Mulberry Park (9 page)

He ran through a parking lot, then jumped behind a hedge, zipping this way and that. When he finally arrived at Mulberry Park, his heart was pounding like a boom box in a lowrider. And even though he was looking for a grown-up, Analisa was the first one to spot him.

Sure enough, she came running, a big smile making her look all happy. As she got closer, she pulled out a folded yellow envelope from her pocket.

Aw, man. Not again.

She was all out of breath when she reached him. “I was hoping you’d come today, Trevor.”

As much as he hated the idea of hanging out with a girl, Analisa really wasn’t so bad. “What do you need this time?”

“I want you to put this in the tree.”

He figured that’s what she was up to again. “Aren’t you afraid you’re bothering God?”

“No one can bother Him, Trevor. He’s everywhere and can do everything.”

He wanted to tell her that maybe God didn’t get bothered, but Trevor did. He kept his mouth shut, though. Analisa had always been nice to him, even if she didn’t know as much about God as she thought she did.

She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the yellow envelope in her fingers, crunching it. “Besides, God wouldn’t keep making people if He didn’t have time for us.”

Trevor wasn’t sure she knew what she was talking about, but he hoped it was true because he planned to whisper a prayer of his own later today. When he was alone and no one could see him.

First off, he needed all the help God could give him because he didn’t want to get his butt kicked. And second, he didn’t want to lose his skateboard. It wouldn’t be fair.

He’d lost too much already.

Saturday dawned sunny and bright, and as the morning wore on, the temperature rose steadily.

After pulling into a parking space and cutting the engine, Claire glanced in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick—something she hadn’t stressed about in years. These days, once she put on her makeup in the morning, she rarely freshened it later. Yet she wasn’t naïve enough to pretend she didn’t know why she’d done so now.

While it seemed likely that she would run into both Analisa and Trevor if she arrived in the middle of the day, that was also true of Sam—should he decide to bring lunch again. And although meeting the attorney hadn’t been a part of her strategy, she couldn’t shake the idea that she might see him or that, if she did, she wanted to look her best.

She reached across the console for the basket of doll clothes that rested on the passenger seat, grabbed her purse, slipping the strap over her shoulder, and locked the car.

It was warmer than usual today, and what little breeze there was blew from the west. As she walked along the sidewalk, she scanned the playground for Analisa, spotting her on the swings with several other children. Nearby, a pregnant Latina stooped, tending to a toddler. When the woman straightened and spotted Claire, an awkward sense of recognition passed between them.

Claire didn’t always run into people on the street who’d applied for loans and been turned down, and it wasn’t particularly comfortable when it happened. It was no wonder why they both looked away.

In a shady spot on the grass, Hilda sat in a lawn chair next to Walter. And about ten yards behind them, Trevor, who wore the helmet and pads Claire had given him, had plopped down, his legs crossed, the skateboard resting in his lap. His head was bent as he picked and scratched at a flame decal with his fingernail.

It might have been three years since she’d been a mother, but she knew most boys didn’t sit by themselves for no reason at all. There were usually mitigating circumstances, like a time-out punishment or an injury—either physical or emotional.

Unlike other boys, Trevor always seemed to hang out by himself anyway. So why wasn’t he practicing on the skateboard?

Unable to help herself, she stopped beside him. “Hey, Trevor. How’s it going?”

He looked up, squinting at the midday sun. “Okay.”

She stepped to the side, casting her shadow over his face. “I see you’re using the pads and helmet.”

“Yeah. Thanks again. I have a feeling I would have really got banged up a few times if I hadn’t had them.”

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Taking a break?”

He nodded, but she wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

He glanced over his shoulder, toward the parking lot, as though looking for someone. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“I’d like to talk to you. Do you mind if I sit down for a minute or two?”

“No, go ahead.”

She took a seat on the grass and placed the basket in her lap. “I wanted to tell you something and fill you in on a secret.”

That seemed to perk his attention.

“You know that doll Analisa plays with?” she asked. “The one she calls Lucita?”

He nodded.

Claire tilted the box so he could see inside. “I made her some clothes.”

