“At Methodist Hospital. He had a stroke last Thursday morning and he’s still in a coma.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to get over there pretty soon to try and catch his doctor.”
“You don’t need to trouble yourself. I know the way to Methodist Hospital,” the surfer said, climbing out of the pool. “I’ll find some dry clothes in the pool house and meet you inside.”
In the kitchen, Charlotte did what she could to clean up with dish soap and paper towels. The surfer came in wearing tan shorts, flip-flops, and a turquoise aloha shirt with pink flamingoes on it.
“This won’t take long,” he said, rummaging in a cabinet and pulling out a square glass baking dish. “Then I have to get to the hospital and see my dad.” He took some papers from his dripping wallet and microwaved them. Next, he gave his paper currency the same treatment. Meanwhile, he was drying his laminated identification with a cup towel. Finally, he zapped the wallet itself. Charlotte was fascinated by his efficiency. It was as if he went for a dip in the pool every day in his clothing.
CHAPTER SIX
Rich busied himself getting his wallet dry, carefully observing Charlotte while seeming to ignore her. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average size, average looks. Might be pretty if she fixed up a little and did something with that stringy hair. How in the world had she manipulated herself into his dad’s good graces? Whatever was going on, he was certain she either had her hand in the old man’s pocket or was maneuvering to get it there. He decided to try the direct approach, maybe catch her off guard.
“Aren’t you a little young for my dad? Or do you prefer older men?” Good. She looked startled. Let’s get a little emotion going here, sis. Maybe your adrenalin will act like a low-grade truth serum. She seemed to be struggling to maintain her composure.
“You are on the security company’s call list,” Rich went on. “You appear to have run of the house. It’s perfectly obvious what’s going on.” That ought to get her going.
Charlotte looked Rich in the eye across the kitchen table. He had to hand it to her—she had some spunk.
“If you can’t show me any respect,” she said tightly, “you could at least think better of your own father. What’s going on between Dick and me is an honest business relationship. I’m his legal guardian.”
Rich blurted the expletive that he always used on utter nonsense and boom!
“Hold it right there, Mr. Martino,” Charlotte said sternly. “I’ve tolerated your crude language, even your lewd suggestion. But I will absolutely not put up with you insulting our Lord by using his name as a curse. If you want to talk that way when I’m not around, then I guess that’s your business. But you do that one more time in my presence and all conversation between us will be at an end.”
Interesting. When he had tried to make this woman mad, she was as cool and soft-spoken as his mother had been. Then he said one little phrase that he used and heard all the time, and she went ballistic. At least he had established there was fire under the ice.
As he replaced everything in his wallet, Rich worked at organizing his situation. This Jesus freak claimed his dad was in a coma and that she was his legal guardian. That was on top of finding out Rita had left him, his credit cards were no good, his bank balance was probably a big goose egg, and his car was missing. At least he had Buster. Wait! Car...missing. Rich remembered he didn’t have the keys to his dad’s car. If this woman didn’t take him to the hospital, he was back in the taxi-riding business.
For now, he’d gained a little insight into which buttons to push and he was confident he would learn more when the occasion arose. It was time to turn on the charm, at least until she got him where he wanted to go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his good boy face over the sardonic grin. “The past couple of days have been difficult for me. I have a lot of questions and I know you do, too. But first, let’s go see my dad. And you can call me Rich.”
“I’m Charlotte. I’m sure you know I’m not the one you should be asking for forgiveness,” she said sweetly. “Are you ready to go?”
Any time you are, baby. Dad’s shyster lawyer would have this pious little phony running for the county line in no time flat.
Rich couldn’t have been more surprised when, on the way to the hospital, Charlotte asked him to look in her purse for her cell phone so she could call Jerry McClain.
Either this was her first big time scam or she limited her marks to doddering old men, Rich thought. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have let him check out her purse in the dark car. Maybe she was careless and had forgotten she was carrying Dick’s wallet around. Or perhaps she was overconfident.
