His Frozen Heart (22 page)

“
It wasn’t that hard. One
of them left the room to get a coffee. The one who stayed with me
after the doctor finished up was on the phone with his wife,
engrossed in a conversation about a water leak in their basement. I
walked out while he was on the phone.”

“
One of the cops at Mrs.
Bavcock’s house said you assaulted a police officer
today.”

“
Assault? Not
hardly.”

“
So how’d you get
away?”

“
Like I said: I walked out
of the room when the one was on the phone. I saw the second one as
I was going to the elevator. He tried to stop me, so I pushed a
tray on wheels at him in the hallway, then took off up the stairs.
By the time he got in the stairway, I could hear him going down. I
went up to the fourth floor and hid in a supply closet. When no one
found me, I got the idea to sneak out at the next shift change. I
found a pair of scrubs, a coat jammed into a box on a shelf, and I
walked out with a crowd of nurses from the hospital. When I was
trying to figure out how to get out of the garage, I saw your car
parked inside.”

That didn’t sound like much of an
assault charge. He pushed a tray on wheels at the policeman? Maybe
the cop had embellished the story so he wouldn’t get in trouble for
wandering off for a cup of coffee. I doubted the truthfulness about
Dave being a person of interest in several crimes, too. There was
nothing in his demeanor or actions that would make me believe he
was any kind of a criminal.

“
Any other crimes I should
know about?”

“
What? No. Why are you
asking?”

“
The cop said you were a
person of interest in several crimes. Why would he say that if it
weren’t true?”

Dave looked baffled. “I have no idea.
The last thing I did that involved the police was to report
graffiti spray painted on my garage.” He paused, then added,
“Candy, I’m not a criminal.”

Chapter 15

A question had bothered me; after the
almost-interrogation on the street in my neighborhood by the stupid
cop, I couldn’t let it fester. I insensitively blurted out, “So why
didn’t you ever tell me you had a brother?”

Dave shrugged his shoulders, but held
my gaze. “It never came up.”

“
Oh, come on. As much as I
complained about my two sisters, you never once thought I would be
interested that you had a brother?” I sensed there was more to the
story. I took a big swig of the strawberry goodness and took a seat
on the sofa, crossing my legs in front of me and pulling them to my
chest. “Is he your twin brother? Because he looked just like
you.”

Dave smiled more to himself than to
me, “No. Mark’s two years older than I am.” He stood in the little
kitchen, making no move to sit with me.

“
You said you haven’t seen
him in a while. When was the last time you talked to
him?”

Dave placed his hands on the chair in
front of him, as if he needed the support. “I think I was five,
maybe six.”

I felt my eyes grow wide, “You haven’t
seen your brother in fifteen years?”

Dave’s gaze drifted off to the far
wall, his voice distant, “Something like that.”

Questions flooded me, but I didn’t
want to dig too deep and have him shut me out. Gingerly I prodded,
“Where’s he been?”

“
I don’t know.”

I felt like I should ease up on my
questions, this was obviously a sensitive subject, but I couldn’t
stop myself. “How can you not know where your brother
is?”

Dave sighed. He slowly walked toward
the couch, eyeing the empty space beside me. He took a seat just
within arm’s reach of me and answered, “It’s
complicated.”

I scooted closer to him, reached out
and took his hand in mine, “You don’t have to talk about it if you
don’t want to, but if you do, I’ll listen.”

Dave’s eyes stared at my fingers
intertwined with his. I didn’t think he was going to say anything.
After several minutes his gaze shifted to the far wall of the
little apartment where the picture of the ‘65 Mustang hung. His
voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Our dad left. Mom didn’t
take it well. She stopped coming out of her bedroom for days at a
time, sometimes longer. When she did come out, she wasn’t really
there. I don’t remember Dad. When I try, I can picture Mom’s face,
but I doubt I could recognize her if I saw her on the
street.”