He shot her a what-kind-of-secret-is-
that?
expression, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Erik wouldn’t have been impressed by homemade doll clothes, either.

“Do you know why I made them?” she asked.

Again, he shook his head no.

“Because Analisa’s doll is more than a plaything to her. And do you know why?”

He scrunched his face, indicating that he might actually be wondering why, too, and slowly shook his head.

“Because not so long ago, Analisa lived in another country with her mom and dad. And when her parents died, she came to live with her uncle. That doll represents the life she used to have. It’s like holding onto a memory. Can you understand that?”

Trevor dropped his gaze into his lap, where the skateboard rested. Then he glanced up, his eyes glistening. “Sort of.”

“So even though the doll might seem dumb or ugly to you, it has great value to her. And if someone teases her about her love for the doll, it hurts her feelings.”

“So that’s why you made clothes for the doll?” Trevor asked. “Because you knew how special she thinks it is?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t respond right away, then added, “You gave me the helmet and pads, too.”

“Well…yes.” She had, although her reason for doing so had been entirely different.

The boy seemed to study her as if she were some kind of adult anomaly—and a nice one at that. “Is that because you knew how special my skateboard is to me?”

“And how special
you
are,” she said, feeling a bit guilty for accepting his unspoken praise. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

A grin started at one side of his face and broke into a full-on smile. “I’ll bet Analisa is going to be super happy to see the stuff for her doll.”

“I hope so.”

He grew silent, and since Claire couldn’t very well batter him with questions or lectures, she got to her feet and approached Hilda instead.

“Good morning,” she said, as she joined the woman and man seated in lawn chairs.

Both Hilda and Walter turned. Walter grinned, but Hilda, who held Lucita in her lap, appeared…distressed. When the older woman lifted a hand to shield the sun from her eyes, Claire noticed beads of sweat had gathered on her upper lip.

“Are you feeling all right?” Claire asked her.

“No,” Walter said. “She isn’t. She’s having stomach pains. I suggested she go home and lie down.”

“I…” Hilda winced. “I thought it would pass, but it seems to be getting worse. I’m a bit dizzy, too.”

“Then you’d better not get behind the wheel,” Claire said.

“If you wouldn’t mind driving her car and taking her and Analisa home,” Walter said, “I’ll be happy to pick you up and bring you back here.”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps a bit of tea will help me feel better,” Hilda said, grimacing as she reached for her tote bag.

Claire lowered the basket she held in her arms. “I brought some doll clothes for Analisa. Do you mind if I give them to her?”

“Not at all. That was nice of you.” Hilda glanced down at Lucita and shook her head. “It’s an ugly old doll, isn’t it? But Analisa loves her.”

Claire understood why, though. Didn’t Hilda?

Of course, the poor woman wasn’t feeling well.

“If you don’t mind…” Claire nodded toward the playground. “I’ll take these to Analisa and tell her it’s time to go home.”

“Thank you.” Hilda took a few sips of tea, then grimaced and tossed the rest of the cup onto the grass. She turned to Walter. “This isn’t sitting well with me.”

Claire carried her box to the playground and motioned for Analisa to join her at the edge of the sand. She suspected Hilda was in a hurry to leave, so even though she wanted to show the doll clothes to the little girl, she decided to do so in the car.

When the child came near, Claire said, “Hilda isn’t feeling well, so she asked me to drive the two of you home.”

“We have to go now?” Analisa asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

Before Claire could continue, the child grew still. “Uh-oh.”

“What’s the matter?”

Analisa pointed toward the restroom. “I think that big boy is mad at Trevor.”

Claire glanced over her shoulder, where a teenager had cornered Trevor against the outside block wall of the men’s room. And she quickly surmised Analisa was right. “You wait here.”

She jogged toward the boys. “What’s going on?”

Relief washed over Trevor’s face the moment she appeared on the scene.

The teenager, a sloppy punk dressed in black, crossed his arms. “This little kid stole my friend’s skateboard, and I’m just trying to get it back.”

“I did
not
,” Trevor said. “I found it in a field. Someone threw it away.”

The teenager stiffened. “That’s a lie.”

