My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  "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."
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  After the accident, I was in the ICU for a few days before I was alert enough to tell anyone that a truck hit Ant's car and caused it to slide off the road. Until then, everyone, including the cops, thought that we had hit an icy patch and lost control of the car. The sheriff's department immediately put a deputy on guard outside my door until they could investigate.

  When the cops found no evidence that I was in danger, they removed their officer but recommended placing me in the hospital security section as a precaution. So after ICU, the staff moved me to a floor where there were a few rooms used for security cases at one end of the hall. The hall was covered by a security camera and all visitors had to pass by the security station where a guard checked their IDs and made them sign in and out on his log.

  Papa smiled. "Good thinking, River. The only problem you might have is how often they purge video or even the sign-in logs for that matter. It's been over six months since the day in question. I'm not sure they would have any reason to keep information that long, but it's certainly worth a shot. Anything else you're thinking of trying?"

  My enthusiasm dropped a little because I had no idea how long the hospital kept the visitor log or video, but I agreed with Papa that it was still worth checking.

  "Yes, sir, I want to check with Expressions Floral Shop, the florist name on the card. They're a chain store, but it would make sense to me that she bought the plant here, even if she lives somewhere else, so I need to visit Expressions and ask if anyone remembers a woman buying the prayer plant. They might, since it was so expensive. Maybe she paid with a check or credit card, and they saw her name. The people in this town are so nosey that it's possible someone might remember."

  "Good point. Did you ask Mrs. Carson if any of her tellers remember accepting a deposit for the money in your account?"

  "No, sir, I didn't. I guess I was too surprised to think well."

  "So I suppose you want to check out these places as soon as possible," said Papa.

  "Yes, sir, I do. If it's okay with you, I would appreciate a little time."

  "River, you always have my support, but I hate to see you disappointed. You've dealt with enough grief these past months."

  "Papa, it's always been important to me to find out who my parents are and why they left me. No matter what else is happening in my life, that need is always there. I have to try to answer my questions, and if it doesn't work out, I'll be no worse off than I am now."

  "Would it be enough to know who your parents are and why they left you? Could you handle the disappointment, if they didn't want a relationship with you?"

  "The fact that my mom came to see me in the hospital tells me that she cares at least a little. If she didn't, why would she bother? I mean she said she loves me on the floral card. I've been thinking that the reason she didn't try to talk to me is that she's afraid that I will hate her for what she did. What if I can reach her and tell her that I forgive her? That might be all it takes to have her in my life or at least to get some answers."

  Papa wore a sad expression on his face but tried his best to sound positive. "Son, I hope you're right. I want nothing more than for you to be happy."

  "Thanks, Papa." He looked so down at that moment that I wondered if his feelings were more complicated than simply worrying about my disappointment. "You know, if I had a relationship with my mother or even both parents, I would still want you in my life, just as much as you are now. You're the only father I've ever had, and nothing will ever change how I feel about you, Papa."

  "And you're like a son to me, River, so don't tell me not to worry. Anyway, I was up before the chickens, so I'm going to bed early. I'll wake you up in time to get a few things done here before we leave, and then we'll go chase your leads."

  "You're searching with me?"

  "Sure. You never know. I might be useful." Papa winked.

  Before I walked back to the barn, I hugged Papa and thanked him for caring about me. The big man ran his hand up my back to my neck and tugged on my long, black hair. I knew without seeing his face that he was grinning, and I think I would have been disappointed had he ever stopped hinting that I needed to cut my hair.

  ***

  The next morning, Papa woke me for an early breakfast so that we would have time to inventory and order supplies, which was the only pressing business we had to do that morning before we left. I was thankful that Papa was not only setting me free for the rest of the day, but also cheerfully joining me on my mission. Knowing that driving was still uncomfortable for my back, Papa volunteered to take us in his truck.

  Our first stop was Expressions Floral Shop located downtown on Main Street. When I picked the prayer planter out of her catalogue, the manager informed me that only higher volume shops in bigger towns sold the item. No one bought the planter at the store in Harper Springs.

