The You I've Never Known(38)

Call Monica and tell her we’ll meet (the “we” including Gabe) in front

of the hospital in an hour and a half, so now I have to nag Dad into the shower.

“The game starts at one,” I remind him.

“You have to drop me off first,” I underline.

“Zelda never has enough beer,” I push, “so you have to stop at the store.”

Stop bitching at me, he insists.

Okay, maybe you’re right, he concedes.

But now it sinks in. What’ve you got up your sleeve? You planning mischief?

Mischief? Is that word in actual

circulation? “Nothing up my sleeve

but . . . pesto!” It’s an old joke, something to do with an ancient

cartoon Dad watched in reruns

as a kid. Can’t remember the name,

but “moose and squirrel” comes

to mind, and even then I don’t have it right. Not pesto. Presto. You know, like magic? Presto-change-o? I’ve got to find Bullwinkle online somewhere.

They don’t make ’em like that anymore.





Pretty Sure


There’s a reason for that,

but I stuff the thought and

shut my mouth. Listening to

Dad go on about Russian spies

and genius dogs who were

cast members in The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show buys me a ticket into town within

the relative time frame I had

in mind. We arrive at the hospital at 11:40, and it’s swirling

with activity. “What the . . . ?”

Almost as soon as Dad puts the car in park, Gabe raps on my window, opens the door. So, I met Monica and that . . . He points toward the front doors, where a small knot of people, including what looks to be a cameraman, have gathered.

That right there is all her doing.

Monica spots us, waves us over.

Dad gets out of the car, audibly sputtering, but before he can say anything, Gabe nudges me forward.

Over my shoulder, I hear Dad say, What the holy hell is going on?

Now Monica sprints toward us.

Come on, baby. They’re waiting.

“Who’s waiting?” The words barely clear my lips before she grabs hold of my right arm, tugs me toward the scene at the front of the building.

Gabe hustles along at my left,

leaving Dad to bring up the rear, still demanding an explanation

he won’t receive from Monica.

As we approach the group, a man peels off and comes toward us.

He extends a hand. You must be Ariel. I’m Charles Grantham.





Hillary’s Father


Is tall, fit, and extremely handsome for a man in his fifties. I always

considered Dad, who is forty-eight, “older,” at least compared to my peers’

parents. But Mr. Grantham has at least six or seven years on my father.

“Good to meet you, sir. How is Hillary?

They wouldn’t tell me anything

when I called for information yesterday.”

First of all, please call me Charles.

Hillary has a concussion and some swelling around the brain, which they’ll monitor for a few days. But they expect a full recovery, thanks to you two. I’m extremely grateful.

My dad wanders up and I take

the time to introduce him to Charles.

Charles. Huh. First time a man his age has invited a first-name basis.

Before Dad has a chance to say anything, a well-dressed woman in her early twenties comes over and says, I’m Kelly Waits from KCRA, and I’d like to do an on-camera interview with you and your friend for our six o’clock newscast. Just a couple of questions. Would that be okay?

I’m going to be on TV? Good thing I put on makeup. “Well, sure. I guess.”

As she goes to round up her crew,

I can’t help but notice Monica’s gleeful smile, and I’ve got no doubt about who called the press. She’s downright giddy.

Dad, however, is anything but.

He’s breathing hard, in the way

that I know means he’s pissed,

and big ropy veins have popped

out on his face, which is the color of ripe persimmons. He looks

about ready to have a stroke.

You don’t want to be on TV, he hisses, eyes darting around

to see who might’ve heard him.

Sure she does! argues Monica.

Ariel and Gabe are heroes.

Don’t talk to me about heroism.

Dad fights to control the anger

in his voice. I was in the army.

I knew real heroes, and none of them went looking for publicity.

“I didn’t go looking for publicity, Dad. It found me.” With help from

Monica. “You don’t really care, do you?”

He does, I can tell, but before he can make a scene the news crew gathers.

Next thing I know, Gabe and I are

standing in front of a camera, telling our story. Then the young reporter

moves over to interview Charles,

who informs her of his undying gratitude to the young people who went out of their way to go looking for his daughter.

While that happens, a guy from

the Union Democrat comes over and gets comments. He’s nice

enough to interview Monica,

too. Ariel, she’s my friend, and a real hero. I love this girl.