Stranger Son

by Jim Nelson

  "Tell me what you're thinking," she pleaded.

  "I wish you would have trusted me with this before."

  "You wouldn't have brought me," she said.

  "Maybe. What are you going to do when you see him? The boy, I mean."

  "Tell him." She softened where she sat. "I'm going to hug him and hold him and tell him I'm his sister."

  "You can't do that," Benford said. "He's been raised by another family for almost sixteen years. You have to respect his parents and their wishes."

  "His parent is my mother in prison," she said. "He needs to know about her. He needs to meet her."

  "That is not your call. Absolutely not. These parents, whoever they are, they've taken on all the responsibilities that parenting entails. You need to appreciate the sacrifice they've made to raise a child. Loving and raising a child is hard, hard work, and they've earned the right to raise him as they see fit. Dropping this kind of news on him—you have to be careful. It can be very damaging to a young person. You could wind up hurting him."

  The car coursed down the winding state highway. Thick woods and the occasional ramshackle cabin blurred past them.

  "I just want to see him," she said, pleading again. "I was there when he was born. I held him in my arms when he was only two minutes old. I looked down into his little face and I could see my sister and my mother and my grandmother and my grandfather, all at the same time. And I only got to hold him for a minute. Then they took him away."

  "Who took him away?"

  "The sheriff," she said. "I never got to see him again." She slunk against the car door with despair. "It was such a mess after that. The world got so messy and so dirty."

  Benford shifted in his seat. She glanced over at him expecting another round of denials, or a firm no and a declaration the conversation was over. Something heavy weighed on him, though. Ruby's words had wormed into his hide.

  "You have to promise you don't violate trust," he said. "You'll be my nurse, but you cannot tell the boy anything. I swear, don't push me on this. And don't push me by trying to drop hints. I know you. I know your ways. Hell," Benford pished, "they may have told him already. Some parents let their children know they're adopted."

  "Really?"

  "It's rare," he said. "But it happens. You should be more worried about your mother, I'd say. You saw what happened back there at the state line."

  "I still don't understand that at all."

  "That border patrol wasn't telling us the whole story," Benford said. "I'm guessing they shot up the CHP and the car rolled." He peered across the front seat at her. "This is not a good time to be in Jefferson. And not a good time for your mother to be in Folsom. That CHP car could be the prelude to much worse. If I were you, I'd return to California with me. Don't plan on staying here for long."

  A mile later, he said, "We'll go to the hospital first. There's a medical supply store across the street from it. We'll get you a nurse's top. Just so you look like one."

  "Thank you," she said.

  Three miles later, he said, "Is Cynthia your real name?"

  "It's my bridge sister's name." The brave one. The one who went through with it. "I'm Ruby."

  He extended a hand of leathery knuckles across the seat. "Nice to meet you, Ruby."

  She shook. "Nice to meet you too," she said brightly.

  "Now no more secrets," he said.

  Twenty

  The house stood on a mostly-undeveloped piece of property a few miles outside of Angels Camp proper. Highway 4 ran along the front of the property, with a half-height chain link fence bordering the property line. The house had no neighbors to speak of.

  The front yard was patches of weeds and rocks and powdery dirt. At the rear of the property, a manufactured house stood beside a rust-red GMC Jimmy, a pale blue truck, and a plastic shed. The chain link gate on the highway was open. Benford let the car roll up to the house at the slowest speed possible. The gravel beneath the tires crunched and popped.

  "Not a lot of curb appeal, is it?" Benford said to her.

  Ruby's excitement was hard to contain. She opened her door the moment he halted the car. He'd not even set the brake. Benford took her by the wrist to stop her.

  "Remember our agreement," he said. "Do not disappoint me."

  The doorbell did not appear to work. He rapped the front door three times. It was flimsy, a door manufactured for interior use exposed to years of the elements. It rattled on its hinges when he knocked.

  A portly woman with tight-curled hair answered. She wore polyester white slacks and a polyester nurse's top covered with tiny American flags at all angles, Old Glory confetti raining down. She was quite shorter than both of them.