“Why should I believe you over him?” Claire asked. When the boy didn’t offer any reason, Claire continued. “If your friend has a claim on this board, you have him come talk to me.”

Before the teenager could comment, Walter’s voice rang out through the park.

“Somebody help! Call an ambulance!”

A
t the sound of Walter’s cry, Claire turned to find Hilda crumpled on the grass and Walter on his knees beside her. Claire started to rush to them, then, having second thoughts, grabbed Trevor by the arm. “You come with me.”

She wasn’t leaving him with a bully.

As they neared Hilda, who was pale and trembling, the boy pulled back. “What happened to her?”

“I’m not sure.”

Walter glanced up, his gaze snagging Claire’s in a mire of concern. “She’s in severe pain.”

Claire dropped the box of doll clothes on the grass, then pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed 9-1-1. All the while, Trevor stood aside, frozen and unmoving.

The pregnant woman—Maria?—approached, carrying her toddler on her hip. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Maybe you can—” Claire stopped in midsentence when her call connected, and she reported the emergency to the dispatcher. “We need an ambulance at Mulberry Park.” She went on to explain Hilda’s pain and her collapse.

When she’d been assured the paramedics were on their way and the call had ended, she put her cell phone back in her purse. Her adrenaline was pumping, and she scanned the park, hoping that if anything else went wrong, there was someone better prepared to help than she was.

Several looky-loos craned their necks from a distance, but none of them were jumping to the forefront.

Hilda startled. “Cindy? Oh, no. Where’s the baby?”

“You mean Lucita?” Claire asked. The doll Hilda had been holding for Analisa now lay on the grass next to her.

“No.” Hilda grew agitated, her eyes opened but unfocused. “Where’s little Cindy? I’m her nanny. And I need to meet her mother…”

“She’s talking about Analisa,” Walter said. “She’s in so much pain that she’s confused.”

Oh, dear God. Where was that ambulance?

Claire stepped forward and knelt beside the disoriented woman. “Don’t worry, Hilda. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

Hilda placed a cool, shaky hand on Claire’s forearm and opened her mouth to speak. Instead she moaned and closed her eyes.

Claire got to her feet and took Maria aside. “I’d better find Analisa and talk to her. I don’t want her to worry.”

“It’s too late,” Trevor said. “She’s running over here now. And she looks pretty scared to me.”

Claire feared there was good reason for the little girl to be frightened, but tried to conjure a soothing smile as she strode to meet her.

Panic seized Analisa’s voice. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Richards?”

Dropping to one knee, Claire slipped an arm around the child. “Mrs. Richards has a pain in her tummy. And since she feels better lying down, we’ve asked for an ambulance to take her to the hospital. A lot of doctors and nurses work there, and they’ll know just what to do to make her better.”

“But sometimes they
don’t
,” the girl said, as she studied the elderly woman lying on the grass.

Claire had meant her words to be comforting, yet began to realize how little truth they held for a child who’d lost both her parents while living in a third-world country. A child whose mother had died from an infection that wasn’t treated properly.

So what more could Claire say? Especially when she, too, had faced a life or death situation and been forced to accept the limits of medical intervention, even in a hospital that boasted modern technology and top-notch personnel.

With Trevor and Analisa flanking her, Claire stood and watched as Maria made her way to the stricken nanny.

In spite of the young mother’s advancing pregnancy and the toddler still balanced on her hip, she stooped beside Hilda and whispered something. Words of comfort, maybe. Then she reached for the doll that lay abandoned on the grass next to Hilda’s tote bag and brought it to Analisa.

But Analisa refused to take it. “No, let Mrs. Richards have Lucita with her when she goes to the hospital. It’ll help her feel better.”

From somewhere deep in Claire’s chest, emotion rose in her throat, nearly strangling her, as she realized the value of Analisa’s precious gift. But she couldn’t see sending that little doll to the hospital, where it might easily be lost.

Claire took Lucita from Maria. “I have a better idea. Maybe Analisa and I can take the doll to visit Mrs. Richards later. After she gets settled.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Claire held the doll in one arm and Analisa’s hand with the other, as a siren sounded in the distance.

