Chapter 25 – The Gift
The next morning, Miranda returned from the hospital cafeteria with coffee and cinnamon rolls for two. She turned into Shepard’s room to find his mother standing at his bedside.
“Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery-Krausse,” Miranda said. “We were just about to have coffee. Can I get you something?”
“Thank you, no. I’ve only come to bring you your car keys.” Hermione lifted a key on its electronic key ring toward Miranda. “Since you arrived here with Shepard on the helicopter, you will need a way to get home.”
Miranda put the coffee cups and sweet rolls down on the rolling bedside table and edged the table closer to Shepard. Shepard lifted a hand toward her and she took it, but she did not take the proffered keys.
“I appreciate the gesture. I hadn’t even thought about how I would get home,” said Miranda. “But I’m afraid those are not my keys.” She turned to peel open the sipping slot on the coffee cups.
“Bean,” said Shepard, grinning broadly. “Take the keys.”
Miranda placed his coffee cup in his hand and arranged his sweet roll near him on the table that now overhung the bed. “Shep, they aren’t mine. Mine are scratched and beat up and hanging from an Ernest Hemingway key chain. Cinnamon bun at your two o’clock, on the tray table.”
Hermione nearly smiled. “You have Ernest Hemingway on a key chain?”
“Souvenir of a weekend in Key West,” Miranda explained. “Librarian humor.”
“Humor?” said Hermione, raising one eyebrow.
“I guess you had to be there.”
“Indeed.” Hermione turned away from the bed and crossed to the window. Looking down into the parking lot, she motioned for Miranda to join her. “Let me show you something, Miss Ogilvy, if you please.”
Miranda looked toward Shepard. He sipped his coffee. When he didn’t hear her move, he waved her in the direction of his mother’s voice. “Go, go. She hasn’t bitten anyone since we increased her medication weeks ago.”
“Shepard, behave,” said his mother. “Come here, Miss Ogilvy. Come, come.”
Miranda walked around the foot of the bed and joined Hermione at the window. “Please, call me Miranda,” she said.
Hermione nodded. “Yes, you must grow tired of Shepard referring to you as a vegetable. String Bean, is it?”
“It’s Castor Bean,” said Shepard. “Inside joke.”
Hermione gave him a look but refused to dignify his statement with a response. She touched Miranda’s elbow and pointed out the window.
“Do you see the blue Mercedes beside the valet parking kiosk?” said Hermione.
“It’s beautiful. Is it new?” asked Miranda. “Oh, I see. You had to replace the one that was ... the one that burned.”
“Yes, it is new,” said Hermione, “and, no, it is not a replacement for Shepard’s previous vehicle. This car is yours.”
Shepard added, “Your old car is in the trunk.”
Miranda looked from Hermione to Shepard to the blue Mercedes and back to Hermione. “You’re serious!”
Before Hermione could answer, Shepard said, “It was ordered before the ... before the fire. Took this long to finally deliver it. Now take a deep breath and accept the keys.”
“But—”
“Miranda, I’m being discharged today, and you are giving me a ride home. I refuse to ride in that sardine can you call an automobile! Take the keys!”
Miranda held out a hand, palm up, and Hermione deposited the keys on her palm. “Wow. If Shep’s upset enough to call me ‘Miranda,’ I guess I have no choice.” She wrapped Hermione in a bear hug that lasted almost long enough for Hermione to recover from the shock of such contact. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” said Miranda.
“Thank me, why don’tcha? I’m the hero. Mother’s just the messenger,” Shepard said with a smile.
Miranda released Hermione. “Thank you, Shepard,” Miranda said quietly.
“That’s it?!” Shepard exclaimed. “That’s all I get? Maybe you didn’t get a good look at the car. It’s the blue Mercedes. Look again. I think a gift like that deserves a more ... tangible ... thank you!”
“I saw it,” Miranda said, and winked at Hermione. “It’s very nice. I’ll thank you again at home. Let’s pack up your things and get you out of here.”
“I’ll deal with the business office downstairs while you get things in order here,” said Hermione. “And, Shepard, there will be no ‘tangible thanking’ of people in this room. It’s far too public. I expect behavior becoming a Montgomery.” She left.
“Yes, mother,” Shep drawled.
Miranda laughed and began collecting the toiletries and clothing articles that Rebecca and Hanson had been bringing to Shepard’s room daily. She realized that she would have to pack up her own things from the VIP family suite, also. She probably had a lot of dead houseplants back in Minokee after many days away, but she had a slew of new clothes and a new car. Any minute now she expected to wake up.
Shepard was in the bathroom, easing carefully into loose-fitting shorts and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt for the drive home. Miranda was closing his suitcase when Rebecca knocked on the doorjamb and entered with a small suitcase and overnight bag. The luggage was elegant. Miranda had never seen it before.