I already knew this much about his
life. In high school I had been curious, and I had asked him how he
got into foster care. He told me his mom didn’t want him and had
signed over her parental rights to the state before Dave went to
kindergarten. When I asked him if his dad was dead, Dave told me he
didn’t remember his father. He had never mentioned a brother – not
even once.

“
Mark and I got placed in a
foster home together in the beginning. The couple was nice, but I
don’t think either of them were prepared for two little boys who
basically had been taking care of themselves. I had never had any
rules, so when a bunch were thrust on the two of us, I didn’t
adjust well.”

I squeezed his hand lightly, but he
didn’t react or move his gaze in the slightest. I asked, “The two
of you were moved?”

Dave shook his head, “No, just
me.”

Confused, I pressed, “Wait, the foster
family kept your brother but sent you back to the state? I thought
they always tried to keep siblings together.”

“
They try, but if it looks
like one of the kids is going to be a problem, it’s up to the
foster family. Margaret and Dewey wanted to keep Mark. I was the
reject. Our case worker said I had some sort of attachment
disorder. She told Margaret and Dewy I might never adjust. She
removed me so that Mark had a shot with them.”

I stared at this beautiful man sitting
next to me. He had always seemed so withdrawn and alone: I chalked
it up to being abandoned by his mother. His words were methodical,
as if he were a doctor describing a clinical procedure. It sounded
as if he had distanced himself from this memory long ago. “You said
you didn’t adjust well? What’s that mean?”

A forced grin showed on his face, but
his eyes were still focused on the Mustang picture on the far wall.
“I just didn’t conform. After I left Dewey and Margaret’s house, I
was placed with a new foster family, a few months later, a third.
Somewhere in the mix, my case worker changed. The new one wasn’t
assigned to Mark. Every time I saw her, which was next to never,
she said Mark was fine, but I bet she didn’t have a clue where my
brother was or, for that matter, who he was.”

“
But you’ve always lived
here?”

“
No. I was in Missouri to
start with, but one of my foster families wanted to adopt me. They
did all the paperwork, got all the sign-offs, and then my foster
father got a transfer out of state with his job. It looked like
they were going to have to give me back to the state of Missouri
until the adoption was approved. He must have had some friends
somewhere because a couple days before my case worker was supposed
to pick me up and place me in a group home, they got approval from
Missouri for me to move with them to Nebraska.”

I knew this wasn’t the end of the
story. When I met Dave, he was living with a vile woman two miles
from my house. That couldn’t have been the foster mother who wanted
to adopt him. “So what happened?”

“
A couple days before the
adoption was supposed to go through, Troy and Shelia had some
outrageous fight and ended up separating. Eventually they divorced.
Shelia wanted to keep me, but she didn’t work, so the state of
Missouri wouldn’t let her adopt me on her own.”

Not fully comprehending, I asked, “So
you were sent back to Missouri?”

“
When the adoption didn’t
go through, a new case worker was assigned who, once again, didn’t
know me from a stray dog. The new case worker reviewed my file and
decided I was adjusting better in Nebraska and somehow got me
transferred – she decided to make me Nebraska’s
problem.”

Dave didn’t look at me the whole time.
The strain in his voice told me this was something he didn’t talk
about. “How old were you when you moved here?”

He shook his head. “I must have been
nine. I was in fourth grade. I can still remember Shelia telling me
she was going to get a job and petition the state to be my foster
mom again. I never heard from her after I left her
house.”

My heart ached. How could one person
go through so much? “Your brother, you never saw him after you were
five?”

Dave squeezed my hand, but said
nothing. Instead, he stood up from where we had been sitting on the
couch and went over to the bed. I couldn’t tell if he needed
privacy or what, but he didn’t answer me. His nerves were raw. I
took another sip of the wine cooler, wondering what could possibly
be the right move.

