Never Come Back

Chapter Twenty

That afternoon, after my class, I went to Dover Community to see Ronnie. When I arrived, a nurse intercepted me and told me I couldn’t go in because a doctor was examining my brother. I had never seen the nurse working there before, but it seemed like every time I went to the hospital a different one was working. There must have been an unlimited supply. I had hoped to see Janie. A friendly face was always welcome.

“You can come back later if you want,” the nurse said. “Or you can wait.”

“How long?” I asked.

“It could take an hour or so.”

I thought of the bag in my car, the one filled with thirty ungraded essays. I needed to tend to them.

Then the nurse said, “Your uncle went to the cafeteria. You could go wait with him if he’s still there.”

I selected a tea bag and added hot water to my mug. I grabbed more than enough sugar packets and paid. Paul sat alone at a table in the corner. The day had turned overcast as a cold front passed through, bringing with it a hint of fall. Mom and I both loved autumn, even the cool gray days. Sometimes I liked those best of all.

Paul had a newspaper spread out on the table, and he smiled when I approached and took the seat across from him. My face must have betrayed my feelings because right away he asked me what was wrong.

“Is it something with Ronnie?” he asked.

I put my tea down on the table. “I was at the police station with Detective Post.”

“Oh,” he said. “Was it rough?”

“I’m trying to understand some things.”

Paul took off his reading glasses and laid the newspaper aside. “Anything I can help with?”

In that moment, I didn’t like him. He seemed too helpful, too fatherly. I had a father and a mother. They were both gone, but I had them. I remembered them. I didn’t want or need someone else to fill that role. Not right then. I wanted to know the answer to something.

“Did you tell Mom to send Ronnie away?” I asked.

To his credit, he didn’t try to tap-dance around the question. He held my gaze and answered without hemming or hawing.

“Yes,” he said. “I did, right after Leslie had to call the police about him.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I felt that Ronnie was having some problems—emotional and anger management problems—that would best be addressed by professionals in a controlled setting. It didn’t have to be permanent, but I thought that intervention was needed.”

“But you know that’s not at all what Mom wanted,” I said. “To say that to Mom would be like spitting in her face. You knew that.”

“Sometimes if you care about someone, you have to—and I’m using your indelicate metaphor—spit in their face. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, for everybody.”

“What did she say when you suggested that?”

“About what you’d expect.” He rubbed his hands together. “She was angry—very angry. I think she took it as a criticism of her. Criticism of her parenting ability and criticism of her ability to take care of herself. People our age start to get testy when others suggest we may not be in full control of our lives. She said, ‘No. Never.’”

The tea was still too hot to drink. I hadn’t even tried it yet. I shouldn’t have come down to the cafeteria. I shouldn’t have brought anything up. I remembered that Paul said the police would say a lot of things to me, that they might say things meant to upset me. Was this what he’d been talking about?

“Why are you so worked up about this?” he asked.

“Because…” But I didn’t have anything else. I couldn’t say why I was angry. I gave it my best shot. “It feels like a betrayal.”

“A betrayal? Of whom?”

“Of Mom,” I said. “And Ronnie.”

“And you?”

“In a way, yes.”

A smirk crossed his face. He could be condescending when he wanted to be. The teacher amused by the confusion of the pupil.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“What?”

“Smirk at me like that,” I said. “You look just like Mom when you do it. But she was never as condescending as you can be.”

I didn’t like where any of this was going, but I also felt powerless to stop myself. It was as though I were outside myself somehow, watching myself have an argument with my beloved uncle during the worst week of our lives.

“Okay,” he said. He picked up his glasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. Then he reached out and started folding up the newspaper. “You’re obviously upset, and I understand that. I’m just going to go. I’ve been here all day anyway. There’s no use in both of us being here, especially when they have Ronnie doped up to his eyeballs.”

I sat still while he gathered his stuff and pulled his coat on.

Before he stood up, he asked, “What would you do with Ronnie?”

“What do you mean?”

“If Ronnie were placed in your care, what would you do with him? Would you quit school? Hire a babysitter? What?”

“I could make it work. Mom wasn’t tied to Ronnie all day. He worked. He was independent.”

“Ronnie is who he is today because your mom gave up her life for him,” he said. “She was his everything. I don’t think anyone else could do that. I know she wanted me to do that for him, to be his guardian. But I don’t know if I can really do it. And I’m not sure it would be healthy to live that way.” He stood up and zipped his coat. “But I think you knew that without me saying it, right? After all, you didn’t make that promise to your mom, did you?”

The words entered me like a needle, sharp and stinging.

He paused a moment. He seemed to be thinking of something else to say. I just wanted him to go. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he said. “I just don’t think you’re in a position to judge anybody.”

And with that, he left the hospital.