“Jerry, this is Charlotte,” she said. “Fine and yourself?”
She smiled at whatever response she received.
“Jerry, there’s no time to break this to you gradually, so here it is. Dick’s son, Rich, has come home. He’s not dead after all.” There was a pause. “I don’t know, Jerry. I’m sure everything will work out in the end.” Another pause.
Rich could hear Jerry’s dry voice crackling from Charlotte’s phone.
“We’re on our way to the hospital right now. Yes, he’s with me. Do you want to talk to him? All right, then, we’ll see you there. Goodbye.”
Charlotte handed the phone back to Rich.
“Thank you,” she said. “Jerry’s going to meet us at Methodist.”
Rich gave Charlotte a few points for being more clever than he first thought. Imagine! She had that old skeptic Jerry McClain under her spell.
As they walked from the parking lot into the hospital, Charlotte reminded Rich his father thought him dead. “I recommend you let me talk to him first and prepare him for this good, but surprising, news,” she said.
Rich smiled. This minor league amateur was already getting her stories mixed up. “I thought you said he was in a coma.”
“Yes, he is,” Charlotte said patiently. “Medical experts don’t know how much a stroke victim can hear and process. Some people wake up and are able to repeat numerous conversations that went on around them, word for word, while they were comatose. We need to continue on the assumption your father is fully cognizant of everything going on around him.”
Definitely quick on her feet. “That’s fine,” he said. He was willing to give her five minutes worth of rope with which to hang herself. After that, no power on earth was going to keep him away from his dad.
As Rich and Charlotte walked down the hallway to Dick’s room, the Longorias came toward them. Ernestine’s walker stopped moving forward and she leaned on it heavily. “Santa Maria, Madre de Dios,” she whispered as Rich slid the walker aside and enveloped Ernestine in a bear hug. The old woman clung to Rich as they conversed rapidly in Spanish.
Charlotte greeted the Longorias, receiving no response from either of them, and went on to Dick’s room.
After convincing Ernestine he was no ghost, Rich promised to visit her the following day. The Longorias continued their slow navigation down the hospital corridor and Rich went into his dad’s room, totally unprepared for what he encountered. The man in the bed was his father, but he looked so much older than Rich remembered. There was no color in his face. Wires, monitors, needles, scopes, tubes and gadgets were everywhere.
Charlotte held his father’s hand, the one without the IV needle taped to it. Leaning over, she spoke softly into dad’s ear. No doubt this is her angel of mercy pose, Rich thought to himself.
Charlotte straightened. She used her eyes and a head motion to indicate that Rich should come closer. Very slowly, Rich went to his dad’s bedside, overcome with the sight of his once energetic father looking so frail and helpless. Charlotte passed Rich his father’s hand. He grasped it and said, “Dad.” There was so much he planned to say, but to his very great embarrassment he broke into great heaving sobs. Charlotte patted Rich’s arm, then left the room.
Rich lost all track of time. He tried talking to Dick, but could never get past the word, “Dad.” With the sudden realization
he could lose his father, what was left of Rich’s world came crashing around him. Finally he managed to choke out one sentence, just as Charlotte came back into the room. “I love you, Dad,” Rich said.
Rich could see that Charlotte had been crying. He was relieved to have someone share his grief, even if it was this woman he barely knew and didn’t trust. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said. “He will help you if you ask Him.” She thrust a brown business card toward Rich.
He tucked the card in the pocket of his aloha shirt and said, “Thanks.”
Jerry didn’t need to announce himself. His raspy puff-wheeze-puff-wheeze breathing could be heard well before he appeared in the doorway. Jerry eased himself into a chair that faced the foot of Dick’s bed.
“Let me guess,” he said to Rich, “you made such a nuisance of yourself in Hell they threw you out and sent you back to harass the living.”
Rich smiled. “Jerry, you old reprobate. How the—how are you doing? You look great.”
