by Maddy Barone
“Ms. Johnson is in room 428. I’m afraid I don’t have any information about her condition, but you can go in now.”
The door to room 428 was open only a couple of inches. Denise pushed it a little wider and poked her head in. A nurse in lavender scrubs stood at the bed, a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other. Denise looked at the figure in the bed and her stomach filled with lead. Stella didn’t look like Stella. The thick blond hair she was so proud of was gone, replaced by loose bandages. Her face, so swollen and misshapen that it didn’t even look like her, was angry red except where multitudes of fine, small blisters had formed. An IV dripped fluid into her arm, an oxygen cannula was under her nostrils and an oxygen gauge was attached to a forefinger.
The nurse hung the tablet from a hook at the footboard and turned toward the door. She stopped when she saw Denise.
“She’s my sister,” Denise croaked.
The nurse patted the air with a flat hand to signal quiet. She jerked her head to the hallway and Denise followed her out.
“She is resting,” the nurse said quietly. “It’s the best thing for her.”
“Is she okay?” Denise shuddered. “What happened? Is she…” Her voice trailed off while she wrestled with tears.
The nurse’s reassuring smile nearly had Denise blubbering. “She’s here, not at Parkland, so her burns are not as severe as others’. Dr. Stanley should be by in about an hour and you can learn more then. You can stay in her room, if you like, but please be quiet and don’t touch her. And don’t try to change the thermostat. The room is a little cool, but that is good for her.”
The hour dragged by while Denise shifted in the chair against the wall of the room. It seemed Denise had had nothing to do for the past twenty-four hours but wait and think. Stella, a stranger who happened to be a sister, had not been her favorite person when she’d first come to Dallas. There had been times in the beginning she had regretted allowing Stella to share her apartment. With her low-cut necklines and high cut hemlines, sparkly shoes, and flirtations, she couldn’t have been more different than Denise. But living with Stella had allowed Denise to see her good qualities. Now, she couldn’t imagine not having a sister.
She sat in the recliner, her silenced phone in one hand, and watched Stella sleep. Her sister was propped on her good side, revealing how the burn travelled from the side of her face, down her neck to her shoulder, and disappeared under her hospital gown. She wished the doctor would come to tell her just how bad it was.
A footstep sounded in the doorway. Denise looked up eagerly, and then shrank. It wasn’t the doctor. She had never met this man, but she had seen pictures of him. The asshole. Denise felt a wave of cold that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. He didn’t even notice her. His gaze was fixed on Stella. The anguish written plainly on his face shocked Denise. She had never imagined her sperm donor with honest emotions.
She tried to force herself to look at him as if he were a complete stranger. He had to be at least fifty years old, but the years sat lightly on him. He was lean and rangy. The blond hair sprinkled with silver strands was a little too long, in a trendy way, and his darker mustache and goatee were perfectly groomed. Eyes the same blue as hers were bright in a face that had some lines, but was still handsome. Thirty years ago, he must have been devastating. Certainly, he had been to her mom.
She saw the moment he realized he wasn’t alone with Stella. And she recognized the shock on his face when he saw her. She wasn’t the only one who had seen pictures, she concluded grimly, remembering Stella snapping her and Brutus dressed up to go to dinner at the French place.
A harried looking woman entered. She nodded brusquely at the asshole and went to unhook the tablet from the bedframe and read. She stepped closer to Stella and gave her a thorough visual inspection. She seemed to listen for a long moment before giving both Denise and Stella’s dad a long look and crooking her finger at them.
Denise avoided looking at the man, just followed him as he followed the woman out of the room, down the hall, to a tiny meeting room.
“I’m Dr. Stanley. You are Ms. Johnson’s family?”
“Yes,” said the asshole. “Mike Johnson. Stella’s my daughter.”
The doctor looked at Denise. “I’m Stella’s sister,” she volunteered.
