
of the dining room table at Tolley House. I didn't know much about plants or
planters, but Jenny told me that the religious-themed planter, housing that
plant, cost someone at least $75. It was beautiful with sculpted praying hands
on one side and a cross on the other. Jenny began calling it "the prayer
plant," and that was how I thought of it. I remembered telling her that
whoever stuck dirt in the planter was crazy and even crazier for spending that
much money on me. Since Jenny liked plants so much, I gave her the prayer plant
along with most of the other plants, except for a few I gave to Miss Martin.

I shifted my
eyes from the sticky note to read the card again. The words were very nice,
almost intimate, but there was no signature. Jenny had written the date that I received
it as January 6. I wondered why someone would send such an expensive plant
without signing a name. Maybe the person, who anonymously sent an expensive
plant without taking credit on January 6, was the same person who anonymously
deposited $25,000 in my account on January 7. I believed that I was truly on to
something and there was more.

I read the words
for the third time.
"River, you are always on my mind and forever in my
heart. Stay strong and know that you are loved
.
"
The
handwriting was definitely feminine, but I had already seen cards from the only
females I knew well enough that they would have used such sensitive words. I
could think of no one who would have written that note, and I was ready to give
up and believe that I must have seen the card in the hospital, when I realized why
it was so familiar.

My body tingled
with nervous excitement as I plowed through my duffel. When I retrieved the
album, I opened it to the right page and placed the floral card on top of the
plastic sleeve that protected the nametag that came from my baby blanket. I had
spent hours staring at the nametag that said, "My name is River Blue,"
and I was amazed that I did not immediately recognize the same handwriting
on the floral card. I was sure that the same person had written both of them.

There was no mistake.
There was no doubt in my mind. My mother had visited me in the hospital on
January 6 and left the prayer plant. She saw my checkbook in my nightstand drawer,
and before she left, she took one of my deposit slips and used it to deposit
$25,000 in my bank account the next day, January 7. She visited me during a
period when I had only brief moments of awareness, and I missed a chance for
which I had waited all of my life.

I pictured my
mother sitting in the family room of her home in late December. I saw her
watching the evening news when they reported a tragic accident involving two
highly recruited high school football players. I tried to imagine her reaction
and the emotions she felt. Was her decision to deposit $25,000 into my account
an attempt to wipe away the guilt she had suffered for eighteen years? I
thought that was at least partly true, but I wanted very badly to believe that
in her way, my mother also cared about me.

Before Ant died,
I seldom ever cried, but since that night, my emotions were never far from the
edge. I realized that while thinking of my mother I had cried long enough to
dampen my tee shirt. I grew so weary that I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I
was fried, and as usual with me, sleep helped.

When I woke up, my
emotions were under control. I was capable of functioning, thinking, and deciding
on a course of action. After learning that my mother had visited me, I didn't
believe that I would ever be able to focus on my future until I answered questions
about my past. Whatever it took, I was going to find my mother and confront her
face to face.

***

After dinner
with Papa, I must have sounded similar to an attorney talking to a jury when I
tried to convince him that my mother had visited me. I knew I was right, but I
still needed Papa to agree.

While Papa
quietly listened, I babbled out some theories about why my mother had never
tried to contact me. I wanted to believe that she had good reasons, and if I
knew them, I might see why she thought it was in my best interest. I was never
hard on my mother when talking to others because I didn't want to feel so
ashamed of her. I wanted Papa to understand that no matter what she did that I
wanted to use the first lead I ever had to find her and give us the possibility
of a relationship. At the very least, I might get answers I had wanted all my life.

I stopped talking
and nervously picked at my dinner while I waited for Papa's opinion. I was sure
that Papa knew what I was thinking because he always did. I felt as I did when
I was thirteen years old and desperately wanted Papa's approval of a football
skill I had just demonstrated for him.

Papa slowly
chewed on a bite of steak, as he gazed thoughtfully out the kitchen window. He
sipped on his iced tea, set it down, and spoke.

"So, what's
the plan, River? What will you do with the information you have?"

"I'm
tossing around some ideas, and I know they're long shots, but here's what I'm
thinking. I need to find someone who saw her. Someone who could give me more
information I could use to take another step. If my mother was really in my
hospital room, I have a chance to identify her."

Papa nodded.
"Okay, how will you do that?"

"Since I
was in that security section of the hospital, if my mother visited my room,
then her name would be on the visitors' log, and she would also be on video. I
just need to get the hospital to cooperate."