Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(51)

“You’re up early.”

Not seeing anyone, Vivian stopped and glanced around.

“In here.”

She turned toward the sound of the voice and found an elderly man standing next to a pool table. He wore a housecoat and had a pair of crutches. One crutch rested along the side of the gaming table. This was some fancy hospital, if it was a hospital.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“George.”

“No, you’re not.” She was furious that some man would try to pass himself off as her sweetheart. “I know my husband, and you’re not him.”

“You’re not my wife, either, but my name is still George.”

Vivian stepped a bit farther into the room. “I’m looking for him.”

George nodded and using his crutch as a pool cue, aimed at the black ball in the center of the table. With an ease that amused her, the ball rolled toward the corner pocket and slid effortlessly inside.

“Good shot.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Vivian began to leave the room. “Very nice meeting you, but I need to find my husband.”

“Good luck,” he said, waving his crutch at her.

Vivian continued down the hallway. This was a hospital, all right. She recognized the nurses’ station. It was deserted at the moment, which was probably for the best. Vivian didn’t want anyone to stop her.

Two doors opened to the outside. This area was well lit and, supported by her cane, she started out. To her surprise, no matter how hard she pushed at one door and then the other, they wouldn’t budge.

“They keep the doors locked,” George said from behind her. He leaned heavily on both his crutches now. “No one can come in or go out until after eight in the morning.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Yup. That’s how they do things around here.”

She was being held prisoner. “This is an outrage. I’m telling my daughter.”

Using both crutches, George swung forward. “Won’t do you any good. That’s just the way it is. What’s the matter, can’t you sleep?”

Vivian was tired and confused. “I need to talk to George. I told my daughter I would. She’s going to be so disappointed that I didn’t see him.” This burden was almost more than she could carry.

“Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it. I’m a good listener and my name is George.”

“But…”

“You can tell your daughter that we talked it over, and then you’ll both feel better.”

Vivian wasn’t sure that would work. Susannah had been so rattled. Doing what this George suggested would be cheating, but she’d promised Susannah…. Only she couldn’t quite remember what she needed to find out.

“Have we met?” she asked, wondering if George was someone she should know. He must be; she’d met so many people through the years.

“Not until tonight. I take meals in my room. You’re new, aren’t you?”

She frowned. “Fairly new.” That seemed like a safe answer.

“So, do you want to sit down and talk for a bit?” He gestured with his crutch to the room off the lobby, the one with the massive stone fireplace. It was cozy and inviting, with a number of chairs and a sofa. A piano took up one corner and a bookshelf the other.

“Will it help?” she asked.

“It might,” he told her.

Since she couldn’t get out of here, Vivian decided she might as well talk to this George. That was the best she could do for now.

Shuffling her feet, moving awkwardly, she made her way into the room and sat down in the big overstuffed chair next to the fireplace.

George used his crutch to push aside the ottoman in the chair next to hers and carefully eased himself down. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

Vivian shook her head. “I can’t rightly say. My daughter insisted I come.” She should’ve fought harder, she mused, and wished she had. “I didn’t want to leave my home, but George told me I should.”

“Where is he?”

“Calvary Cemetery.”

Her newfound friend bent forward and stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Dead, is he?”

Vivian nodded. “But he visits.”

“I see.”

Vivian hadn’t told many people and thought perhaps it was a mistake to trust this man with her secret.

George studied her through half-shut eyes. “Your husband only comes when he feels like it?”

She didn’t know exactly how to explain. “He comes when he can. I need to ask him about Susannah. She’s our daughter and she was upset this afternoon about something her father did.”

“You told her you’d discuss it with him?”

“Yes, but George didn’t come and I’m afraid she’ll think even worse of him.” She was embarrassed to admit to this stranger that her husband and daughter hadn’t always seen eye to eye.

“What’s the problem?”

Vivian rested the cane between her knees and planted both hands on top. “That’s just it—I don’t precisely remember. He did something.”

“Out of love?”

“Of course! George loved his children. There’s only Susannah now…. Our son was killed years ago. I’m afraid George was never the same afterward.”