“Alright then,” the doctor said briskly. “First let me say that I believe Ms. Johnson can make a full recovery. Most of the burns are second degree, with some third degree. There will be scarring on the left side of her face, neck, and shoulder. The good news is, her eyes and nose were not affected. It’s likely she’ll lose at least part of her left ear.”
Stella took such pride in her appearance. Denise inwardly cringed.
“Skin grafts?” Stella’s dad asked.
The doctor shook her head. “I will discuss that with Ms. Johnson,” she began, and continued in medical jargon that Denise didn’t understand, outlining various possible options, chances for infection, and which treatments would be most effective. Stella’s dad nodded with a gravely intense expression.
“When can I bring my little girl home?” he asked when the doctor wound down.
Denise opened her mouth to protest.
He shook his head at her with a small smile. “Can you take care of Stella while you go to school and work and serve in the Guard?” His voice was gentle. “Stella’s mom will take care of her at home.”
Denise just barely kept from sounding belligerent. “Jesse might want to have a say.”
“Her boyfriend.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.” He turned back to the doctor. “When can I bring her home?”
“Not right away. I want to keep her here for at least another twenty-four hours. Maybe longer.” The doctor glanced between them. “Ms. Johnson has been sedated. It will be at least another two hours before you’ll be able to speak with her. It’s nearly seven o’clock. Why don’t you go downstairs and have some supper before the cafeteria closes.”
It was not a question; it was clearly an order. When the doctor swept out, Denise found herself staring at her sperm donor. He was obviously uncomfortable. He licked his lips and sighed.
“Can I call you Denise, or do you prefer Ms. Friedlander?”
“You can call me Denise.” Her tone was ungracious. “But if you think I’m going to call you dad, forget it.”
“You can call me Mike.” His smile was hopeful. “Come on. I’ll buy you what is probably an absolutely delicious supper in the hospital cafeteria.”
She stared at him, so full of roiling emotions that she had no words.
His hopeful smile fell. “You hate me. I get it. But I’ve waited almost thirty years to be able to meet you and talk to you. This might be the only chance I get. Won’t you let me tell my side of things?”
Her gaze shifted to the phone she still held. Hypocrite, jeered Brutus in her head. “Okay. But I can buy my own supper.”
The walk to the cafeteria was silently uncomfortable. Only a few of the tables were occupied, mostly by people in scrubs. She and the asshole each ordered meatloaf and found a small table in the corner of the cafeteria. A large and incongruously cheery holly and ivy centerpiece took up half of the table. Mike picked it up and transferred it to a nearby table. Denise decided that calling him Mike was more respectful than the sperm donor or asshole. Not that she particularly wanted to be respectful. But the man clearly loved at least one of his daughters.
Well, that was bitchy.
Denise made herself relax her grip on her fork. Don’t be a hypocrite. Try to be fair, she ordered herself.
They started their meals in silence. After a few minutes, Mike made a face.
“I was right, this is absolutely delicious.”
The choked giggle surprised her. “Is that what you call it?”
“My mama always said to look on the bright side.” He picked up his coffee and drank. “Can I talk while you eat?”
She fixed her gaze on the meatloaf and nodded.
&nb
sp; “Okay.” His voice dropped a bit. “Nothing I’m going to say is meant as an excuse. I just want to explain what happened thirty years ago.”
Denise forced herself to cut another piece of meatloaf and nodded again.
“I’m from Louisiana. Didn’t move to Mississippi until after Stel was born. Don’t know if you knew that. I got married to Linda, my high school sweetheart, a week after my nineteenth birthday. We were young and stupid in love with each other. I had a job at a garage that paid some of the bills.” His smile was a little twisted. “Linda was a hairdresser. Her paycheck paid some of the bills too. Neither of us made enough to pay all the bills, much less buy any fun. We were still in love, but sometimes real life made it hard to remember that. We were married four months when Linda turned up pregnant.”
