by Judy Alter
“Okay,” Claire said. “I’m pretending to be telling you I recognize him. Will you excuse me a minute?”
I nodded, and she picked up her glass and ambled slowly toward him. When Hollister realized she was coming his way, he rose like a gentleman.
Claire held out her hand, and he took it in both of his and then indicated a seat. She glanced at me and murmured something that must have been, “I’m with a friend.”
Apparently he suggested she invite her friend (that would be me) to join them, because she waved me over. It was a bit awkward to carry both wine glass and appetizer, but I managed it with, I hope, a bit of grace.
Hollister rose again and held out a hand. In a deep, melodious voice, he said simply, “Bruce Hollister” and smiled at me. I could see why the faithful followed him.
“Kelly O’Connell,” I said, setting down the appetizer to take his hand.
“Ah, a lady who comes with food. Can’t beat that.”
Introductions over, I sat down, and Claire said, “Of course, you know who Mr. Hollister is, don’t you, Kelly?”
“Of course,” I replied. Maybe a week ago, I hadn’t known, but I sure did now. “What brings you to Fort Worth? Will you be doing a broadcast from here?”
The smile faded and a deliberate look of sadness came over his face. “I’m afraid not. My mission is much different. My wife was up here visiting friends when she fell victim to a hit-and-run driver. She’s in your county hospital now, but I hope to be able to take her back to San Antonio soon. Not only was she physically injured, I’m afraid the accident caused some mental imbalance.”
“I’ll remember you both in my prayers,” Claire said piously.
“That would be so good of you. My entire congregation is praying for her health and rapid return home.”
I almost sat with my mouth agape. He lied with such ease, and it sounded to me as though he planned to kidnap her. Finally I asked, “Is there anything we can do for either of while you’re in our city?”
He smiled expansively. “Two lovely ladies as dinner companions would be a great treat. Would you show me the best restaurant in town?”
“Oh, I’m afraid my husband and children are waiting supper for me. I wish I could. Claire?” I had definitely had all of Bruce Hollister I wanted, and I’d learned a lot over one glass of wine.
I knew what her fierce glance in my direction meant, but she replied sweetly, “I’m afraid I can’t either. I have work waiting for me at home. But let us direct you to some fine restaurants. Actually you couldn’t do better than to have your meal right here in the hotel.”
Not wanting to be too rude, we did each let him order us another glass of wine, and we sipped and finished the appetizer, all the while chitchatting casually. Claire asked how he got into his ministry, and he answered as expected that the Lord called him. But then he enlightened us with the entire, long, twisting road to his present television ministry, with an active congregation of live souls supporting it.
I wondered why he didn’t mention his wife again, but by the time he stopped talking about his ministry we were through the second glass of wine and the spinach/artichoke dip. We thanked him for the drinks, wished him and his wife well, and took our gracious departure.
Once in the car, I exploded. “He lies without even thinking about it. Sheila was not visiting friends, and she is not mentally disturbed. I’m afraid he intends to kidnap her and take her back to San Antonio forcibly. Then he’ll probably have her locked up somewhere, maybe even institutionalized.”
Claire, in a much calmer voice, asked, “What are we going to tell Mike?”
“Everything,” I said. “His anger at me won’t matter in the face of the threat to Sheila.”
We didn’t talk much after that until we reached my house. “Coming in?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she grinned.
Claire and Keisha, I decided, were fair weather friends. They couldn’t wait to hear Mike blow his lid.
He didn’t do it. He, the girls, and Keisha had already eaten—Keisha had once again made Doris’ casserole, named after a relative of hers. The girls loved it because it had rich layers of meat and tomato sauce, noodles with cream cheese, sour cream and scallions, and a topping of grated cheddar. They had saved servings for Claire and me, and over yet another glass of wine, we described our visit with Bruce Hollister. I hoped I wouldn’t begin to slur my words, and I did catch Mike looking sideways at me.
“You just happened to run into him?” Mike asked quietly.
“No. I deliberately planned it. Looked him up on Google, so we’d recognize him, found out where he was staying, and coerced Claire into going for a drink with me.”
“And,” Claire added, “making the initial contact.”
“And now you’ve decided that he’s dangerous?” He still spoke mildly, and I saw Claire and Keisha looking heavenward.
I held my ground. “I think he’s a pathological liar, and he plans to kidnap Sheila.”
The girls had been speechless through all this, but now Maggie spoke up. “Mom, you’re doing it again.”
Startled, I looked at her. “I am, aren’t I, Maggie? But would you want me to let this man kidnap his wife and take her to San Antonio against her will, perhaps put her in an institution for the mentally disturbed?”
Maggie was pretty firm too. “I don’t know. I haven’t met her. But I don’t want you or any of us in danger ever again.”
Mike broke in. “Your mom can’t guarantee that, Mags. But I think she’s right in this case. This woman tried to make a break from her husband and her life, and she’s in danger of being put into a worse situation. Your mom thinks she should stay in the apartment. Let’s take a vote. How many want to help her?”
My hand shot up in the air. Maggie slowly, reluctantly raised hers, and Em, watching her sister, raised hers.