It had seemed like ages before the ambulance finally arrived, but it had only been a matter of minutes. Before long, the paramedics began working on Hilda, then placed her on a bright yellow portable gurney and loaded her into the ambulance.

Walter, who’d stayed close to the stricken woman through it all, held Hilda’s handbag and tote as he approached Claire. “I’m going to follow the ambulance, then if you’ll give me your number, I’ll call you once I hear what the doctor has to say.”

“All right.” Claire reached into her purse for a scrap of paper and pulled out a Starbucks receipt. She scratched out her number on the back side, then handed it to Walter. “I’ll let Sam—Mr. Dawson—know what’s going on. I can take Analisa to him, if he’d like. Or I can watch her for him this afternoon.”

“While you make that phone call,” Maria said, “I’ll play a game with the children.”

Claire gave her an appreciative smile and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Come on, Trevor.” Maria placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I want you to join in, too. It’ll be fun.”

The boy scanned the park, then nibbled on his bottom lip for a moment. He glanced at Claire, as worry and indecision welled in his eyes.

“It’ll be all right,” Claire told him. “I’ll keep an eye out for that big boy and won’t let him bother you.”

“Okay. But when you take Analisa to her uncle, can you give me a ride to my apartment? I don’t feel like walking today.”

She didn’t blame him. “I’d be happy to take you home. Now go play with the others.”

Maria slipped her arm around the boy’s shoulders, and he ambled off with her, the skateboard still clutched in his arms.

Claire wasn’t sure what else might be going on between Trevor and the teenager. Nor did she know how to keep him safe from harassment in the future.

The thought of simply buying him a new skateboard crossed her mind. That way he could let the teenager have the one in dispute. Normally, she wouldn’t even consider giving a child a gift that required parental approval, but Trevor had already been allowed to have a board.

Claire would think more about that later, though. Right now, she had a call to make.

Wanting to get out of the sun, she walked over to the concrete bench under the mulberry and took a seat. Then she dialed 4-1-1 on her cell, requested the number for Sam’s law firm, and waited to be connected.

Sam answered on the second ring.

After identifying herself, Claire explained the situation. “I can bring Analisa to you or keep her for a while. Whatever you’d like me to do.”

“I’ll wrap things up here as quickly as I can, then I think I’d better go by the hospital and check on Hilda. Poor thing. She’s a widow and doesn’t have any children. I’m afraid I don’t know any of her friends, so I haven’t got a clue who to call.”

For a moment, Claire thought of all the friendships she’d let go by the wayside since Erik’s death. If anything happened to her, who would be notified? Would anyone even care?

At this point, Vickie still might, which was a good reason to try and reconnect with her.

Claire cleared her throat, hoping to dislodge a lingering sense of regret. “Let me give you my address. You can pick up Analisa whenever it’s convenient.”

“I’d sure appreciate that.”

“I’m glad I can help.”

“You know,” Sam said, “while I’ve got you on the line, I want to apologize for pressing you about that Russell Meredith issue last week. I was out of line.”

“That’s all right. I’m sorry that I got a bit weepy and emotional over it.”

A clumsy silence stretched between them, yet she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Well,” Sam finally said, maybe feeling it, too. “I’d better get busy so I can go to the hospital. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

“Take all the time you need.”

When the line disconnected, Claire glanced at the playground where Maria had gathered the children on the lawn and was playing Duck, Duck, Goose.

Claire hadn’t allowed herself to get involved in anyone else’s life in ages—three years to be exact. Maybe even longer than that. And it was a bit discomfiting to allow herself to be drawn in now. Yet on the other hand, the psychiatrist she’d once seen had told her that time would heal.

So each day, she’d placed a big X on her calendar, hoping that if she scratched out enough squares, the pain would ease and life would become normal again. And she’d seen evidence of that today.

I’m glad I can help
, she’d told Sam. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, her words had rung true.

Leaves rustled overhead, and she looked up. There, wedged on one of the lower branches of the mulberry, was a bright yellow envelope.

“Oh, Analisa,” she whispered in an exasperated sigh. “What am I going to do about you and your letters to God?”