  "I'm Dr. Benford." His split-handle medical bag hung from his fist at his side. "I believe I'm expected."

  "I'm not expecting no one," she said. "What's this for?"

  "Dr. Abney should have phoned ahead."

  "I don't know any Dr. Abney," she said. "I certainly didn't receive any phone call about any doctor's visit."

  "Alice," came a man's deep voice from far behind her. "Let me talk to them."

  Annoyed, Alice permitted them inside. They followed her through the house.

  The front room was comfortable but dated in its decor. The chairs were bound in leather and hide with cuts of fur along the headrests. Over the fireplace and on two of the walls hung photos of dead game strung up from trees, bucks mostly, but also pheasants, elk, and in one, a wild boar. The hunter posed beside the animals in all cases, one hand gripping a rifle and the other holding up the bird by their legs or gripping the animal's rack. In every photo, the hunter was a different person, mostly men in camouflage and bright orange vests, but some women as well.

  The kitchen smelled like stale fried meat and onions. Dishes were piled up in the sinks and encrusted pans and pots sat untended on the range top. Ruby could smell rot here.

  They passed through a doorway into a rear den. More photos of bagged game hung on the walls. A sliding glass door set into one wall revealed the half-height chain link fence running along the rear of the property. Beyond it was a dense cloister of firs and pines, just as they'd seen for miles along the drive in.

  An enormous Jefferson state flag took up most of one wall, a field of forest green with a center gold seal. The seal was a gold miner's pan with two offset X's across its center. The flag was pinned at each corner but not along its edges. The material drooped lazily from the wall.

  The gigantic flag was not the most notable aspect of this room, however. In the center of the den was a full hospital bed with the metal side rails up. Lying in the bed was a mustached man with a black mullet of hair and a tanned weathered face. He wore a hospital gown, although he was under layers of blankets from his sternum down. The head of the bed was raised and he could view them as they entered.

  "I'm Kyle Weymouth," he announced. He noted the bag at Benford's side. "Are you here to examine me?"

  Benford approached Kyle's side. The end table beside the bed was covered with bandage boxes, bandage tape, two blue plastic kidney-shaped trays, gauze, and a pharmacy of pill bottles. Hanging along the bed rail was a row of empty urine bottles, lined up as though waiting in a queue to be filled.

  "Kyle, I'm Dr. Benford." They shook hands. "Did Dr. Abney not call you?"

  "Abney?" The name registered immediate suspicion.

  "Dr. Frank Abney. He goes by Franklin professionally."

  "I've not heard from an Abney in twelve years," Kyle said. Each syllable emerged as though crafted with care. "What's this regarding?"

  "I think there's been a…" Benford flushed, attempting to hide his annoyance. "Failure of communication."

  "Are you here for more testing?" Alice said.

  Benford put together the situation quicker than Ruby. "You're Kyle's nurse."

  "That's right," she said, confused.

  "You're not married to—?" He nodded toward Kyle.

  "No," Alice said sharply.

  "I wa
s told you were in some kind of hunting accident," Benford said to Kyle.

  "You heard right," Kyle said. "Four weeks ago."

  "I'm not here to examine you," Benford said.

  "That would have surprised me if you were," Kyle said. "Not like the Abneys to offer help when it could be used."

  "Alice," Benford said apologetically to her. "I need to speak with Mr. Weymouth alone."

  Only when Kyle told her it was okay did she exit to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Ruby, uncomfortable, stood away from the bed. A whiff of feces and urine odors hung in the room. Some of the gauze and spent bandages in the kidney-shaped bowls had evidence of blood on them. It all nauseated her slightly. She sensed a marble-sized lump form in the back of her throat.

  Benford adopted a professional air Ruby had not yet seen. "Kyle, the Abneys have sent me to examine your son," he said.

  "What for?"

  Benford spoke with distaste. "The Abneys believe they're in a position to end their child support payments if they can demonstrate your son is physically and mentally sound. I'm to examine him and submit a report. I was told Frank Abney had phoned ahead and received your approval."

  "You were told wrong," Kyle said.

