When dinner finally ended that night, somewhere on the far side of ten o’clock, I was glad to ride the elevator back upstairs and fall into bed.
We stayed for three days. When Hannah was up to it, I spent several hours of each day sitting in one of the flowery chairs in her room, chatting with Miss Dallas, as I teasingly called her. She wanted to know about my life, my kids, my work, my everything. In exchange, she told me stories about my father, her beloved Hank-her fun- loving, mischievous, sorely missed older brother. Hannah and I were like two parched travelers wandering in the desert. The stories we told back and forth slaked our thirst. And knowing my history-my family’s history-made me feel whole.
While I talked to Hannah, Mel plied Sally for information. Each night, after dinner ended, we’d retreat to our room and compare notes. Painful as it is for me to admit it, that’s pretty much all we did in that room-dress and talk and sleep.
Tuesday morning we packed our bags. Actually, Mel packed and I supervised. While we were in the breakfast room, Bobby brought the luggage downstairs. By ten o’clock we were ready to head for the airport.
Before we left, I made my way once more through the labyrinth of hallways to Hannah’s gaily pink room. She was sitting up in bed, wearing a frothy pink robe that matched the decor. She was wearing powder and lipstick and a carefully combed wig.
“You’ve come to say good-bye,” she said accusingly.
“Yes, Miss Dallas. I’m afraid I have.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she pulled me into a perfume-drenched hug. “I’m going to miss you,” she declared. “But then I’ve missed you all your life. This way, though, I’m gonna die happy.”
There was still a lump in my throat when I got back to the foyer.
Bobby took us to the airport and loaded our bags into the plane’s luggage hold. It was hot as blue blazes. Even though they had a fan on in the plane while it waited on the ground, it was a huge relief when the engines came on and with them the real air-conditioning.
The plane took off, gaining altitude far faster than a lumbering commercial plane.
“Well,” Mel said when we finally leveled off. “What do you think?”
“It was unbelievable,” I said. “I can’t think of anything that would make my life more complete.”
“I can,” she said.
“What?”
She picked up her purse-her amazing purse-and reached inside it. She fumbled around, found a business card, and handed it to me.
“Dr. Merritt Auld, Orthopedic Surgeon.” Along with those words was a whole series of Seattle-area phone numbers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Just what it says. Dr. Bliss tells me that when it comes to knee surgery, this guy is the best in the business. He already sent over your latest X rays. You have an appointment to see Dr. Auld tomorrow morning at ten o’clock for an initial consultation.”
“Come on,” I objected. “My knees aren’t that bad.”
“Yes, they are,” she said.
“I don’t need to have them fixed. I’m fine.”
“Maybe you’re fine, but I’m not.
How could I argue with that?
“Right you are,” I said. “Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock.”