“Okay, it’s unanimous. When Sheila O’Gara Hollister gets out of the hospital, she’ll come here.” He raised his can of beer, we raised our wine glasses and the girls toasted with their lemonade.
“Prosit,” Maggie said. “Maybe.”
And I haven’t even told them about the panhandler and the trashed room.
Late that night, after Claire and Keisha had gone home and the girls were asleep, Mike and I sat up in bed talking. I was itching to tell him about the panhandler and Sheila’s motel room.
“Mike? There’s more to my day.” I said it hesitantly.
Rolling his eyes, he said, “I’m not sure I can handle it. Don’t tell me you want to run off and become a follower of Bruce Hollister!”
The idea sent me into giggles, but I straightened up pretty quickly. “After you left, a panhandler approached us.”
He shrugged. “Mona said there’s been one around.”
“This was someone she’d never seen, and he waited until you were gone and then approached Keisha and me. No one else.”
Mike sat up a little straighter. “That’s curious…and a bit worrisome. May be nothing, but… What did he look like?”
“Not bad looking. Not all scuzzy like most panhandlers, didn’t have the black plastic trash bag to indicate he’d been prowling in trash dumpsters. And he wore those airplane sunglasses, looked expensive to me. Dark hair but a good haircut. Polite, well spoken.”
“Doesn’t sound like your average panhandler. I’ll have the daytime guys and José all keep a lookout.” He paused, turned to face me, and put his hands on my shoulders. “Kelly, you know you’re doing it again, don’t you?”
“Doing what?” I knew of course where he was headed.
“Bringing danger to our family and friends. But I also know you can’t help it. You’re not the kind of person to throw Sheila or Diane or whatever her name is to the wolves.”
I looked at him and knew why I loved him. He understood. “No, I can’t do that. And in all this, no one has thought about Ms. Lorna. She needs to meet her daughter, and we need to make that happen as soon as we can, even if we do it he
re.”
“I think I’d feel better if we did that,” he said. “My status as a police officer makes all this so difficult.”
I reached over and kiss him hard. “I know,” I said, “and it makes me love you all the more.”
He turned out the light, and there was no more conversation.
Chapter Six
The next morning I had my schedule all set—drop the girls at their schools, go to the office to check email and phone messages, collect Keisha and head for the hospital. But Mike stopped me in my tracks. By the time I got to the office, he had left a message to call him immediately. Urgent.
With shaking heads, I dialed and heard his cheerful, “Shandy.”
“Mike, what’s the matter?”
His voice conveyed none of the emotions I expected—anger, frustration, worry. Instead he sounded amused. “I don’t think anything’s the matter. In fact, I think you’ll like this news. I’ve been reassigned.”
“Reassigned?” I echoed stupidly.
“Yep. The Central District commander is retiring, and I’m being pulled from Narcotics to take his place. Conroy said something like, ‘As long as you keep getting involved in local problems…’ I think he meant as long as my wife keeps getting involved. But it’s good. It’s an assignment I welcome, and a slight pay raise.”
I didn’t care about the pay raise, but I had to let the news of his new responsibilities sink in. Not knowing what to say, I was silent.
“Sweetheart?” Now he sounded anxious.
“Mike, I think that’s wonderful. I just don’t want you reassigned because I’m a troublemaker.”
He laughed out loud. “I don’t think that’s it. Conroy also said I was obviously good at dealing with neighborhoods and people, and my area takes in much more than Fairmount. I won’t be able to devote all my time to your troubles.”
“Does Conroy know about Sheila Hollister?”
“I don’t think so, and I didn’t tell him. The reassignment is unrelated.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll celebrate tonight. We’ve got to go see Sheila, but Mike…well, I’m really happy for both of us.”
“So am I. Love you,” and he hung up before I could even echo his words.
“What you looking so dreamy about?” Keisha demanded.
When I told her, she said, “Guess that makes him José’s boss again. He’ll be glad. I’m glad. And I know you are.” Without missing a beat, she said, “When are we going to the hospital?”
“Now,” I said. “Right this minute.”
And we did.
****
As we walked toward the nurse’s station on Sheila’s floor, I suddenly gasped and grabbed Keisha’s arm.
“You about to fall down or have a fit?” she asked, holding me up.
“Either one. That’s Sheila’s husband.”
She looked up and said, “Of course, it is. Well, we’re in the soup now. He’s seen us.”
And indeed he had. He’d apparently been trying to charm the nurse when he glanced our way and a look of recognition came over his face, followed by one of anger. “You!” he shouted, pointing at me.
“Mr. Hollister,” I managed. “So nice to see you again.”
Before he could jump down my throat, the nurse turned to me and said, “I’ve just been explaining to Mr. Hollister that his wife does not wish to see him and we are honoring her wishes, since she is in our care.
He literally stomped his foot. “She’s my wife, she belongs to me, and I will see her, regardless of what she wants.”
Aha! The wife-as-possession attitude I’d hoped had gone out with the nineteenth century. I had the feeling Diane/Sheila had been told every move to make since she married this man—and I wondered how long ago that was and how she finally got up the nerve to leave.
While I was ruminating, Keisha stuck her finger right in his chest, forcing him to step back. “You will not see her. Now run along.”