  "I can't proceed, of course, without your permission. Would you permit me?"

  Kyle peered up at Benford with an arched eyebrow. "Why exactly do the Abneys think they can suspend payments? The agreement we made was for them to provide support until he's an adult."

  "I'm not a lawyer," Benford said. "I heard something about a change in law due to the separation of Jefferson from California."

  "Leave it to California to find a way to renege on its promises."

  Benford acknowledged the oversized field of green and gold on the wall. "I take it you're happy about the separation."

  "You bet," Kyle said. "I supported leaving California most of my adult life. What went down two years ago was long overdue."

  "I wonder if I could speak with Mrs. Weymouth."

  "Lea was killed six years ago." Kyle said it firmly, as though speaking of hard uncontestable facts. "Car accident down near Copperopolis."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  Kyle merely nodded. "I imagine if I refuse to let you examine my boy, you'll come back with a court order or some kind of lawyer?"

  "I wouldn't speculate what the Abneys might do," Benford said. "I imagine your guess is in the ballpark, though."

  "How much do they pay you?" Ruby said to Kyle. It was the first she'd spoken since entering the house. "How much are they sending you?"

  "Six hundred a month," Kyle said before Benford could warn her off.

  "Six hundred?" Ruby said. "They're loaded! Do you know how they live?"

  "I can imagine."

  "This is…Cynthia," Benford said to cut her off. "She'll be assisting me with the examination, if you consent to it." Benford approached his side again. "What I haven't mentioned yet is that the Abneys are prepared to make a cash offer to you to avoid legal troubles." From his medical bag, Benford produced a manila folder. "I have a release that will absolve the Abneys of future support payments. If you agree, they'll send you a final payment of three thousand dollars."

  "That's their offer?" he said.

  "Again, I was told they were going to contact you before I arrived and explain the offer. I'm not trying to persuade you. I was asked to…" Benford's lips pursed from distaste with the whole affair. "I was only asked to carry the paperwork."

  Kyle shifted about in the bed. The discomfort made him clench his jaw. Don't do it, Ruby thought. She would cheer on anybody who applied friction to the lubricated, friction-free life of the Abney family.

  "I'm normally opposed to the idea of holding my hand out for money. We're not a charity case." He spoke as though talking to himself. "But Lea always said we should put the Abney's money toward Henry's benefit, and we did."

  "Henry," Ruby said softly. "That's his name?"

  "Henry Earl," Kyle said to her with some pride. He turned inward again. "With me laid out, though, I confess I was planning on using that monthly check to pay Alice. Until I was up and around again, of course."

  "Your health insurance doesn't cover in-home nursing?" Benford asked.

  "My health insurance paid for the emergency surgery, the drugs, and the colostomy," he said. "And one week’s hospital stay. That's why I'm in this bed. They wouldn't let me stay in the hospital more than a week, which is fine by me, as I don't care much for hospitals."

  "You have a colostomy?" Benford approached. "May I see it?"

  "Why?"

  "I've only seen them in textbooks and videos. Professional curiosity."

  Kyle pushed down the blankets and pulled up his gown. The only things covering him were wrinkled white cotton underwear and a massive crosshatch of bandages over his midsection and upper-right leg. His chest and abdomen hair had been shaved back in a hurried manner. Raw lines of body hair stood against smooth skin like weeds growing pressed up against a sidewalk. Traces of suture lines ran across his lower body, crazy train lines on a map. Removing the blankets caused the smell of feces and urine to grow more pronounced in the room. Ruby, although physically nauseated, moved closer out of a morbid curiosity.

  Among the traffic jam of medical tape and bandages and sutures, a clear plastic rectangular bag sat on top of Kyle's stomach. Only when Benford touched the bag to peer around it did Ruby realize it was affixed to his body. A gray tube emerged from Kyle's belly and emptied into the bag.

  "Oh my God," she said without thinking.

  Benford did not notice her until she was at the foot of the bed. "You should step outside," Benford said. "Take deep breaths. Get yourself a glass of water. You're white."

