by Joanne Fluke
“Are you a religious man, Joe?” Doc asked him.
Joe looked slightly puzzled. “I . . . I don’t remember, but I guess I must be. Or at least, I must have been in the past. I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember.” He looked even more worried and he gave a little sigh. “Do you think I’ll ever remember, Doc?”
“I wish I could say yes, but I really don’t know, Joe. Memory is a nebulous thing.”
“I know exactly what you mean. It’s intangible. Sometimes memories pop into my head and before I can grasp them, they’re gone again.”
“That must be horribly frustrating, Joe,” Hannah sympathized.
“It is. It’s almost like dreaming and then waking up. You tell yourself that you’re going to remember the details, but when you wake up again in the morning, you don’t. You’re just left with a feeling.”
Hannah exchanged glances with Doc. Joe was not an uneducated man. Perhaps he’d not been formally schooled, but he was what the ancient philosophers would have called a thinker.
“Are you ready for your coffee?” one of Doc’s nurses asked, appearing in the doorway with a tray, a coffeepot, and cups.
“We are,” Doc told her. “Just set it on Joe’s bedside table, Molly, and we’ll pour it ourselves.”
“Of course.” Molly walked over to the far side of Joe’s bed and set the tray on his bedside table. Then she stared at his arm in shock. “Did you pull out your IV, Joe?”
“Joe decided he didn’t need it anymore,” Doc said, winking at Joe.
“You did?” Molly looked at Joe in surprise. “But . . .”
“Relax, Molly,” Doc told her. “I removed it. You’re going to have to add to your duties this afternoon. Joe is going to take his antibiotics by mouth from now on.”
“But we were giving him hydration, and . . .”
“I know,” Doc interrupted her. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, Molly. Just make sure that Joe has a full pitcher of water and that you bring him food whenever he’s hungry. Keep a record of what he ingests for me, will you, please?”
“Of course I will, Doc.”
“And, Joe . . . I want you to ring Molly for food every time you think you can eat something. Fruit juice will be good, too. We have to keep up your caloric intake . . . isn’t that right, Molly.”
“Yes, it is, Doc.” She reached out to pat Joe gently on the shoulder. “Good for you, Joe. Doc wouldn’t have removed your IV unless you were getting better.”
“That’s right,” Doc agreed, giving her an approving smile.
“I’d better go see what the kitchen has to go with your coffee,” Molly said, and then she caught sight of the distinctive cookie bag on Joe’s bedside table. “Are those more of your cupcakes, Hannah?”
“Not this time. I brought three dozen of Grandma Knudson’s Cinful Sugar Cookies.”
“I love those cinnamon cookies!” Molly said quickly. And then she looked slightly embarrassed. “Now you’re all going to think I was asking for one of Joe’s cookies.”
“You were, and you might as well admit it,” Doc told her, smiling to show that what Molly had said was perfectly all right. Then he turned to Hannah. “You said there were three dozen in there?”
Hannah nodded. “Three dozen, but they’re baker’s dozen.”
“Three extra, one for each dozen?” Joe asked her.
“That’s right!” Hannah said, smiling at him. “How do you know about a baker’s dozen, Joe?”
“I . . . I don’t know, but I do. Someone must have told me about it, but I have no idea who.”
“You may remember later,” Hannah said quickly, noticing that Joe looked a bit sad that he couldn’t come up with a name.
“Maybe,” Joe replied, and then he turned to Molly. “Take a dozen cookies with you and give them to my other nurses.”
“Are you sure?” Molly asked.
“I’m sure. That’ll still leave us with twenty-seven cookies and that’s nine apiece.” He stopped speaking and turned to Doc and Hannah. “That’s all right with you two, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine with me,” Hannah told him. “I had a couple this morning when I was baking them.”
“And I have to watch my waistline,” Doc said.
“Thanks, Joe!” Molly said, taking a napkin from the bag and filling it with cookies. “You’re a sweet guy, Joe. If I were ten years younger . . .” She stopped speaking and gave a little laugh. “Well, I’m not.” She picked up the cookies and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, Joe.”
