“Where are you staying?” Boone asked.
“Just down the road. Moreno’s.”
“Ah Moreno’s. Yeah, a nice place. You been up this way before?”
“Can’t say I have,” Dalton replied as the waitress returned with an ice cold glass and set it in front of him. Drops of water trickled down the side. “The handful of vacations I’ve had the luxury of going on have all been on the West Coast. Though we did head to Colorado for a week a few years back.”
“Colorado. Now that’s a place I’ve always wanted to go.”
The small talk was awkward but he expected that. It soon shifted to Holbrook and the questions Boone had. “You know, in all the years of going into the hospital, never once have I heard from another pastor. Not many want to go in.”
“How did you end up there?”
“Got a call from the mother of a patient. She wanted me to visit her son. Said he wasn’t doing too well and felt that perhaps having a male figure, someone who could bring the Bible into the place, might help.”
Dalton swallowed. “And did it?”
“I’m running the chapel every Sunday. Have been in there for the past eight years. I’d say so.”
“How responsive are they to the message?”
“Initially? There were only a handful. Now it’s packed. Whether the message I bring makes sense to them is another thing entirely. But, it’s a foot in the door and the truth is most people have given up on them, that even goes for those who work there.”
Dalton took another sip then rolled up his white shirtsleeves. “You ever get to speak with them one on one?”
“Sure.”
“I mean outside of Sunday?”
“Occasionally. It depends on the situation. Why, you know someone there?”
“Yeah. Jack Winchester. Heard of him?”
He nodded and smiled. “Always hear about the new ones. Quite the backstory. I was hoping he would be attending this Sunday but won’t know until then. What’s the connection?”
“He used to work for the mission.”
Boone smiled. “Ah. Right. That explains a lot.” He looked off towards the waitress who was scrubbing the counters. “So that whole story about wanting to donate and get into a hospital in California?”
“That’s true.”
Boone cocked his head. “Come on.”
Dalton smiled and nodded slowly.
“They won’t let anyone see him. Have you heard of that before?”
Boone shrugged. Dalton was worried he would end the meeting. “It happens.” He nodded his head and looked down into his hands. “You just wanted to see him, right?”
Dalton knew if he didn’t come clean right there and then, the window of opportunity might close. “You remember Christ said that it’s not the healthy that need a doctor but the sick. You ever met someone that you felt had been served a bad hand at the start of life?”
“Where do I begin? I have a Rolodex full of them.”
“You given up on any?” Dalton asked.
“A few.”
“Well, let’s put it this way. I’m here because I believe I can help him. I believe God wants me to help him. Now I understand if you want to get up and walk out and close the door but I’m just asking for a little help.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a Christian if I did that, now would I?”
He smiled. “I guess not.”
Silence stretched between them while they placed their orders.
“So why the hospital?” Dalton asked as he reached for cutlery, and the aroma of BBQ chicken filled his nostrils.
“I was in one.”
“A forensic hospital?”
Boone nodded. “Yeah, back when I was eighteen I got caught up in drugs, like you do,” he said between bites of his food. “Anyway, I ended up going with a group of friends to New York for a weekend. Let’s say I don’t remember much about those three days except that when I came to from the drug-fueled haze I had broken someone’s arm, destroyed a house and held them captive until the cops broke in and tasered my ass.” He reached for a whole wheat bun and buttered it. “My lawyer said that I had a couple of options. Prison or do six months inside a mental hospital under the pretense that I wasn’t in my right state of mind, was having delusions about being someone else, and so on…”
“Were you?”
“Hell yeah,” he said. “I thought I was the reincarnation of Martin Luther King.”
Dalton stifled a laugh.
“No, go ahead. Laugh. I know I did after they got my levels right. Anyway I wound up in a unit. Six months turned into a year. I eventually got out and was able to pick up the pieces, make amends and turn my life around.”
“So you now go in and help others.”
“Ironic, right?”
“Not exactly.” Dalton stopped eating. “Jack was a mobster. Grew up on the streets of New York. Abusive upbringing. Mother took off on him and his sister. He was surrounded by people who drew him into a way of life that few escape.” He reached for his drink and took a gulp. “He eventually wound up in jail, like most of them do. When he got out he was ready to put it behind him but you know how hard that can be.”
Boone nodded.
Dalton continued. “He did one last job for them, then met someone. A nice woman. A good woman. Helped him to see there was a chance to start again.”
“And did he?”
“For a while. Yeah. Then he was drawn back to New York by a man named Eddie Carmine. Not only was he Jack’s father but he’d had a relationship with my mother. It’s a long story but Eddie helped her escape an abusive relationship. I was sixteen at the time. Probably not that much older than Jack.”
“Hence the connection.”
“Yeah. After Eddie died, Jack came out looking for answers. The rest is history.”
Boone scooped some more chicken into his mouth and chewed while
