When Ray returned home the red light on his answering machine was blinking. He hit play and listened to Eleanor’s message.
She hadn’t said what hospital, so he pressed redial and waited. After several rings the operator answered, “Jefferson University Hospital.”
“I’m trying to reach Eleanor Barrow, she’s a patient.”
“Inbound patient calls are not permitted after ten o’clock,” the voice said.
“I’m her son!”
“I’m sorry, there are no exceptions—”
“Let me speak to the nurse in charge!”
“Very well, sir. What’s the patient’s room number?”
“I don’t know her room number,” he snapped, “can’t you look it up?”
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have that information. You need to speak to Patient Services. Hold on, I’ll transfer you.”
Ray heard the click and waited. After several minutes, a dial tone sounded.
Three tries later he got Marjorie Elkins, the Third Floor Night Nurse. “I’m trying to get some information about Eleanor Barrow,” he said. “She’s the patient in room 317.”
Marjorie had a blinding headache and a bunion that had throbbed for five days straight. She was counting the minutes until the end of her shift so she could go home and crawl into bed. She could barely tolerate the demanding patients, and had absolutely no tolerance for impatient callers. She glanced down the list of patients spotted the woman’s name, then replied, “She’s stable.” It was an answer she used often, one people generally could accept—it suggested the patient was doing fine and didn’t offer the promise of anything that might not be possible.
Since this was Ray’s fifth telephone call to the hospital, he was also short on patience and long on attitude. “Not enough,” he said sharply. “I want to know what’s wrong with her.”
“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with her doctor.”
“Who is her doctor?”
Marjorie flipped open the chart again. “Doctor Shameer,” she said. “He’s not on duty this evening, but I can transfer you to his voice mail.”
“Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong with her?”
Marjorie’s head was killing her and listening to this arrogant jerk wasn’t helping matters. “No I can’t,” she snapped irritably, “and even if I wanted to, there’s a little thing called the patient privacy law.”
“I’m Ray Barrow, her son!”
“Your name is not on the list of those authorized to receive patient information.”
“Whose name is on the list?”
“I’m not allowed to give you that information.”
“This is going nowhere,” he griped. “Just tell Eleanor Barrow to call her son.”
“Okay.” Marjorie hung up the telephone and started to scribble the message on a sticky note but, before she finished writing, Winifred Willkie’s alarm went off and made it look like she was flat lining. “Good grief,” Marjorie gasped and went scurrying down the hall. As it turned out, the woman had simply disconnected herself from the monitor because she had to go to the bathroom, but her roommate claimed that she indeed was having severe pains in her chest. When Marjorie finally returned to the nursing station, Ray’s message had long since been forgotten.
Traci, who’d been visiting her parents in Hoboken, arrived home shortly after midnight. She walked in and found Ray standing beside the wall phone in their Kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting for Mom to call,” he answered. “She’s in the hospital and…” He went on to explain how he’d heard the crash and finally learned that she was at Jefferson University Hospital. “The problem,” he said, “is that they won’t give me any information about her condition. For all I know—”
“Why didn’t you just go to the hospital and ask her?”
“It was too late by the time I found out. They wouldn’t even put my call through.” When Ray spoke he no longer had the squint of scorn he’d begun to use when talking about his mother. His eyebrows were pinched together and ridges of worry lined his forehead.
Traci walked over, leaned against his chest and hooked her arms around his neck, “If you’re worried about your mom, why don’t you give John Gray a call? He probably knows—”
“I’ve already tried,” he said. “I even drove over there, but nobody’s home.”
That’s when Traci knew Ray was honestly concerned about his mother. After the Labor Day cookout, he’d sworn he’d never again speak to John Gray or any member of his family. “That includes Mom, if she goes ahead with this marriage,” he’d said. But now he’d not just called, he’d actually gone to John’s house.
“What exactly did your mom say in her last message?”
Ray replayed the message on the answering machine.
“She says she’s alright,” Traci said trying to comfort him. “Maybe she just went in for something simple like cosmetic surgery—”
“Mom?”
Traci had to admit such a thing was highly unlikely. She pressed her cheek to Ray’s chest. “Try not to worry, honey. We’ll go visit Mom first thing in the morning.”
That night Ray tossed and twisted, uncomfortable and ill at ease no matter which way he turned. The two times he did doze off, he dreamt of his father and woke feeling another shade guiltier. When the clock ticked off four-thirty, he mumbled, “If Mom is okay I’m gonna make it up to her, I swear I will.” Since Traci was sound asleep, his were the only human ears that heard the promise.
Of course I heard it, but whether or not I believed it is debatable. I’ve heard many such promises before but humans have a way of forgetting vows. They pray please give me this or that and I’ll never ask for another thing—but unfortunately a day or two after they get what they want, they move on to wanting something else. Not all humans are this way, but I always feel a sense of sadness when I come across one who is.
Although visiting hours did not start until ten Ray and Traci circumvented the registration desk and snuck upstairs at eight-thirty. They waited until the nurses at the third floor desk were busy then quietly slipped down the hall and into Room 317.