Hannah made another mental note. Joe knew what a baker’s dozen meant. She had to hurry and write down all of these clues before she forgot.
“Would you two excuse me for a minute?” Hannah asked. “I have to make a quick phone call.”
“No problem,” Doc said. “While you’re gone, I’ll pour us all some coffee.”
Hannah stepped outside the door, walked down the hall a few feet, and removed her cell phone from her pocket. Thank goodness Lisa had reminded her to charge it at The Cookie Jar this morning! She punched in her own number at her condo, listed the new facts she’d learned about Joe, and hurried back to Joe’s room. “Did I miss anything?” she asked.
“Just two rounds of cookies,” Joe told her.
“That’s okay. I had more than that before I got here.” Hannah took a sip of her coffee. Surprisingly, it was good. Doc insisted on that. He’d told the cooks in the hospital kitchen that he’d had enough bad coffee when he was an intern and he wanted his hospital to be different.
“Could I please ask you a question, Miss Swensen?”
“Of course, but only if you call me Hannah. What is it?”
“Please tell me, Hannah . . . who are the other two ladies who found me?”
“One is my mother, Delores Swensen. And the other is her best friend, Carrie Rhodes.”
“Rhodes,” Joe repeated. “Is Carrie Rhodes any relation to the dentist who works in the Rhodes Clinic?”
“Carrie is the dentist’s mother,” Doc explained. “The dentist’s name is Norman.”
“Yes. That’s what he said to call him, when I shoveled his sidewalk last week. He was a nice man, Hannah. He paid me more than I asked and then he took me over to the café for breakfast.”
Hannah began to smile. “Norman bought breakfast for you?”
“Yes. He told the lady to give me eggs, buttered toast, coffee, and bacon. And then he handed her some money and said he had to get back to the clinic.”
“That sounds like Norman,” Doc commented.
“Yes, it does,” Hannah agreed.
Doc took the last sip of his coffee, got out of his chair, and walked over to the side of Joe’s bed. “You’re tired, aren’t you, Joe?”
“Yes, but I slept. I haven’t slept that much since . . . I don’t know when.”
“Take another little nap now,” Doc told him. “It’ll be good for you. And when you wake up, you can have some more of Hannah’s cookies.”
“Then I can stay here?” Joe looked anxious as he asked the question.
“Yes. I want you to stay for a week or so. You need to build up your strength, Joe.”
Joe gave a tired smile. “I’m glad you call me Joe,” he said. “It just sounds right to me. Do you think that maybe my name really was Joe?”
“It could have been. We’ll know when you remember more, but I’m glad you like to be called Joe for now.”
“Thank you for coming and for the cookies, Miss Hannah,” Joe said, closing his eyes.
Hannah waited until Doc stepped away from Joe’s bedside and then she stood up and followed him out the door. She blinked away tears as she saw how grateful Joe had been when Doc told him that he could stay.
“Would you let Mother and Carrie come with me the next time I visit Joe?” she asked.
“I’ll ask him, but I’m sure he’ll say yes. He was curious about who he should thank for saving his life.”
Hannah shivered slightly even though the hospital corridor was
warm. She’d only seen Joe twice, but she already liked him and she didn’t want to think about what might have happened to him if they hadn’t found him. “How about Norman? Could he visit Joe?”
“Yes. Joe seemed grateful to him, and Norman is good with people.”
“Can Grandma Knudson include Joe on her rounds the next time she comes out to the hospital with Reverend Bob?”
“Hold on a second, Hannah. How many people does that make?”
“It’s five, Doc. There’s Mother, Carrie, Norman, Grandma Knudson, and me.”
“All right, but no more than three in one day. I don’t want to exhaust him just when he’s regaining his strength. And you have to limit yourselves to ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes for each of us?” Hannah asked, and Doc laughed.
“I should have known you’d try to increase it,” he said. “Ten minutes for just one of you, fifteen minutes if you come with your mother and Carrie. The same fifteen limit if you come with Norman.”
