“New sense of proportion,” I explained, and the provenance of my remark led me to ask, “Have you heard from Justin?”
They hadn’t, not directly, although they had their own inside source, a sheriff’s deputy named Bernie Morales. Quinn had contacted him to get his cell phone back, then gone to see him for the same reason, and Bernie had not only provided the phone but also told him Justin was doing well. That Bernie had witnessed the boy’s tearful, wholehearted reunion with his mom and dad. That Justin was not allowed to leave Maypop for a few days, so he and his parents had gone into seclusion to avoid the media.
“We could check the TV,” Forrie said, meaning CNN.
“Nah. I’ve seen enough of Stoat to last me a lifetime.” Having learned of the Justin Bradley connection, newscasters were all over the story, which included me. My sons told me there was a news posse parked outside the hospital waiting for me to appear. Quinn and Forrest were in collusion with the hospital staff to come and go through the laundry bay. They were my only visitors except for the police who had taken my statement.
Hearing my full story, Forrest had said with a stunned look, “My God, Mom.” He had said it more than once. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through. And what you did.”
And Quinn had blurted, “It’s no wonder Justin wouldn’t quit until he’d found you.”
I told my sons nothing of the absurd daydreams I was having about Justin. As soon as Justin felt well enough, he and I could start making megabucks doing TV interviews. Gee, what would I wear to talk with Piers Morgan, and how would I get my hair done? Maybe somebody would want to write a book, or even better, somebody would want to make a movie. Who would star as Justin and who would star as me? There would be big money, but Justin and I wouldn’t argue about who got how much, not after what we’d been through together. We would be like heroes who had gone through war side by side, buddies for life.
Semper Fi. I wanted to see Justin, and find out how he was doing, and talk with him.
I had two sons who loved me. Yet I wanted Justin so much that I had to ask myself a few questions and come to some hard answers.
Luckily I did so in time. Before Justin and his parents came to visit.
• • •
They came by my hospital room on their way home to Alabama. I assumed Bernie Morales had sneaked them in through the laundry bay.
It was the day before I was due to be discharged. Forrie and Quinn were out at the pink shack packing my things into a storage container, and I was trying to ignore whatever was on daytime TV. I wondered whether zoos thought constant videos were good for caged monkeys.
Justin walked in.
I forgot TV was ever invented. Justin looked as if he had put on a year’s growth in the week or so since I had seen him. He wore all new clothes; he stood solid; he walked tall. I almost didn’t recognize him. Yet I knew him to the heart of my bones.
I gasped, “Justin!”
“Hi, Lee.” So far Justin was the only person in the world who called me that, and the way he said it told me a lot. That, and the fact that he took my hand, leaned over my bed, and kissed me on the not-quite-so-beat-up side of my head.
Only my decision kept me from blushing like a sunset. “Justin,” I ordered, “sit down, tell me everyth— Hello, are these your parents?” Because there in my room stood a good-looking, smiling man in a trucker hat and a pretty woman with a pot of pansies in her hands and her face all in bloom with gladness.
“Yes. Mom, Dad, this is Lee.” He stood back as if displaying a prize exhibit. This is the crazy woman who knocked on Stoat’s door and saw the right advertisement at the wrong time.
Dad shook my hand awkwardly and very gently. “I need to thank you so much I don’t know what to say.”
I protested, “But, Mr. Bradley—”
“Chad. Everybody calls me Chad.”
“And I’m Amy,” said Justin’s mom, setting the pansies down to kiss me—not a typical feminine air kiss, but a motherly kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for giving us our son back.”
“But Justin’s the one who saved my life. Twice. No, three times.”
“Bull.” Justin came forward to take possession of me once again. “You and Forrest and Quinn—”
He became bashful. I covered for him. “Sit down, all of you. Please.”
They did, pulling chairs close to my bedside while I kept my big mouth going. “The other children?” I asked Amy. “The twins? How—”
“We’ve been on the phone to them and their grandfather every day.” I wondered why she put such a special stress on “grandfather,” and smiled at Chad as she said it. “They’re waiting at home like it’s Christmas. We finally get to take Justin home today.”