He paused to drink more coffee. “I guess you probably know what happened next. It was too much for me. Like a fool, I ran. I told my wife I was heading west to find a job that would pay enough to take care of her and the baby. But honestly, I just ran. I ran until I landed a job on a ranch close to Fredericksburg, and that’s when I met your mama.”
Denise pushed her internal snarl back. She forked up some mushy green beans and tried to look nonjudgmental.
“I don’t want to lie, Denise. I liked your mama, but I didn’t love her, not like I loved Linda. But I was crazy mad at the world, feeling like a coon chased up a tree by the hounds, and it seemed like being with Julie, that is, your mama, was a nice revenge. An escape from real life.” He didn’t look away from her, his face open with regret, and some shame, but strength too. “It was wrong of me. It’s one of the worst wrongs a man can do to a woman, short of rape. I was stupid and weak. Me and Julie weren’t together more than six times. I guess it only took once for her to get pregnant. She took one of those home pregnancy tests and started building castles in the air about us being a family. When she told me…”
He trailed off to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth. Denise saw a tiny tremor in his fingers.
“It was the biggest wake up call of my life. In one split second I saw just what a selfish, weak fool I had been. A sledgehammer to the head couldn’t have made it plainer. I had to tell your mama that I was a married man and my wife had a baby on the way.” His swallow was audible. “Julie called me every name under the sun, and I deserved all of them. I had to walk away from her. I went back to Louisiana and confessed everything to Linda. I didn’t leave anything out. She took a week to think about it, but she forgave me. Our marriage hasn’t been perfect, but it’s strong. I’ve never strayed again.”
Denise looked across the table at him. Either he was sincere in his regret or he was a fine actor.
“Linda knew about you,” he went on. “We were never rich, but I did a lot better financially when I went into real estate. Linda agreed that some of that money ought to go to you. I wrote to your mama over and over offering to pay child support. I even sent checks. She must have opened the first few letters I sent, because every check was returned, torn up in itty bitty pieces. After the first few, they were returned unopened. I sent you presents for Christmas and your birthday, but they were sent back too. I didn’t blame Julie, and I didn’t expect she’d ever want to see me again, but I thought she might let me help you. After all, you were my daughter.”
She couldn’t keep it in. “Daughter?” That her voice was low and almost level was a miracle. “My mom never said anything about you sending money. The minute she told you she was pregnant you dropped her like a hot rock and went running back home.”
Mike’s blue eyes closed briefly. When he opened them, he leveled a stare on her both steady and stern. “I’m not lying to you, Denise. Your mama did everything she could to shut me out of your life. I knew I had a daughter only when I read about it in the birth announcement section of the paper. You could have been a boy. It took me months to find out what you were named. I tried in every way I could to know you. Your mama wouldn’t let me.”
“She would have told me.” Denise shifted in her seat, suddenly unsure of that. “She wouldn’t have lied to me.”
“Maybe she didn’t see it as a lie. Just keeping the whole truth back to build walls around you.”
“To protect me,” she murmured.
Mike opened his mouth, but only shrugged. “I guess.”
Her mother had kept this from her. Had everyone in her life lied to her? “I don’t believe it.”
Now Mike’s mouth firmed. “You should ask her.” He nodded at her phone lying on the table beside her plate. “You call her and ask her straight out. I’m gonna freshen up my coffee. I need to give Linda a call and let her know how Stel is. Probably take me ten minutes or so.”
He got up and headed to the line of coffee urns on the far wall. Denise chewed her lip and looked at her phone. Swallowing, she picked it up and called home.
“Mom.”
“Honey, I’ve been worried. Did you make it back to Dallas safely?”
“Yeah. Look, I need to talk to you about something. Did the asshole ever try to send money for me?”
Silence stretched. “What on earth are you asking that for?”
“Did he?”
A whip snapped in her mom’s voice. “That man is poison and I don’t care to discuss him.”
“Just answer the question. Please. Did he try to send child support? What about presents for Christmas and my birthday?”