“I took the liberty of packing your things from the guest suite, miss,” said Rebecca, setting the luggage down inside the door. “Hanson will be here momentarily to carry yours and Mister Shepard’s things to your car.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “Wow.”
“We have had Mister Shepard’s house and lawn cleaned, and the refrigerator and pantry are stocked with fresh groceries. The neighbors have worked out a schedule whereby someone will bring over a casserole every afternoon for the next seven days. Madam should have engaged a new chef and chauffeur for Mister Shepard by then.”
“No, madam should not,” Shepard interrupted, emerging from the bathroom. “Thank you for everything, Rebecca. You and Hanson have been more than helpful, and I appreciate your dedication and thoroughness.”
“It is our pleasure entirely, sir,” said Rebecca, blushing. Her schoolgirl reaction to the man’s attention proved yet again to Miranda that Shepard “Adonis” Krausse affected women of all ages. “Shall I convey your wishes to madam as to the hiring of servants, then, sir?” asked Rebecca.
“I’ll speak to her myself, thank you,” said Shepard. “No need for you to face the wrath of the Medusa on my account.” He smiled in her direction, and Rebecca’s face glowed in response.
The next quarter-hour was eventful as Hanson came to take luggage to the car, Rebecca left to attend to secretarial duties, a discharge aide delivered the wheelchair required for Shepard’s departure, and Hermione returned from the business office with appropriate discharge papers for the nursing station. Shepard requested a moment alone with his mother, so Miranda withdrew to the hallway and closed the door of his room.
Miranda walked down the corridor to a water fountain, and when she returned the nursing staff were all frozen in their tracks at the station nearest Shepard’s room. All eyes were on the closed door. At Miranda’s arrival, the nurses and aides averted their eyes and quickly busied themselves or took themselves off to attend to something down the hall. Standing outside the door, Miranda could hear the shouting that had attracted the employees’ attention.
“I will, that’s who!” shouted Shepard. “Give me a little credit! I can run my own life, for pity’s sake!”
The voice of Shepard’s mother was an indistinct murmur through the thick door. Either Hermione was farther away from the door, or Shepard was yelling much louder than she. Miranda suspected the latter.
“No! I need to be on my own! Alone!” he was shouting.
Hermione responded insistently.
“It isn’t like that with Miranda,” he vowed. “We’re friends. We had a traumatic experience together. She’s been there for me. She is not my nurse! She is not my servant! She is not moving in
with me! I am not moving in with her!”
Hermione’s intonation rose in a question.
“Mother, I’m an adult! I have a home and a job! I don’t need a caretaker!”
His mother seemed to state an opinion with considerable conviction.
He, of course, disagreed. “No, I do not! I’ll decide that for myself if and when the time comes!”
Miranda felt a chill begin in the center of her chest and spread throughout her body. Her mind emptied itself of warm emotions and sunny imaginings. She had been at his side for days, never thinking past the hospital door. He wanted her to drive him home; he had said so. But for him, it ended there. She saw them together; he saw himself alone. She thought they were soul mates; he said they were friends. She had assumed a relationship that he wasn’t even considering. In fact, his own words were clear on the subject. He didn’t want or need anyone. Certainly not an invisible librarian.
The hospital room door swung open, jolting Miranda out of her reverie. Shepard wheeled himself into the corridor. “Let’s go,” he snapped at Miranda. When his mother stepped into the open doorway, he said to her, “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ll call you.”
No one said anything else. Miranda fell in behind Shepard’s wheelchair and pushed it toward the elevator.
They had a drive of more than two hours from the hospital to Minokee. The new car was quiet and comfortable; the two passengers were quiet but not comfortable.
After the first half-hour, Miranda said only, “Hurting?”
He replied only, “I’m okay.”
Another half-hour passed. Miranda said, “The car is lovely. It rides so smoothly. Thank you. Again.”
“You’re welcome. Again.”
About ten minutes later, Shepard added, “I know you’re not ... you don’t like receiving gifts—no, don’t say anything. I hear you drawing a big breath to contradict me, but just ... just listen for a minute. When you get home, you’re going to notice some things.”
“What things?”
“Listen, please.”
“Sorry.”
“A new kitchen and a new washer and dryer. Oh, and your killer clothesline is gone.”
“What!?”
“Miranda—”
“I can’t accept those things from you!”
“Miranda—”
“You can’t go around giving people whole rooms and, and, and major appliances!”
“Yes, I can. And a few minor appliances, too. Your toaster was toast.”
“But you can’t do that—”
“Miranda!” He raised his voice to a level that shocked her into silence. “I have a lot of money. Phyllis was my friend, you are my friend, her house—your house—is a special place to me. I wanted to repair the damage to your kitchen. And I was afraid your clothesline would decapitate me one day. It made me happy to do these things for the house—and for you. And I won’t miss the money. And there are no strings attached. I mean, you know, I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Except say thank you – one time only, please—and then forget it. Okay?”