“I look like nine miles of bad road,” Jerry snorted. “And I’ve seen you look better, too. Not bad for a dead man, though. No doubt there’s a story you’ll want to tell me about being resurrected. By the way,” Jerry said archly, “how’s the little woman taking the news?”
Rich sighed. “You just want to hear me say it, don’t you? Okay, you were right and I was wrong. There’s some foreigner living in my house and he seems to think it’s his house. Looks like my credit is trashed and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Rita.” Rich paused and glanced at Charlotte, who was standing very quietly, still looking at Dick. Rich didn’t want her to know his personal business. But what difference would it make? He would be rid of her by tomorrow. “I’m going looking for Rita in the morning, bright and early. If she’s really lucky, I won’t find her.”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Why don’t we go to the visitor’s lounge and get some coffee?” she suggested.
“No,” Rich said. “I’m going to stay here. You could bring me—”
“Come with us, Junior,” Jerry interjected.
They walked past the nurses’ station to the room set aside for visitors. Charlotte made tea while the men helped themselves to the coffee. Then they sat in chairs around a small, square table nestled against the wall between two cabinets.
Charlotte spoke first. “I know it’s hard to remember, but there’s some possibility Dick may be hearing and understanding everything we say. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep the conversation positive and optimistic in his room.” When no one disagreed, she picked up her tea, slid her chair back, and said, “I need to stretch my legs. I’ll stroll back by in a few minutes.”
Rich wanted to stop her, to get her in the crossfire between himself and Jerry. Before he had a chance to object, Jerry spoke up.
“You don’t need to leave, Charlotte,” he said. “There’s nothing to discuss that you can’t hear.” Jerry turned to Rich. “If you were dead, there’s no reason why Rita couldn’t sell your house. And in case you’ve forgotten, dead or alive, as long as she’s your wife she can spend your money. So why are you so mad at her?”
“Because,” Rich said, “I sent her emails—which she usually answered—each time I came out of the jungle. That’s every couple of months. Funny, she never seemed to be curious about getting email from a dead man. I don’t know what’s going on, but I guarantee you I intend to find out.”
Charlotte took some tissues from her purse and wiped her eyes.
“Jerry,” she said, “under the circumstances, it seems to me I should turn Dick’s personal items over to Rich. That way he at least has a place to stay, and a car, and some cash.” She removed a brown wallet and a small plastic bag from her purse.
It had never occurred to Rich that this woman could possibly have any say-so over whether or not he could drive his father’s car or sleep in his own bedroom in the Martino family home. He was shocked into total silence.
“Sounds okay to me,” Jerry said. “And you can consult with Rich on Dick’s medical care. If you want to, that is. Because you, Charlotte, as the legal guardian, you are the responsible party.”
“Now just a G—” Rich stopped himself in the nick of time. He didn’t want to get Charlotte wound up and have to hear another lecture on profanity. “Hold on now, Jerry. Whatever decisions Dad made, he made them thinking I was out of the picture. Surely you don’t think this woman needs to be in charge of his affairs now that I’m home?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think, Junior,” Jerry said, taking a sip of his coffee. “What matters is what’s in those legal papers on file at the courthouse.”
“All of that can be changed,” Rich said flatly. “And you know G—you know good and well it can be.”
“Oh, sure, it can,” Jerry countered. He took another sip. “All we have to do is convince a judge that Dick didn’t really mean what he wrote in his will because he thought his son was dead, but he really isn’t and in fact never was. Of course, you’ll need a different lawyer. I’m an old man doing favors for my old clients. Something gets complicated like this, you don’t want some has-been oil and gas attorney trying to represent you. Anyway, get a court order, if you prevail, and use it to change the arrangements at the bank, and the hospital, and all the other places Charlotte fixed up your father’s business. I figure a couple of months, at least. Meanwhile, what’s the problem with Charlotte being the legal guardian?”
Charlotte drained her tea. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to get back to Dick’s room to make sure I catch Dr. Stephens.”
“Look, Jerry,” Rich said, as the sound of Charlotte’s flip-flops receded in the hallway. “There’s no way I’m going to get on my knees to Miss Goody-Two-Shoes every time I want her to write me a check for Christ’s sake!”