In spite of a growing reluctance to remain involved in the pen-pal relationship, Claire looked around, then climbed on the bench and tiptoed in order to reach the envelope. Once it was in her hand, she slipped it into her purse to read later. But she had no intention of answering this one.

Claire had responded to the original letter so that Analisa’s faith wouldn’t be shaken. But now, with Mrs. Richards in an ambulance racing to the hospital, she feared her effort had been a waste of time.

How could Claire continue to nurture the child’s faith when God—or Fate—kept bombarding her with the deaths and illnesses of people who cared for her?

Walter carried Hilda’s canvas bag and purse into the Emergency Room at Pacifica General, a pale green stucco building that overlooked the city of Fairbrook, and followed the paramedics inside.

He hated hospitals. Just the smell, a hodgepodge of disinfectant, bland food, and medicine permeating the walls, turned his gut inside out. Add that to the pain and misery of patients and visitors walking along the squeaky clean corridors, and…well, it wouldn’t take much for a man like him to balk and hightail it out of here while he was still healthy enough to escape.

Hospitals might be a place for some people to get better, but for others?

It was merely a waiting room for an elevator ride to the morgue.

Twenty years ago, Walter had sworn he’d never make another visit without kicking and screaming all the way—even if he was strapped to a gurney or manacled by tubes and wires to a monstrous medical apparatus that would keep a head of broccoli alive.

So needless to say, as he dogged behind Hilda’s gurney, his stomach clenched and the old fight-or-flight response kicked in. Of course, at his age, there wasn’t much fight left in him, nor was there much energy left for a tail-between-the-legs sprint.

He supposed he could have just let the paramedics haul off Hilda and gone on about his business, but that didn’t seem right.

When she came to, who would explain what had happened to her? Tell her that Analisa was safe?

Or hold her hand—
if
she needed it?

As the paramedics stopped the gurney before a double door that required a code to enter, a buzzer sounded. The barrier swung open automatically, revealing a middle-age nurse who allowed the gurney inside, but stopped Walter from entering.

“Are you her husband?” she asked.

“No, just her friend.” Walter wasn’t sure how Hilda would feel about that claim, but she was the closest thing he had to one these days.

He’d expected to be turned away but was told to take a seat in the waiting room.

“I’ll send someone from registration to speak to you,” the nurse said, “then you’ll be called back to her bedside after she’s been examined.”

“No problem,” he said, but he figured he’d soon bomb the friend test. He and Hilda had been chatting a bit over the past couple of days, but he really didn’t know squat about her. Just that she was a widow. And that life hadn’t been too good to her the past couple of years. In that sense, they had a lot in common.

He scanned the room, then chose a seat across from a television that had been perched on a shelf in the corner. He didn’t remain there very long, though. When the guy next to him started hacking and coughing, he moved across the room. That was the problem with hospitals. If a fellow arrived healthy, he risked going home sick.

Hoping to increase his odds for a healthy getaway, he took a chair near the reception window.

Hilda hadn’t been conscious when they’d brought her in, but even if she had been, he wasn’t sure if she would have been coherent.

No telling what had caused her to be disoriented at the park. Pain and whatever ailed her, he hoped. Still, he’d known she’d been concerned about forgetfulness; he just hoped it wasn’t related to her confusion now. Either way, he doubted she’d want anyone to know about it. For that reason, when Hilda had asked about a baby named Cindy and Claire had looked at him quizzically, he’d attributed the delusion to her illness.

He sure hoped that’s what had caused it—for Hilda’s sake.

His, too.

Glancing at the purse he held in his lap, he realized there was a wealth of information inside. Trouble was, ever since he’d been a kid, he’d felt funny about getting into a woman’s handbag. Once, when he was seven, he’d gotten caught snooping in his foster mother’s purse. She’d come unglued and walloped him upside the head and bawled him out until he swore he’d never invade a woman’s privacy again. And he hadn’t. Not even his wife’s, when she’d been alive.

This was different, though. Wasn’t it?

Hilda didn’t have any family, but surely there was someone he could contact for her. If she had an address book, he could start with the As.

He wouldn’t know unless he checked, so he unsnapped the handbag and peered inside.

No address book that he could see, but she had a wallet. He pulled it out and searched for a driver’s license.