Eleanor was eating her breakfast when they walked in. “Ray,” she gasped, “How did you—” the shock of seeing him caused a bite of toast with raspberry jam to get stuck in her throat and it took a good ten seconds for her to cough it up.
He began talking before she could say anything more. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” he said. “I know I’ve behaved like a selfish ass, but I’m going to be better. Don’t you worry about a thing, just get well and get out of—”
Once Eleanor had dislodged the toast, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with me, Lindsay’s the one—”
Ray’s expression changed almost instantly. “I should have known,” he snapped. “It’s always about them! John and Lindsay, Lindsay and John! I’m your son, but do you care about me? No! Because of them, you’ve turned your back on your own family!”
“I’ve done no such thing!” Eleanor said, and if you’d bothered to call me back—”
“Call you back—why? So you can tell me about how wonderful—”
“No, so I could tell you that John wants me to give you the house!” Eleanor replied angrily. “You claim the only reason he wants to marry me is to get hold of the few things I own—well, he’s trying to show you that’s not true.”
“I don’t want the house,” Ray grumbled.
“No I suppose you don’t,” Eleanor sighed. “What you want is to go around blaming other people for your unhappiness. John and Lindsay aren’t the ones making you unhappy—you’re doing that to yourself.”
“How am I supposed to feel? If it weren’t for her,” He gave a nod toward Lindsay’s bed, “you wouldn’t be in this hospital. You’d be—”
Eleanor saw a tiny window of opportunity and seized it, “I’d be dead,” she said. “That’s where I’d be. Lindsay’s the one who saved my life.”
Lindsay heard what was
said and turned to Eleanor with a look of surprise.
Eleanor spotted the look and rolled over it before Lindsay could voice an objection, “Don’t look so surprised,” she said, “I know I told you that I wasn’t going to tell Ray, but this is something he needs to know.”
Ray stammered, “You mean she…?”
“Yes, she risked her own life to save me. That’s how her leg got broken!” Eleanor could easily enough justify her lie by thinking of it as simply role reversal. “Do you think you would you do the same?” she asked Ray.
“Of course I would,” he answered.
“Of course you would? I doubt that, especially since you’re too busy to even return a telephone call.”
“I said I was sorry. But—”
“There are no buts in life, you either do or you don’t. No moment ever comes around a second time. You have one chance to use each moment, you can use it to love and be happy or you can use it to be angry and hateful. I’m choosing to love and be happy.” She hesitated and looked square into his face, a face that looked exactly like his daddy’s. “And I’m hoping that you can find it in your heart to do the same thing.”
“I will,” Ray said reluctantly. “But it’s not easy to see my mother being somebody else’s—”
“Do you see yourself as someday being a father?”
“Well of course I do.”
“Funny, because I see you as my son—when you become a father, does that mean you’ll no longer be my son?”
“No,” he shook his head sheepishly, “but that’s different.”
“It’s not so different,” Eleanor said, “I’ve been a daughter, a wife, a mother and hopefully one of these days I’ll be a grandmother.”
Traci snickered and gave Ray a poke in the back.
“Now I’ve been blessed with another opportunity to be a wife to the man I love. Second chances don’t come around all that often. Can’t you please just be happy for me?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Ray mumbled. “If you’re happy then I’ll be happy for you.” His words had the sound of a forced apology, but the look of anger was no longer spread across his face. Ray shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “But, you can forget about my taking the house.”
“That’s not something you have to decide right now,” Eleanor smiled.
Ray moved to the side of his mother’s bed, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom,” he said, “…and yes, we’ll be there for Thanksgiving.”
No one noticed when John arrived, but apparently he’d been standing in the doorway long enough to hear something that made him smile. When he walked into the room, he looped his arm across Ray’s shoulder and gave a squeeze, “Welcome to the family,” he said.
Luckily Ray couldn’t see what he looked like because his ears had blossomed into the color of a scarlet rose.
It might look like everyone is coming out of this unscathed, but unfortunately that’s not quite true. For a while I figured The Boss was going to gloss over what I’d done to Life Management. I even started believing He might be in agreement with my opinion. Apparently not. He said He’d let it slide this time, but if I used the mega love zap on Life Management again, I’d find myself shoveling coal—I think you know what that means. To prove He meant business he gave me 684 cold case assignments. Every one of them a couple who’d been married for decades. “They’ve lost the joy of their love,” he said, “and it’s up to you to see that they get it back!”
I argued that I’m only supposed to handle matches, not repairs—He said to consider it a penance for the prank I pulled. Repairs are tough. They make working with someone like Lindsay seem like a piece of cake. Repairs involve humans with years of stored-up slights—forgotten anniversaries, busy schedules, arguments—the list is endless and with that kind of baggage they’re none too quick to forgive or forget. Not only do I have to rekindle all 684 love affairs, but I have to get it done by December thirty-first.
I guess this pretty much nixes any plans I had for a day off.