Jerry poured himself another cup of coffee. “I shouldn’t have this stuff so late. I’ll be up and down all night long.” He took a sip. “You know, Rich, she would probably write the check if you told her that’s what it’s for.”
“I don’t follow you,” Rich said.
“I mean, if it was really for Christ’s sake,” Jerry said. “Charlotte would see the merit of that. She would write a check on your dad’s account for a homeless shelter or an orphanage if you asked her.”
Rich’s face was getting redder every minute. “You’re sitting there telling me that woman would pour my dad’s money down some bleeding heart rat hole while he’s lying there not able to help himself and you’re not trying to get her declared incompetent or whatever you legal eagles do to get her out of my dad’s pocket? What’s happened to you, Jerry?”
“You might want to ask what’s happened to your father, Junior,” Jerry replied placidly. “For example, he gave twenty thousand dollars to Charlotte’s church a few months ago.”
“What? Richard Henry Martino Senior gave money to a church? Twenty thousand dollars? U.S. dollars? No way.” Rich shook his head. Then it dawned on him. “What did little miss Bible-thumper get out of it?” he asked.
“Oh, I guess she gets to use the classrooms his money built, like all of the other church members. Who knows? Anyway...” Jerry continued watching Rich’s face intently. “She doesn’t know. Dick gave the money anonymously. He got things sewed up so nobody would ever be able to get a fix on the source of the donation.”
“So,” Rich said, “she’s his little church muffin. Do they sing in the choir together?”
“Oh, no.” Jerry smiled. “Dick’s not a member of Charlotte’s congregation. He belongs to one of those mega churches. And he’s given his church a lot more than a measly twenty thousand this year.” Jerry leaned forward. “I think I’ll be getting on home, Junior,” he said. “Time for my nightly round of pills. Say goodnight to Charlotte for me, will you?”
Rich drank more coffee and listened to Jerry wheeze and puff down the hall. Nothing had made sense for the past few days. Every time he thought he was about to get things sorted out, they got two-hundred degrees weird
er. Dick, taking in Buster. Joining a church. Giving away money. Rich wondered if he should go outside and see if it was raining beer yet.
He crumpled his plastic coffee cup and chucked it into the wastebasket across the room. “Three points!” he declared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The doctor was examining Dick when Charlotte walked back into the hospital room.
“Hello, Dr. Stephens,” she said.
He grunted a response, never looking her way. That was fine with Charlotte. She wasn’t as embarrassed by her clothing as she was the icky feeling of being long overdue for a shower. She sat in the chair at the foot of Dick’s bed and prayed silently for good news.
After a few minutes, Rich entered the room. He stood by Charlotte, waiting for Dr. Stephens. When the doctor finally put his stethoscope away and turned toward them, Charlotte said, “Dr. Stephens, this is Rich, Dick’s son.”
They shook hands.
“Pleasure,” Dr. Stephens said. “As I told your wife yesterday, there’s not much change with Mr. Martino physically. I see no evidence of additional stroke activity. In cases such as this, we cannot predict when—or even, I’m sorry to say—if a patient will emerge from the comatose state. In a few days, you need to plan to move your father from this treatment environment to a care-oriented facility, as we discussed yesterday.” He turned to Charlotte. “Have you made any decisions on where that will be?”
“Yes,” Charlotte responded. “I’ve made arrangements for him at Altoville.” She paused. “If that’s all right with you, Rich.” She didn’t like hitting him cold with this information, but there had been no opportunity to talk it over. She hoped Dr. Stephens’ reference to her as Rich’s wife slipped by unnoticed.
“Uh, sure,” Rich said.
Dr. Stephens was all business. “Excellent choice. We’ll see how things go. For planning purposes, I’d expect the move to be late next week—Friday or Saturday. I understand from the staff you folks are doing a great job of keeping him company. Keep it going. Do you have any questions for me?”
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