Surely not used to being ordered around by a young and flashy black woman, he demanded, “And who are you?”
“A friend of your wife’s. She asked us to come see her this morning, and we intend to.”
He glanced from Keisha to me and recognition dawned in his eyes. “Last night was a set-up, wasn’t it? You and that friend of yours were looking for me.”
The nurse was watching and listening in confusion, head turning from one to the other of us as if she were watching a tennis match.
There was no sense in my covering up the truth. “We wanted to see what you’re like,” I said simply. “Thanks again for the drinks.”
I thought perhaps steam would come out of his ears. His face turned red and for a minute he struggled for breath. Then, in a threatening tone, he said, “I’ll deal with you later.” Turning to the nurse, he demanded, “I want these intruders thrown out of here. Call your supervisor.”
“I have already called him, and he’s on his way. Meantime, these ladies may go on in.”
“No they can’t!” He stormed over to the door, only to be met by the office on duty, who stood his ground. When Hollister tried to push him aside, the officer, with one quick move, had him in a hammerlock that made the televangelist scream, both with pain and indignation.
Just then a man in scrubs, wearing an ID badge, came striding down the hall. He was an easy match for Hollister, even if the minister didn’t have his arm held tight behind him. Tall and thick, without being fat, he looked capable of handling any situation. He asked what the problem was.
“They won’t let me see my wife,” Hollister screamed.
“He assaulted a police officer,” Keisha added for good measure.
The supervisor nodded to the officer. “Thanks. I think you can release him now.” He looked ready to take over, if necessary.
Hollister began to rub his shoulder, as if to ease the pain, and started to say, “I knew you’d—”
He was cut off by the supervisor who said, over his shoulder, to the nurse, “Call security, please, and have them remove this man. I’ll wait here until he’s gone.”
“You can’t do that! I’ll get a lawyer.”
Ignoring Hollister, the male nurse said, “Are you ladies here to see Mrs. Hollister?”
We both nodded.
“By her invitation?”
Again, nods. You’d think we’d been struck dumb by the scene we just witnessed.
“I think,” he said, “it would be wise if you went on in and reassured her. She’s bound to have heard the disturbance in the hall.” He nodded again to the policeman, who stood aside and held the door for us.
Sheila was indeed upset, so much so that she was pacing back and forth in a hospital gown, bare feet, and a worried look on her face. Her good hand held the IV-stand attached to her left arm, so she had no way of holding the gown closed and it flapped behind her. I’d have laughed at her appearance if I weren’t so worried about her.
“I heard Bruce shouting. What’s happening?”
“He’s being invited to leave, escorted out, and probably told not to come back.”
She sat in a straight-backed chair. “That won’t make him leave me alone. He’ll find out where I’m staying. I should have registered under another name.”
Neither of us were about to tell her he already knew where she was staying—but it was a good bet he did.
Keisha interrupted, “Don’t get yourself upset. We’re goin’ to help you. Are you supposed to be out of bed?”
She nodded absently. “Yes, they said it’s good for me to walk around. And I’m not upset, I’m angry. Angry at myself that I stayed with Bruce so long before walking away.”
I perched on the edge of the bed. “I think it took a lot of courage to walk away.”
She looked at me, grateful for the understanding. “I thought about it for a long time, years really, before I got up the nerve. Before that, I don’t think I even recognized it was an option, even though I was miserable. I can’t bear the thought of being forced to go back.”
She twisted, trying to adjust the gown that had gaped open. “Damn hospital clothes anyway!”
Keisha laughed aloud. “We didn’t bring any of your clothes. They’re uh, not the kind of thing you want to be wearing in the county hospital. You’d have folks visitin’ in the night to go through your closet. You need sweats.”
“Bruce chose all my clothes. I’d love jeans and T-shirts and sweats—comfortable clothes. And pajamas instead of silky gowns.”
“Done!” I said. “Just tell us a size.” When she answered, “Ten,” I bit back a jealous retort. I hadn’t worn a ten since Em’s birth.
“I have some money,” she said, “and I can get more. I’ve kept a bank account that Bruce doesn’t know about since probably the first year of our marriage. I could see what I’d gotten myself into, and I knew someday I’d want out.”
I smiled, thinking she wasn’t the first woman in a bad marriage who kept a secret bank account. Too bad I hadn’t been that smart in my first marriage.
While Keisha murmured, “Poor baby,” I asked, “How long have you been married?”
Hesitantly she admitted to a twenty-five-year marriage. “I’m ashamed it took me so long. At first I thought we would have children, and it would all be fine, but Bruce said children would get in the way of his career. After that, I don’t know…I just drifted along, but I was miserable.”
“We got a plan,” Keisha said, but before she could even hint at it, a nurse came in. “Time for rehab,” she said briskly. Turning to us, “I’m sorry. You’ll have to go. I imagine Mrs. Hollister will be tired after she’s through, so perhaps you could come back tomorrow.” She wasn’t rude, but she was firm.
We hugged Sheila gently and left.
Once in the car, I said, “Keisha, she’s almost twice your age and yet you keep calling her ‘baby.’”