  On the way to the hospital, I called Mrs. Carson at the bank and asked if she would find out if any of her tellers remembered the large deposit. She told me that after I left, she was curious and asked everyone on her first and second shifts. No one remembered waiting on a customer with that transaction. I thanked her and apologized for taking so long to thank her for the flowers she sent while I was in the hospital. She reminded me that she had raised a teenager.

  Papa knew Larry Edmunds, the hospital administrator, and within a few minutes after we walked into the main lobby, Mrs. Palmer, Mr. Edmunds' administrative assistant, was guiding us into the administrator's office. Papa explained what I wanted, and Mr. Edmunds was very cooperative. He called security and in no more than thirty minutes, a man walked into the office with the security log and a few video discs. I was excited that they still had information from the period that I needed, and Papa was surprised at how eager the men were to help us.

  Mr. Edmunds invited me to check the log while his security chief, Mr. Floyd, set up the first disc to play on a monitor. I started with January 6, the day Jenny noted that the plant arrived in my hospital room. I was disappointed that I recognized every name on the log as someone that I knew from Harper Springs. From that date, I began looking at the closest days around it. I did not give up until I had covered my entire hospital stay without finding one name of a visitor that I didn't know. I wondered how it was possible that I could have been so wrong.

  I asked if I could still see the security video just in case the guard might have missed logging in a visitor. Both men smiled as if they were humoring me and agreed to my request. Mr. Floyd found January 6 and fast-forwarded the video through the day but not fast enough that I could not recognize the people. I would have seen a stranger, but there was not one person I didn't know. It took almost two hours, but we went through the other days on the video with the same results. My mother was not on the video. Mr. Edmunds and Mr. Floyd told me how sorry they were and offered their further assistance if needed.

  My head was ready to explode, and my back was throbbing as I crawled into Papa's truck. I felt foolish for hoping to meet my mother after eighteen years. If she had visited Harper Springs, she did so in such a secretive way that she left no traces by which I could track her. Why was it so hard for me to admit that nothing had changed? She still didn't want me.

  As bad as I felt, I was thankful for Papa. Unlike the ghost I was chasing, Papa was real.

  "Papa?"

  "Yep."

  "Thanks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I slept soundly for two hours after Papa and I returned from the hospital, but I woke up startled as if someone had poured ice water in my face. How could I have been so stupid when I watched the hospital surveillance video? There was an embarrassingly, obvious question that I should have asked while I was at the hospital. It surprised me that Papa failed to ask it as well.

  How did the big, religious-themed planter, which held a large arrangement of mixed plants, get into my hospital room without appearing on the security video?

  When I viewed the video, I was looking for my mother, a stranger. I never focused on the arriva
l of the prayer plant to my room, but I was sure that I would have noticed it no matter who delivered it.

  On the video of January 7, I remembered seeing Jenny sign in with the guard, and then enter my room, as she did each morning. Shortly after Jenny arrived, a porter delivered an empty two-tiered rolling cart to my room. A few minutes later, they both came out with the cart full of flower and plant arrangements. After searching my memory of the video, I was convinced that I had seen the prayer plant on the bottom of the cart. The video showed Jenny checking in with the guard about thirty minutes later but without the cart.

  Since the plant left my room with Jenny, then it had to have arrived with someone prior to that time. Who brought the plant to my room, and why wasn't it on the video?

  It was five o'clock when I called Tolley House. I knew that Jenny would probably be home because her routine seldom varied. She would be preparing the boys' dinner, which she would serve at six o'clock. I pictured her at the kitchen counter between the oven and the refrigerator. She would hear the phone ring, wipe her hands with the towel from the rack to her right, take two steps to her left, and pull the phone from its base on the wall. She answered after the third ring, just as I expected.

  We took a minute for polite inquiries about each other's day. She asked about my pain level, and I brushed it off as minimal since talking about it always made me feel worse. I asked about Hal and the boys. She asked about Papa. Everyone was fine.

  I got to the point of my call and asked her if she remembered using a rolling cart to take some of the plants and flowers out of my hospital room. Naturally, she thought that was an odd question. I assured her that if she would just help by answering my question that I would explain my reason for asking. I didn't want to say anything before she answered that would influence her to remember what I wanted to hear.

  Jenny answered quickly. "Yes, I do. I took plants out with that cart twice. Once when there was no space for any more plants in your room and then on the day they transferred you to rehab."