Eleanor
It’s odd how the worst of things sometimes work out to be the best that could have happened. I’d like to sound like the heroine of this story and tell you I was willing to give my life to save Lindsay’s, but the truth of the matter is, I didn’t have time to think about anything. When I saw that car coming toward her, I just did what any mother would do. Yes, I’m well aware that I’m not Lindsay’s mother, but try telling my heart that.
A few weeks back, I figured John and I might have to give up any idea we had about getting married, because both Lindsay and Ray were vehemently opposed to us even seeing each other. Things sure have changed. Oh, we’re not a full-fledged family yet, but at least we’re on the way to becoming one.
Although I’m not happy to see Lindsay with her leg in a big heavy cast, it’s way better than the alternative. And, selfish though it may sound, the accident did serve a purpose in bringing Ray around. He’s terribly stubborn and once he gets a hate in his heart, he just about never lets go of it. I honestly thought he’d stay mad at me forever. It’s sad how people like Ray can waste so much of their life being angry. They carry around a grudge and wait until the person dies before they can forgive and forget. And, by then it’s too late. Ray did that way with his daddy and when he came running to the hospital, I’ll bet he thought the same thing was going to happen with me.
When I started saying how Lindsay saved my life I spotted the look on her face and figured for sure she was gonna let the cat out of the bag, but apparently she caught on because she didn’t mention a word about how it happened the other way. I know Ray, and if for one minute he thought I risked my life to save Lindsay, he’d hate her and her daddy all the more. I’m not a big advocate of telling lies, but that one was my only shot at bringing Ray around, so I’m hoping it’s something The Lord can live with.
When I got home and started fixing for Thanksgiving Day, I thought back on how Ray sat all by himself at the barbeque. I sure didn’t want that to happen again. I told John he was gonna have to make sure Ray had a good time on Thanksgiving. Ray’s not much of a joiner, I said, so you may have to work to draw him into the conversation.
After everything that had happened, I was determined not to let anything spoil our Thanksgiving day, and nothing did—not my mismatched candles, not the missing cranberry sauce, and not even Ray.
Okay, I’ll admit I was a bit worried at first, because Ray walked in wearing that ‘I dare you to cross me’ look of his, but I nodded across the room and gave John the high sign. Next thing I know, he’s standing alongside Ray asking what he thinks of this year’s Philadelphia Eagles. After that they moved on to talking about football, basketball and the stock market. I had to chuckle when I heard them discussing the Daytona five-hundred, because that’s one sport John doesn’t know a thing about.
The one who really surprised me that day was Traci. The girl has never shown one iota of domesticity, and yet she spent most of the afternoon following me around the kitchen asking what ingredients go into one thing and another. She even wrote them down on a little notepad she pulled from her pocket. And, if that wasn’t surprise enough, right after dinner she asked if I’d teach her how to crochet a throw, I started wondering if she meant throw or baby blanket. Traci had a certain look, and it was a look I’m not usually wrong about.
All in all, it was a really good day. Everybody said the turkey was delicious, but I didn’t taste much myself—I was too busy being happy.
I was packing up leftovers when Ray and Traci came in to say goodbye. He kissed my cheek then leaned over and whispered in my ear that John was a pretty nice guy after all. When I saw Ray walk out the door wearing a smile, I thought my heart would burst because it was so full of happiness.
You can’t ask for a better Thanksgiving than that.
Cupid…The Dog’s in the Mail
Right now I am seeing a rosy outlook for everyone—everyone except me. I’m not quite finished here and I’ve stil
l got the 684 not-so-happy couples to deal with. Yeah, maybe I could walk away and let love take its course, but the truth is I’ve got a vested interest in seeing it out. People like Eleanor restore my faith in humans. Granted, you’re an odd lot, but you’re what I’ve got to work with. So I try to make the best of it and every so often, a few couples like this happen along—then I realize how really important my job is. After more centuries than you’ve got fingers to count, I still get a thrill out of matches like this.
Unfortunately Lindsay’s days of working at the Kindness Animal Clinic were over, at least for the time being—and even though that accident was not of my making, her not being at the clinic gave me the opportunity to push my plan into action. It started five days after Thanksgiving when Matthew received an e-mail that read:
Dear Doctor Mead,
I am responding to a notice you posted on the Tiny Treasures website. I think we have the dog you are looking for. Three weeks ago a dog matching this description showed up in our back yard. I thought it most likely belonged to someone in our area, but after two weeks of advertising in the newspaper and putting posters in store windows, no one has called to claim her. Yesterday we took the dog to our vet for a checkup and discovered that she has a microchip implant with the Kindness Animal Clinic listed as owner. The address indicates that you are in New Jersey. We are located in Florida and I am uncertain as to how best to get this dog back to you. Please advise.
Jayne Rayner. –
A photo of the dog is attached.
At first Matthew thought the e-mail was a hoax, a cruel joke maybe. He sat there and reread the words four times before he could come to believe it was true. A fairly practical man, he kept asking himself how Kindness could be listed as the owner. Was it possible Lindsay found the dog and put the chip in? No, not possible. She’d have said something.
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