Three Converts

Part 53

The following day I woke with a spring in my step as I always did when it was a medical center day. Bruno greeted me with a smile, then a bigger smile when I produced a giant coffee for him. "You're a lifesaver, Lucy!" We clinked our paper cups. "Cheers!"

Nobody had checked in, but Fido mentioned he knew of several women who were due this week. I thought about Margarite and prayed she'd have a good delivery when the time came. Without any women checked in, I ventured to the triage wing. When things were slow in Delivery, I'd sometimes help other departments file papers, or check on patients. Whatever work was needed. The nurse in charge gave me a stack of papers to file and thanked me profusely. It was boring work, but better than sitting around for five hours. Three paper cuts later, I was nearly done with the stack when there was a tap on my shoulder. A young nurse I'd never seen asked if I could take ice chips to room #311. "I'd be happy to."

She shrugged, "I'd do it, but he asked for you." That was unusual. Nobody knew me here. Especially in this hall. I filled a cup with ice chips and took it into the room. Griffin's dad sat in a chair, in a blue jumpsuit. The right side of his face was covered with gauze, his hands wrapped into makeshift mittens. I willed myself not to be scared.

"Hi Sam."

"Lucy! It's good to see you, dear!" I'd made him out to be such a monster, that I'd nearly forgotten how charming he was when he wasn't drinking. He lifted his hands sheepishly.

"Oh!" I found a plastic spoon on a nearby tray and put some ice on it. He opened his mouth. The ice trembled with my hand as I moved it to his face.

"I won't bite," he said, crunching on the ice. "Though you probably don't believe that." I didn't answer.

"How's my boy?" Again, I refused to answer.

"They won't let me have anything but ice chips when I come in to have my bandages changed. Did you know that? They don't want the prisoners enjoying themselves." I remained quiet. "Maybe you'd be willing to sneak me in a little drink? Just as a treat! For your lover's old man?"

My shaking worsened. "I'll leave your ice chips right here." I tried to sound professional, but my voice was as quivery as my hands. I didn't have to put up with him. I started toward the door.

"Wait! Okay! I shouldn't have said that." I stopped but didn't turn around. He continued, "I shouldn't have asked you that. Please. Just talk to me for a second?" He sounded desperate. I was reminded that this was Griff's dad, and against all odds, Griff loved him. I could at least be polite. When I turned around he was trying to smile, but with the bandage, it looked warped and unnatural. I sat in the chair across from him.

"Really," he said in the most genuine voice I'd ever heard out of him, "How is Griffin?"

I fought the urge to totally unload on him. "He's fine. He's trying to rebuild his business," I couldn't help adding that last bit. Sam should trip at least a little on his guilt, but it didn't seem to faze him at all.

"Eh, he's a good woodworker. He'll be rolling in the dough again in no time." I gritted my teeth. Griffin was hardly "rolling in the dough" and any money he made was spent supporting his deadbeat dad.

"I know what you're thinking," Sam said. "You're thinking he wasted all his money on me, right?" I looked at the floor. "You're right. You're one hundred percent right. He did waste all his money helping me. Just like he's doing for you." My eyes shot back up. I needed to take in his eyes to know the if he meant that. He did. "We aren't so different, Lucy Lou. Griffin loves helping a lost cause. Either way he goes up in flames."

The screech of the chair was ridiculously loud when I stood up. My head was boiling over. How could this monster be related to my Griffin? How dare he imply I was taking advantage of Griff? Anger fueled question after silent question, but underscoring each one, was the undeniable pressure that I knew to be guilt.

"Lucy!" sang Sam, and against my better judgement, I stopped. "You should ask Griff about the time he spent in prison. Ask about Genevieve. It'll be fun!" I heard him chuckle as I walked away, and I hoped the effort hurt his blistered face.

I finished my shift in a haze of irritation. How dare Sam pull me into his lies. But is he a liar? I wondered. He was a lot of things, but I didn't know if a liar was one of them. I barely waved good-bye to Bruno on my way out. "Thanks for the coffee!" he hollered to the back of my head. I raised my hand as way of "You're welcome," but didn't want to stick around and chat.

Griffin was hard at work when I got home. He didn't notice me watching him for several minutes. He was like that when he worked. So absorbed, in every cut, every nick in the wood, that he didn't notice a thing around him. It gave me an opportunity to fully appreciate how handsome he was. When he concentrated, he pushed his tongue up behind his top teeth, and when he had a particularly hard cut to make, his right eye squinted narrower. Every now and then he blew a strand of hair out of his face, or exhaled after a tricky engraving. I loved watching him work. I loved him. So what if he had been in jail? I could forgive him for anything in the world.

Eventually, he stopped to stretch out his arms and he finally noticed me standing there. His face softened from concentration to amusement. "Hey stalker, how long have you been standing there?"

"A bit. It's fun to watch you work."

"Creepy," he said cheerfully. I walked over to give him a light slug on the arm. He pulled me on to his lap, but I resisted and sat on a tree stump that would eventually be a garden gnome for the woman down the street. Griffin looked hurt, which is not something I want to be the cause of ever again.

"How was work?"

Normally I launch into a soliloquy about every detail and how much I love it there. Today I just teetered my head from shoulder to shoulder. "Weird."

He leaned in to me. "How so?"

"I saw your dad there. He was having his burns checked on."

Griffin inhaled. Suddenly I could smell thesmoke that had filled this very room. Griff had lost so much. Was I reallygoing to accuse him of a crime? Was I really going to dredge up something that,if it was even true (which it probably wasn't!), he clearly didn't want torehash? I saw resignation in his face. He knew I was going to ask. "He said youdid some time in prison. He said to ask about Genevieve."