“But Norman and I are only two people. Why do we get the same time as Mother, Carrie, and me?”
“Because three women together are more exhausting than a man and a woman.”
Hannah smiled a teasing smile. “Isn’t that a bit sexist of you, Doc?”
“It’s not sexist, it’s common sense.” Doc opened the door to his office and stepped in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hannah.”
Chapter Eight
“What are you baking, Hannah?” Rachael came into the kitchen a few minutes before time to close for the day. “It smells like garlic.”
“And why do you have all those empty cereal boxes on the work station?” Lisa came in behind her cousin.
“I’m making my Cocktail Munchie Mix.”
“I’ve never heard of a mix for drinks that you make in the oven,” Rachael said.
“It’s not a mix for cocktails. It’s a mix you have with cocktails. Mother invited Carrie over for dinner tonight, and because they always have drinks in the living room first, I thought they’d enjoy it.”
Rachael walked over to the industrial oven and peeked through the window on the door. “You only have one big pan in there.”
“I know. It’s the pan I use for roasting turkey. This oven isn’t made for making something like this, but I didn’t feel like driving back to the condo, baking it in my regular oven, and then driving back here to Mother’s house.”
“Your mother invited you for dinner?” Lisa asked, looking surprised. “I thought she always took you out to the Lake Eden Inn.”
“Not always, and this is a command appearance. The whole family goes to Mother’s house for dinner once a week. ”
“The whole family?”
Rachael looked a bit shocked and Hannah laughed. “Our whole family isn’t as big as your family.”
“So who will be there?” Lisa asked.
“Andrea and Bill, Mother and Carrie of course, Norman, Mike, and me.”
Lisa asked, “Is your mother still hoping that something might happen between you and Norman?”
“Yes,” Hannah sighed.
“But does she think that Mike is a contender, too?” Rachael asked.
Hannah laughed at her wording. “Yeah. I don’t think it makes much difference to Mother. She just wants to marry me off before my biological clock stops ticking.”
Both Rachael and Lisa laughed. “Because she wants grandchildren?” Rachael asked.
“You got it!” Hannah walked over to the oven, shut off the revolving rack feature, and opened the door. “Pour yourselves a cup of coffee and get one for me, too. I just have to stir this again.”
While Hannah stirred the roaster that contained her Cocktail Munchie Mix, the two younger women filled coffee cups and brought in jars of unsold cookies from the coffee shop. There weren’t many left. They’d had a morning rush, a good lunch crowd, and even more customers in the afternoon.
“I hope you weren’t planning on taking cookies to your mother’s dinner party,” Lisa commented.
“I wasn’t. I made a batch of Christmas Date Cupcakes, and I’m taking those. They’ll be perfect with the ice cream that Mother always gives us as dessert.”
“What is your mother serving for dinner?” Rachael wanted to know.
“One of three things,” Hannah replied.
“Hannah’s mother only makes three entrées,” Lisa explained.
“That’s right. It’ll be Hawaiian Pot Roast, EZ Lasagne, or the roasted chicken that she buys at the Red Owl.”
“And you’re hoping for the roasted chicken, right?” Lisa asked with a smile.
“I always hope for the roasted chicken. Mother’s recipe for Hawaiian Pot Roast is a good one, but she always overcooks it. And she doesn’t use enough cheese in her lasagna. There’s no way she can mess up Florence’s roast chicken.”
Rachael laughed. “What does she have besides the roast chicken?”
“A green salad and Florence’s cheese bread that she warms up in the oven. It’s not a bad meal . . . really. I just hope I won’t have to feel like peanut butter again.”
Lisa laughed, but Rachael looked puzzled. “Why would you feel like peanut butter?”
“Because Mother uses place cards. She likes to arrange the seating for her dinners. And she always sandwiches me in between Mike and Norman. . . .”
“And that makes you feel like a peanut butter sandwich,” Rachael said, giving a little groan. “Those family dinners must be horrible!”