  Ruby, breathing deeply, continued to watch Benford's examination.

  He said to Kyle, "Have they spoken to you about reversing it?"

  "It's too early to know," Kyle said. He was watching Benford's tender hands. "They said there was a fifty-fifty chance."

  "Reversal of what?" Ruby asked.

  "Reversing the colostomy," Benford said matter-of-factly.

  "Otherwise, I have to live with this to the end of my days," Kyle said to her.

  "I don't understand."

  Benford paused his examination to speak directly to her. He was cross.

  "A colostomy procedure routes the intestine to another exit." He spoke clinically, like a detached narrator of an educational film. "Kyle's large intestine has been severely damaged. The surgeon cut the intestine in two, pulled the end through an incision across his midsection, and sutured it in place. His feces is dumped into this bag rather than exiting his body via normal means."

  "Alice cleans it out twice a day." Kyle said to Benford, "She's a trooper."

  "I take it the bullet punctured your intestines?"

  "The bullet fragmented before it reached me," Kyle said. "Came into me in a cone shape. Most of the damage was in the gut, but it tore through my leg too."

  Leaning down, Benford scanned the bandages and surgical tape across Kyle's right leg. More deep suture lines ran there, loose and puffy as though he was full of cotton stuffing. "These are points of entry?" He used the tip of a ballpoint pen to indicate.

  "Three of them," he said. "Most of the fragments came out the back of my leg and my ass." He nodded toward Ruby. "Excuse my French."

  "I imagine the exit wounds are sizeable," Benford said.

  "I can turn over if you want to see them."

  "As fascinated as I am, I shouldn't." Benford helped Kyle with his gown and pulled the blankets up to his neck. He studied a few of the pill bottles' labels. "Only advice I can offer is to keep following your doctor's instructions."

  "I will," Kyle said absently.

  Benford shifted uncomfortably and sniffled. "I don't mean to press, but I need to know about examining the boy—"

  "You seem like a good guy," Kyle said. "I take it you're not related to one of them?"

  "Them?"

  "The
Abneys?"

  "No," Benford said. "Absolutely not."

  "Then don't take this wrong," Kyle said. "I'm not accustomed to taking orders from anyone."

  "I understand."

  "I'll be damned if I'll bow to the Abneys’ wishes just because they sent you up here bearing threats of withholding support."

  "I'm not here to push you around," Benford said.

  "What if I say no?" Kyle said. "What will happen if I don't give you permission?"

  Benford nodded. "When I return to California, I'll write a report saying you declined examination of the child. I'll file it with the state child custody boards in both California and Jefferson."

  "California has no jurisdiction over me," Kyle said.

  "No, but as a party in the original hearing, they need to be informed." Benford added, "I'll also submit a copy of my report to Emeril Abney."

  "Emeril Abney," Kyle echoed darkly. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

  "You've met him?" Ruby asked.

  "Emeril's the family's lawyer," Kyle said. "He negotiated the entire custody settlement. When we adopted Henry, California required the Abneys to make support payments until Henry turned twenty-one. Mind you, Emeril fought that hard. Lea and I, we didn't even suggest it. That was a stipulation California made during the hearing. Emeril caved, but he made us sign an agreement never to reveal to Henry his parentage." He looked up to Benford. "Everything was approved and sealed by the court and that was that. Or so I thought."

  Kyle continued, as though the discussion had triggered another memory. "When Jefferson split, we almost lost those payments. Emeril tried to wriggle out of them. The ink hadn't dried on the Articles of Separation when the Abney lawyers came slithering with threats of suspending support. Every letter they sent me, I wrote them back telling them to bring it on." He bared his teeth. "When Jefferson separated, we agreed to assume all responsibilities and decisions made by California before the split. We're doing just that. People in California, they didn't reciprocate."

  "'We?'" Benford asked.

  "We. Us. All of us who backed the separation." He nodded to the flag draped on the wall. "We've come a long way in the last two years. People said we would soon enough be crawling back to rich, advanced California, begging to be reabsorbed. We proved them wrong. We're doing just fine here in Jefferson."