In the Cards(47)

I’m thirsting for knowledge. Mostly, I want to unearth the skeletons I suspect form the foundation of his enormous emotional barrier. My conscience screams to dissuade me but fails.

I survey the room. It’s no exaggeration to say he owns hundreds of books. What’s not surprising to me now is finding them organized alphabetically by title. His preference for order extends to everything. It must be a coping tactic, a way to maintain control of things to compensate for whatever it is he can’t control in his life.

Scanning the shelves and tabletops, I see no evidence of his past or how he became successful. Most people I know boast of their achievements, but Levi never discusses his own. I asked him if he has a broker’s license. He laughed but didn’t elaborate. Self-taught—that’s his basic answer to everything.

More puzzling is an utter lack of photographs. No friends, no women, no family. Not a single snapshot anywhere. It’s as if he’s appeared on the planet out of thin air. After ten minutes, I give up my fruitless search. Like the mysterious island in the TV show Lost, Levi doesn’t want to be discovered.

I check my watch again and decide to leave a note asking him to call me when he wakes. When I open the desk drawer to search for a notepad and pen, I see a strip of photos. Bingo! I immediately recognize Levi as the little boy, and presume the man with him is his father.

He strongly resembles his dad, but Levi’s features are more refined. It’s remarkable how a few subtle differences in one’s nose or jaw alter a face. When I return the strip to the open drawer, I see a handwritten note from his father. It’s wrong on every level, I know, but I can’t help myself. I read it.

It’s vague, but the major points are apparent. My hand clutches into a fist at my heart. Abandonment, neglect, vagabond living. No wonder he’s detached and mistrusting.

His young face smiles at me—an authentic smile. Was he happy despite those circumstances? He was beautiful then, as now. That beauty masks the deep scars derived from such instability. He must consider my trust issues with Rob child’s play.

I’m decidedly unhappy to know his history now, especially the way I discovered the truth. My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat as the magnitude of my gross invasion of his privacy—the abuse of his trust—dawns on me. It’s inexcusable. I strain to remember exactly where I found these items so I can put everything away correctly. He’s so particular; he’ll notice if anything’s out of place.

Crap. I’m so disconcerted, I leave without dashing off a note.



Several hours later, I’m convinced I can hide my deceit. If I confess, he’ll bar me from his house. Despite his having every right to do so, I can’t risk it because he needs my help.

At six o’clock, I return to his dark house. Something’s very wrong. I take the steps two at a time and enter his room without knocking first. He’s out cold, exactly where I’d left him earlier today. When I turn on the lamp beside his bed, I notice the faint red rash covering his chest. I touch his forehead with the back of my palm. It’s burning hot.

“Levi, wake up.” He’s unresponsive to a gentle shake, so I shake harder. “Levi!”

He mumbles something unintelligible while thrashing in his bed.

“Please open your eyes.” My hand touches his damp cheek. “Levi, open your eyes.”

His eyelids flutter and finally open, but his eyes aren’t focused. He’s still half sleeping. Slowly, it dawns on me: high fever plus rash equals infection. Oh, God!

“Levi, can you sit up?” Reaching under his shoulders, I struggle to sit him upright. I can’t possibly carry him to the car if he can’t support his own weight. He’s stammering and pushing my arms away. Even in this sickly state, he’s stubborn. I let him fall back against his pillows and then I call 911.

An ambulance arrives fifteen minutes later. Two young guys follow me upstairs.

“Be careful when you move him. He’s had spinal fusion surgery recently.”

Unfortunately, I’m unable to sufficiently answer the paramedics’ questions about when the fever started, where the rash began, and so on.

The depth of my self-deception chokes me. All this time I’d been playing nurse and housekeeper to keep myself busy. I hadn’t really been taking care of him. I never took his temperature or checked his incision for signs of infection. Levi was right. I’ve been using him to avoid addressing my own problems. If I had been properly caring for him, I’d have caught this sooner.

The ambulance pulls out of the driveway. I run to my own house to get my car. Shaking, I sit behind the wheel, taking deep breaths until I’m sure I’m able to drive safely.