“They are, but it makes Mother happy. And we do it every week. When Michelle comes home from college, she’s there. And Mother usually invites a couple of other people. ”
“Tell us about your trip to the hospital,” Lisa said. “We’ve been wondering how that went. I told Rachael about the homeless man and how you, your mother, and Carrie rescued him.”
“Doc says he’s recovering very well, except that he’s lost his memory. They gave him the name Joe Smith on the admittance form.”
“Does Doc Knight think his memory will come back?” Lisa wanted to know.
“He’s not sure. He told me that memory is a tricky thing, but Joe told us something during our visit with him that was really good.”
“What was it?” Rachael asked.
“He said that he liked being called Joe and it just seemed right to him, that he wondered if it might possibly be his real name.”
Rachael gave a little nod. “That’s encouraging, Hannah. Maybe he’s right and it is his real name. You might find out and you might not.”
“That’s what Doc said this afternoon.”
“Are you trying to find out who Joe really is, and where he came from?” Lisa asked her.
“Yes. I’ve been keeping notes on anything he says that might be a clue to his identity.”
“If you get enough information, maybe you can find out if there’s anyone out there who’s looking for him,” Lisa suggested.
“Mike’s going to check the missing person reports from Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, and the Dakotas,” Hannah told them.
“Good!” Lisa sounded relieved. “I’m glad Mike’s going to investigate.”
“Mike isn’t going to investigate. He can’t, not officially.”
“Why not?” Rachael wanted to know. “It’s a missing person case, isn’t it?”
“Not really. Joe’s not officially a missing person. He’s right here in Lake Eden. And as far as we know, there’s been no crime committed, even though Doc says he’s suffering from TBI.”
Lisa was clearly puzzled. “What’s TBI?”
“What’s TBI?” Rachael chimed in, too.
“Traumatic brain injury. Doc says there’s evidence of a blow to Joe’s head that could have caused his amnesia. But there’s no way of knowing if the blow was caused by an accident like a car crash, or whether someone deliberately hit him with something.”
“One is a crime, and the other one isn’t,” Lisa said, understanding the problem immediately.
“That’s ri
ght. And unless we know that someone deliberately hit Joe, Mike can’t officially open a case to find out.”
“That’s a real problem,” Rachael commented.
“I know. Mike promised me he’d ask Sheriff Grant if he can work on Joe’s case, but he doesn’t hold out much hope since Sheriff Grant’s such a stickler for the rules.”
“Can he help you unofficially?” Rachael asked.
“He said he would, but he can’t devote much time to it.”
“Then it’s up to you,” Lisa said with a sigh.
“And Norman. He promised to help me if he can.”
“How about us?” Rachael asked. “Can we do anything to help you find out about Joe?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s get a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you what I know so far. I do have some clues, but I’m not sure how productive they’ll be. But don’t you two have to get home to make supper for Jack?”
“Not tonight,” Lisa said. “Dad’s going to my oldest sister’s house for dinner. Her husband is picking him up. Rachael and I have nothing we need to do, except . . .” She stopped speaking and glanced at Rachael. Rachael gave a little nod and Lisa went on. “Herb lined Rachael up with a friend of his and we’re all going out tonight. But they’re not picking us up until seven-thirty.” She stopped and glanced at the clock. “We’ve got at least an hour before we have to leave to get ready.”
“We’re going out to the Rock Tavern for burgers and then we’re going to stay for the live music,” Rachael told her. “It’s a country-western band and the Rock Tavern’s got a dance floor. Herb’s friend promised to teach me the Texas two-step.”
“It sounds like a fun evening,” Hannah said, delighted to learn that Lisa was still dating Herb Beeseman. Even though she shied away from playing matchmaker, she’d arranged for Herb to take Lisa to one of the traditional Christmas parties that were given in Lake Eden last year. It had been an extravagant affair, and Lisa and Herb had enjoyed themselves and definitely enjoyed being together. Everyone, including Lisa’s father, Jack, thought they were a cute couple, and Lisa, after dealing with the death of her mother from cancer and the gradual decline of her father from the onset of Alzheimer’s disease, deserved a little joy in her life.