Forgive Me(6)

“They begged me to come back. How could I say no?”

“And she’s still teaching swimming,” Gabriel said. “Organizing registration now for when the pool opens in May.”

Angie did not look at all surprised. Swimming was something her mother had done for years to help lessen certain lupus symptoms. But Kathleen being Kathleen, she couldn’t just swim on her own. She had to do something on a larger scale, so she volunteered to teach swimming to disadvantaged DC youth every summer at a city pool.

“Guess Dad’s not the only one I’m worried about. You sure you’re not doing too much, Mom? The Arlington Fair board has always been such a headache.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. It’s just nobody can agree on a theme for this year’s competitive exhibits. I’ve suggested ‘Expanded Horizons’ to celebrate all the opportunities Arlington has to offer, but of course Bill Gibbons has to object to just about everything.”

“I’m just thinking that maybe you should slow down a bit, that’s all.”

Even with lupus in the picture, Angie was more concerned about her father’s health than her mother’s. Kathleen looked splendid and healthy, stylish in her short, graying haircut. Her skin had a radiant glow, with wrinkles that implied more wisdom than age. At sixty, Angie’s mother was still a strikingly beautiful woman, with a kind face and blue eyes the color of the sea.

After the meal, Gabriel slid an oversized white envelope across the table in Angie’s direction. She could see it was unsealed and had no address.

“Dad, is this another prospectus? I still have a few you’ve given me that I haven’t had time to look over yet. Not that I don’t appreciate your financial advice.”

“No, it’s not that,” Gabriel said.

Angie caught something in her father’s eyes—a glimmer of concern, perhaps. She felt uneasy and a little bit nervous. “What is it?” she asked.

“Just open it, dear,” her mother said.

Angie took out the papers, and her chest tightened. “Mom, Dad, why this now? Are both of you okay?”

“We’re fine. We just need to have this talk, and your father thought now would be as good a time as any to make sure you know our wishes.”

“We’re the medical proxy for each other,” Gabriel said, “but if something were to happen to us both—”

“A car accident, for instance,” Kathleen tossed out.

“Okay. God forbid.”

“Just say, if it did, Angie,” Kathleen went on. “You’re an adult and it’s important you know our wishes.”

Angie glanced down at the sheet of paper that had the words ADVANCED HEALTHCARE DIRECTIVE splayed across the top of the page in bold lettering. Her parents had never discussed their end-of-life intentions with her. She skimmed the document. “No CPR, no mechanical ventilation, no tube feeding. What do you guys want?”

“Read it more carefully. It’s only if we’re brain dead, sweetheart,” Kathleen said.

Angie looked aghast. “Mom! Please.”

Gabriel spoke up. “You’re our only child, so we’re counting on you for this. Walt and Louise did this with their kids, and it’s high time we did it with ours.”

Walter and Louise Odette were her parents’ neighbors, but Angie had grown up calling them Uncle Walt and Aunt Louise. The Odettes were the closest thing she had to blood relatives. Her mother and father no longer had contact with their extended families.

Gabriel said, “I also have a will I want you to look over, and instructions on where to find our assets and how to claim them. That sort of thing.”

Angie wasn’t a child. She understood her parents would die one day, but she hoped that day would be a long time coming. She was adult enough to have this conversation, but that didn’t make it any less sad or awkward. “What I want to do is talk about you two taking a trip to Bermuda or someplace warm and fun. Maybe a cruise. Hell, maybe I’ll join you.”

“You know I think those are just Petri dishes on waves,” Kathleen said.

“That’s not the point, Mom. This is a little depressing, and I already have a lot of depressing things to deal with back at work.” Angie slipped the papers back inside the envelope. “I’ll look this over tonight and call you with questions. But what I want is to not need these papers for a long, long time.”

“Yes, agreed,” Kathleen said.

“Now, how about dessert? Who’s with me?”

Angie’s phone rang. It always rang. She spoke in crisp, short sentences, every word purposeful and to the point. Her eyes narrowed while her parents waited in silence.

Angie got up from the table and slipped her phone back into her purse. “Got to take a rain check on that dessert, you two,” she said, coming around the table to kiss her parents on their cheeks. “It’s a runaway.”





CHAPTER 3



Angie worked in a modest but respectable space, with walls painted eggshell white, a dropped ceiling, phone, Internet, and a plug-in kettle so she could sip green tea whenever the spirit moved her (which happened often).

Carolyn Jessup sat across from her, gazing hopefully at the framed photos lining the walls. They were pictures of the many families whose children Angie had helped to reunite. Well, first she found the runaway kids, and then she reunited the families. Not all her on own, either—better-trained resources helped handle reintegration, from organizations such as the NCMEC—National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Angie wasn’t present in all the photographs on her wall, but she was a major part of every operation.