Miranda swallowed a huge lump in her throat. The lump settled behind her sternum and lodged there, aching. Say thank you and forget it. That’s what he wants, she thought. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re friends, nothing more. I want to be alone. I don’t need a caretaker. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.
“Miranda? Okay?”
Miranda cleared her throat and forced a smile onto her lips, because she was convinced he would hear it in her voice. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Okay. Now, let’s forget it.”
I’ll try, she thought, with little hope of success. She would always remember every second she had spent with him, from the first glimpse of him jogging toward her out of a summer sunrise. She could stay away, as he said he wanted, but she couldn’t forget.
For the next hour, Miranda’s mind raced up and down alleys of possible futures. Growing old alone in Phyllis’s house. Selling Phyllis’s house and moving to Alaska. Changing her name and appearance and moving to Peru. Moving to Sicily and tracking down Carlo for old times’ sake. Becoming a recluse and owning forty-one cats. Learning the violin so she could play sad melodies in the middle of the night, because she couldn’t sleep, because she had nightmares about Viking funerals where cars burned instead of boats.
Miranda might have been both encouraged and dismayed if she had known what phantoms and dreams swept through Shepard’s mind during that same silent hour.
Shepard clinched his stomach muscles against the pain at the top of his diaphragm. His throat ached and his eyes burned. His hand twitched, fighting a compulsion to reach out and hold Miranda’s small hand. For days now he had maintained a strong facade. The occasional tear had escaped, barely noticed, but he had not permitted himself to collapse in a flood of grief. Miranda’s strength had become his when she held his hand or when he felt her at his side. But he knew his time was running out. His self-control was unraveling and would soon fall away like a broken string of beads. Then the pain would overtake him, and he was afraid he would start screaming and never stop.
The wall of denial he had built between himself and a future without Dave or Pietro was crumbling like ancient mud bricks. His imagination had been buried, but it was struggling to the surface. Soon it would force him to envision complete solitude — days and nights and weeks and months and years of it. No one to select his clothes, trim his beard, prepare his meals, collect his laundry, produce his program. Worse, no one to laugh with him and at him. No one to nag him to do better, to try harder, to take care, to get over himself.
How would he stay sane if he began to imagine running with no furry companion-and-guide? Sleeping with no warm, fuzzy beast beside the bed to guard, protect, and amuse him? Showering with no bubble-covered bear shape sharing the spray? Having no 24/7 shadow to read his thoughts, send him signals, telepathically give advice, accept blame for any foolishness?
Shepard had fought to stave off the emotional pain, refused to admit the loss, declined to experience the grief, but he was reaching the end of his strength. Soon he would lose it completely, go (at least temporarily) insane, and weep for days or weeks. He wanted no witnesses to that fiasco when it happened. He needed to get home as fast as possible, lock himself in, and lock everyone else out.
When Miranda pulled the car to a stop in Shepard’s driveway, she broke the hour-long silence with an unnecessary, “We’re here.”
Shepard swung open the passenger door. The smells of earth and plants hovered in the humid breeze. The susurrations of shifting leaves and mosses whispered high above. Delicate melodies of mockingbirds floated down from the trees. He was home in Minokee, his heart had fractured, and he could feel the pieces spreading farther and farther apart. He had to hurry and hide himself away before the crashing began.
Miranda retrieved his suitcase from the trunk and carried it to his door. Even slowed by his injured legs and forced to walk with a cane, he was already crossing the threshold when she reached the doorstep. She leaned in far enough to set his bag in the foyer. He seemed distracted, his face turned away from her. She had been preparing herself for this moment.
“I know you need some alone time,” she began, hoping that miraculously he would contradict her and ask her to stay.
He didn’t.
“I hate to leave you,” she said. It was only the truth. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?” he said without turning. His voice was low and hoarse.
“Promise me you won’t do anything dangerous? You won’t do anything that could, you know, harm you?”
“No, of course not,” he said, nodding. “Thanks for everything. I’ll call you.”
He turned only enough to shut the door quickly.
Miranda turned and ran to the car.
By the time she had the motor started, her vision was blurred by tears and her body jerked with sobs. Carefully she backed out of Shepard’s driveway, praying
she could drive around the block to her own house without hitting anything.
Had she remained on the doorstep two seconds longer, Miranda would have heard the desperate keening of a lost soul. Shepard had indeed abandoned all sanity and vented his pain in uncontrolled weeping, yelling, moaning, and pounding of fists. He stumbled to his room and fell face down across the bed. There he remained, crying piteously, until, at least an hour later, the physical agony of his burns forced him to get up and seek his pain medication.