Forgive Me(54)

“Can I talk to him?” Angie’s voice quavered again.

“He’s being looked at right now.”

“Can he talk?”

“Yes, it’s not a stroke. It’s nothing like what happened to your mom.”

“What hospital?”

“Virginia Hospital Center, where they took your mom.”

“Tell Dad I’ll be there soon.”





CHAPTER 28



It was evening at the DeRose house. A pale light fought its way into the TV room through a bank of windows that overlooked an expansive backyard. The yard looked neglected now that Angie’s mom wasn’t there to tend to the flowerbeds. Weeds had sprung up where there used to be none and the colors, always so eye-popping in spring, were notably absent.

Angie felt homesick at home, and that was something hard to get her mind around. She felt her mother’s absence in the haphazard way her father stacked dishes in the cupboard (these bowls never went with those bowls); by the type of food he kept in the pantry (Fritos? Really, Dad?); by the laundry he had folded but left in a laundry basket in the bedroom; by the thin coat of dust collected on the pictures. Like a painting defined more by what wasn’t there than what was, Angie heard her mother’s voice in the silence.

It was Angie’s home, but it was different now, and it would always be different.

Covered by a blanket and draped in a terrycloth robe, Gabriel DeRose reclined in his favorite chair, switched on the Nationals game, and gave Angie a big smile. He’d spent two nights in the hospital for observation and to run a bunch of tests, and today was his first day home. Already he was feeling like a new man, or so he said.

Angie didn’t trust her father completely when it came to his health. He might play with the truth to safeguard his routine, that being work and Nationals games, either on the TV or at the stadium (his preference).

She’d prepared a tray with none of his favorites. She brought him hummus and carrots, cashews (unsalted), sparkling water, caffeine free green tea, and kale chips she had baked herself.

Gabriel took a bite of a kale chip and made a face a three-year-old who tasted cod liver oil couldn’t match. “Whatever this is, it’s an affront to real chips everywhere. A chip is supposed to taste good.”

Angie held a second kale chip up to her father’s mouth. “It is good, Dad. It’s just an acquired taste, that’s all. And according to your doctor, you’re going to need to acquire a lot of new tastes.”

Gabriel looked contrite. “I was so sure I was going to die.”

“The doctor said a lot of people mistake acid reflux for a heart attack. It’s not that uncommon.”

“Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.”

“Well, you did the right thing calling me so I could get you to the hospital.” Walt’s baritone drew Angie’s attention behind her. He enjoyed an open door policy at the DeRose household and had let himself in through the front door. He gave Angie a big hug and peck on the cheek, and set his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. “How’s our patient today?”

“Mortified,” Gabriel said.

Walt picked up a prescription bottle of Nexium Angie had set on the food tray. He read the label. “This is all they gave you?”

“That and some other . . . changes.”

Walt’s eyebrow arched. “Changes? Such as?”

Gabriel looked down as Angie stood akimbo, smiling at her dad.

“Such as no fatty, fried foods,” Angie said. “Maybe some exercise, Dad. A little less work and little less stress.”

“Who needs less stress?”

Madeline Hartsock had open door privileges, as well. She came in and gave Angie, Gabriel, and Walt each a hug. Family was family, even if it wasn’t by blood. “How are you feeling today, Mr. DeRose?”

“Just fine, thanks. And you are a thirty-three year old woman, my daughter’s best friend, and I should be Gabriel . . . or even Gabe.” Gabriel winked.

“So I guess cheese lasagna is in the fatty food category,” Walt said, sounding disappointed.

“Just a little,” Angie answered.

“Well, it won’t break Louise’s heart. More for us and maybe the Karlsons. Goodness knows they can’t resist her lasagna. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.” Walt patted Gabriel on the shoulder and turned his attention to Angie. “And how are you holding up? Any new leads on your runaway?”

“I’ve got a guy on it.” Angie wasn’t about to bring up the scare she had down in Baltimore. Better if her father thought her job was only a tick or two less safe than an accountant’s.

Talk of Nadine reminded her of the photograph of the girl. She showed Walt and her dad the image NCMEC had prepared.

“So who is this pretty woman?” Walt asked.

“This is the girl in the photograph I found in the attic,” Angie said. “Aged about thirty years.”

“I told you about that, Walt,” Gabe said.

“Oh yeah,” said Walt. “Let me see the original.”

Angie got her copy and showed it to Walt. Madeline took another look, as well.

Walt held up the image of the young girl and the age progression version for comparison. “Amazing what you can do with computers these days.”