A friend would poke and prod until she
got out everything he had been holding in. If it were me, there’s
no way Libby would be sitting here on the sofa right now if I had
just walked away. The pain in his eyes had been nearly unbearable
to watch. Dave and I had just reconnected this morning, and I
wondered if after everything we had gone through today, would added
questions about his brother re-spark our friendship or drive a
wedge between us.

The fiery kiss we had shared an hour
or so ago was nowhere to be found. A coolness that had nothing to
do with the temperature blanketed the air. If I were being honest
with myself, the kiss had me re-evaluating our friendship. Friends
didn’t kiss. I hadn’t kept in contact with him after high school,
so how good of a friend had I been?

I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to
share every minute detail of meeting his brother last night, and I
wanted him to open up to me, but if I pushed too hard, would he
push me away? It had been months since a man gave me goose bumps.
Who was I kidding? No man had ever given me goose bumps
before.

I downed what was left of the wine
cooler. Glancing toward the refrigerator, I wondered if trying to
find a little more liquid courage might not be in order. I wasn’t
much of a drinker, so weighing my options, a second drink would
likely knock me out. I unlaced my boots and set them neatly beside
the couch.

I stood and stretched my arms high
into the air. From this vantage Dave was lying on the bed, with
several pillows lining a wooden headboard which stood halfway up
the wall. His back was facing the outside of the bed, with a pillow
clutched tightly to his chest. His body may have been a few feet
from me, but Dave was a million miles away. I resolved not to ask
anything else – if he wanted to talk, I wanted to be there to
listen, but I wouldn’t pry.

Gingerly walking toward his bed, I
felt the weight of each step I took. As I stood beside the bed, I
didn’t feel right forcing myself on him. “Mind if I sit with
you?”

Dave looked at me with the saddest
eyes I had ever seen. I wanted to gather him in my arms and tell
him everything would be fine. His hand reached out to the empty
space on the bed as he wordlessly patted the area in a silent
invitation.

I sat upright, a little stiff. I was
the least eloquent person I knew, and the fear of saying exactly
the worst possible thing scared me into an uncomfortable silence. I
scooted my body a little closer to his, away from the edge of the
bed. When I did, he rested his head on my thigh. Instinctively, I
began stroking his hair the same way Mom had done for me when I was
a little girl scared of a thunderstorm.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.
His straight dark hair felt like silk between my fingers. I
resisted every urge for anything other than a comforting touch. I
was here for him if he needed me. My eyes began to weigh heavily as
the strokes of my fingers slowed.

Dave’s voice was low when he finally
spoke. “Mark warned me to behave. He told me if I didn’t do what I
was supposed to do, they would take me away.”

Moisture clouded my eye. When I didn’t
ask anything, he continued, “I was a little Dennis the Menace back
then. Margaret or Dewey would tell us to clean our rooms: ten
minutes later Mark’s was spotless and I was busy drawing on
walls.”

Dave paused as if the memory were
tearing him up, but he kept going. “Or if we were told to go to
bed, Mark would go without hesitating. I would need a drink, or a
snack, or to go to the bathroom, or sometimes I would just go to my
room and play with toys for hours. I found a lighter by the grill
and melted the vinyl siding on the house. I figured out that
curtains weren’t supposed to be used to build forts, too, and if
they were, painting the fort’s name on the curtain was frowned
on.”

“
Mark was the perfect son.
It didn’t matter how many times I was scolded, or how many times
Mark tried to cover for me, I was the problem child. The day our
case worker came to take me away, I swore I could change. I begged
them to let me stay. I pleaded for one more chance. Mark even
promised he would be double-extra good if I could stay.”

Dave lay with his head still propped
on my thigh. I couldn’t see his face but felt the moisture from his
tears on my leg. “But they wouldn’t listen. I don’t even remember
what I had done, but it must have been pretty bad. Mark held my
hand in the house’s front entryway. The case worker had already put
what few possessions I had in her car. The last words I ever heard
him say was, ‘But he needs me. Don’t take Davey away.’”