“Why would you even think that?”
“Because he told me so.” Denise knew her voice sounded flat. “Is he lying?”
“No.” Her mom bit off the word. “He tried to pay me to cover up his guilt, but we didn’t need his charity.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“Of course not. The less you knew about him, the better.” A scathing laugh. “He didn’t give up until you were eighteen. He thought he could buy my forgiveness with money, but I didn’t let him off the hook so easy.”
“Oh, mom.” Denise leaned her forehead in her hand. Pieces of her world were breaking from their frame and crashing to the ground. “Oh, mom.”
“Is he there with you now? You get up, young lady, and walk away from him. You don’t need anything from him. He’s nothing to you.”
Denise focused on breathing for a minute. “I love you. I’ll call again later.”
“Denise Anne!”
But Denise hung up and laid her phone on the table. Mike must have seen her end her call, because he came back and sat down. Denise looked at him, feeling oddly fragile and weak.
“She told me you did try to send money and presents, just like you said.”
He looked almost sympathetic.
“All my life,” she went on, almost steadily, “I’ve believed you played with my mom and then went on your merry way with never another thought for us.”
“And now you’ve found out that things you believed for nearly thirty years may not be quite right.”
She made a helpless gesture.
Mike put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “There are always two sides to every story. Each side believes their version is the complete truth until they hear the other side.” His eyes crinkled in a half-sad smile. “Then the truth can look mighty different.”
Dry mouthed, Denise nodded. Guilt crushed her. What did the truth look like from Brutus’s side?
“I’m sorry your mama kept me from you. She had her reasons, but it seems to me it was you and me who suffered for them.”
Denise nodded again. Her mind slipped from this hospital to another hospital, where Brutus lay in a bed accusing her of hypocrisy. Tears rushed to her eyes. He was right. He was totally right. She blinked hard, but she could feel heat of the tears burn her eyelids.
Mike reached across the table, but dropped his hand before he touched her. “Being with Julie was a mistake, but you weren’t. I didn’t ever want you to think I didn’t care about you or that I went on my merry way with never another thought of you. Do you hate me?”
Denise op
ened her mouth. Closed it. Thought hard. “No. Not anymore. I’m not sure what I feel right now. It’s been a crazy day.” A crazy couple of months actually. She examined his face, seeing the hope not quite hidden in his eyes. “I can say that I understand you better now. I have plenty to think about.”
“That’s fair enough.” He did touch her hand now, lightly. “I’m not perfect, and I treated your mama wrong, but I’ve done everything I could to try to make it right. Or at least as right as it could be. Maybe you will never want me to be anything except your sister’s daddy, and that’s alright. But I hope that someday we could be friends.”
She opened her mouth to respond when a familiar voice growled, “Who’s this?”
Chapter Twelve
Brutus! Denise jerked around in her chair to see him planted right behind her, arms folded over his very rumpled blue uniform, glaring at Mike.
“Brutus. Are you done working? You didn’t call.”
He slid his glare over to her. “Wasn’t taking a chance you’d block me. I figured I’d find you here so I came in person.” The glare went back across the table. “Who’s this?” he demanded again.
Denise paused. Swallowed. “My father,” she replied quietly. “Mike Johnson, this is Brutus Gunnison.”
Mike stood up. He was a tall man, but three inches shorter than Brutus, and sixty or seventy pounds lighter. Brutus’s eyes opened a fraction wider for a moment. He offered a paw. “So,” he drawled. “You’re the asshole.”
Mike’s mouth twitched. Denise wasn’t sure what it meant. Maybe offence, maybe amusement, or maybe both. “That would be me,” he confirmed, taking Brutus hand and giving it a shake. “Brutus. Heard of you.” He glanced at her, then back to Brutus. “I reckon you want to see Denise. I’ll head back up to Stella’s room and leave y’all to talk.”
Denise stood up too. “I, uh.” She cleared her throat. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk, Mike.”
