Never Come Back

Chapter Ten

Paul and I waited for close to an hour when we reached Dover Community. Before we were allowed to see Ronnie we were given a number of forms to sign. Since I was his next of kin, the admitting nurse told me I was able to sign them. I asked what they were for, and she said they gave the hospital and doctors permission to provide care for Ronnie. Medication, counseling, food, everything.

“Medication?” I asked. “Do you mean sedation?”

“Possibly.”

I looked at Paul, who shrugged. I turned back to the nurse. “I don’t want him zonked out like some zombie.”

“I doubt that will be an issue,” she said.

I looked at Paul again, and he nodded. So I signed.

When we were finally allowed into his room, we found Ronnie sleepy. He looked as if he’d been sedated. His eyes fluttered and then closed as we talked to him. Paul could tell I was angry, and he told me to trust the professionals.

“Mom would hate this,” I muttered. “She’d hate if they put him on drugs. She’d hate him being in the crazy hospital.”

Paul and I decided to leave. Before we did, I bent down and kissed Ronnie on the forehead. He didn’t stir.

In the hallway, we ran into Detective Richland. He held a cell phone to his ear, but put it away—somewhat reluctantly—when he saw us coming. I didn’t bother with formalities or greetings. I simply asked, “How long is all of this going to take?”

He cleared his throat. “The doctor should be by sometime tomorrow to get the ball rolling,” he said.

“I don’t want anyone coming by and asking him questions without one of us being here,” I said. “What time?”

“I can’t predict what time,” he said. “The doctor has a lot of patients to cover.”

“Call us then,” I said.

“Don’t you have to go back to school tomorrow?” Paul asked me.

“Yes.”

He turned to Richland. “Why don’t I give you my cell number? You can let me know when something happens. I may be here anyway just visiting Ronnie.”

Richland made an elaborate display of taking out his phone and then entering Paul’s number into it. When he was finished, he nodded. “You know, Ms. Hampton,” he said.

I noticed that his hands had stopped fluttering. The tall detective seemed grounded and centered for a moment, leading me once again to wonder whether the whole thing was an act, a put-on to lull people into a false sense of comfort and security.

“What?” I said.

“I’m sorry about earlier, taking your brother from the house that way. We thought everyone would be gone and… we just thought it would be easier.”

I knew what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to accept the apology, to see Richland as a well-meaning, overworked public servant, trying to do his best in difficult circumstances. Like all of us.

But I couldn’t.

“I guess that can’t be undone, can it?” I said.

I walked away with Paul following me.

We stopped next to Paul’s car in the parking lot. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, and for the first time since Detective Richland called my apartment on Saturday night, no immediate, pressing concerns weighed on me. Mom had been buried. Ronnie was in custody. Paul had his own life to return to—card games with former colleagues, the harvesting of his summer garden, his books, his friends. I expected to feel some measure of relief at that moment, but I didn’t. How could I?

“I know I should have just accepted his apology like a nice little girl,” I said.

“It doesn’t do any good to antagonize the police,” Paul said.

“Any other advice?” I asked.

Paul didn’t say anything. A sound, something between a deep breath and a hiccup, came out of his mouth, and when I turned to look at him more fully, I saw that he was crying. He raised his fist to his mouth, and his chest shook with a couple of deep sobs.

“Oh, Jesus. Paul? Are you okay?”

And that was enough to start me again. The tears welled up in my eyes, burning them, and I felt them spilling over and stinging my cheeks. But I tried to focus on Paul.

He wiped tears off his cheeks. “I want you to know something,” he said when some of his composure returned.

“What?” I asked, struggling to keep my own emotions in check. I wiped my tears away with the backs of my hands, making a smeared mess across my face.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to Ronnie,” he said. He swallowed and coughed. A siren sounded and then wound down on the far side of the hospital. A new tragedy arriving. Some disturbed soul who had had enough of the world and flipped out. He said, “I’ll be here. Nothing bad’s going to happen to him.”

“I know you’ll look out for him,” I said. “We both will.”

He brought out a handkerchief and wiped his cheeks and eyes some more. “We’re all on the ropes here, I guess.”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to go get something to eat?”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m tired. I’m a tired old man. I need to go home and take a nap. The next couple of days could get kind of crazy.”

“Are you sure?”

He put the handkerchief away and nodded, regaining his usual certainty. “I should be worried about you,” he said. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I’m trying to.”

“You should take a nap.”

“Maybe I will. I have to get back to campus tomorrow. I was going to deal with the will, but it doesn’t seem that important now.”

“That’s good.”

“Unless you think the lawyer can help with Ronnie,” I said. “Are we being idiots here, Paul? Are we just going to let them put him in there and examine him?”

“Who drew up the will? Frank Allison?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know how much criminal law he does in a town like this,” Paul said. “If that’s what you’re thinking. Beyond that, I guess we’re all in over our heads. Look, he’s more in the care of the doctors than the police now. That might change if the police get more serious, but I take some comfort in thinking about the doctors more.”

“Sure,” I said, not wholly convinced. “But if more trouble comes down, I’m calling a lawyer. I might do it anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Paul said. “Do what you think is best.”

He held out his arms, and we hugged. We held each other a long time. I didn’t want to let go. When we finally did, I stepped back and looked up at him.

“Tell me this is all going to be okay,” I said.

He didn’t hesitate. “Sorry, kiddo, but I just can’t do that.”