My first stop is Las Palmas House. The edifice does not have the sterile appearance of a nursing home like I had imagined. My plan was to make a trip this weekend to visit Johnny with my mother and stepfather, a grand reunion of sorts. I’m not on the permitted list of visitors yet so I needed to wait for her to return. I think it’s safe to say based on our dinner, my mother and I won’t be spending time together this weekend, so I hope that today I can at least catch a glimpse of him, and maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll let me see him. I can’t wait any longer. I just need to see that he’s alright.
It’s a pretty brick three-story house. Carter had gotten a pamphlet for me from the hospital. It’s small, housing no more than twenty children at a time. They have access to physical, occupational, and behavioral therapy. I refused to believe anything strangers had to offer could be more than what I had to give, but as I stand in front of this peaceful abode, rose bushes flanking the front door, amidst the sounds of children playing, it appears like a fine place for a child.
I follow the sounds to the back yard, surrounded by chain-linked fence like a school yard. There’s a playground; kids of various levels of physical ability play. Some sitting in wheelchairs, some zig zagging about. Then I see him. He’s holding a ball between his arms, tossing it to another boy in a wheelchair. He misses. It’s hard to aim without the full use of his hands. A woman smiles and mouths words of encouragement as she picks up the ball. The boy in the wheelchair tosses it back to Johnny and he flings his arms together and catches it. I cover my mouth, stifling a tearful gasp, celebrating with tiny hops of joy as I link my fingers through the fence. I’ve never seen him catch a ball like that before. His smile beams. He looks taller, and his face has changed, already showing signs of the angles his jawline will take someday.
“Hello,” another woman greets with polite suspicion.
“Oh, hi,” I answer, straightening myself out.
“Are you a family member?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m Johnny Rivers’ older sister. I’m sorry, I’m sure this seems odd. I don’t think my name is on the list for visitation. My mother was out of the country and I know you have certain hours to visit. I’ve been—gone—for a long time. I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
A look of realization appears on her face. Her skin has a flawless mocha sheen that almost sparkles in the sun, and her bright hazel eyes warm towards me.
“Actually, I spoke to your mother this morning. You’re Vesper, right? That’s a nice name. She made sure you could visit him.”
The knot of anger in my stomach I had been holding towards my mother unravels a bit. We’re all a little good and a little bad. We’re all just trying to figure out this life.
“He has therapy in about fifteen minutes. You can come play with him if you’d like.”
She motions over to the entrance to the playground, we meet at the gate and she lets me in. I don’t know how to approach him. He was told the man took me and I went to sleep. Will he be confused? Or will this whole thing have been a small blip in time for a child who seems to have had so much going on while I was gone?
I take a breath, trying to keep the tears down before approaching him from behind and gently tapping his shoulder. He spins, the ball still in his arms. We he looks up at me, he freezes and he drops it. It bounces in the small space between us. His blank expression becomes a frown and he begins to cry, burying his face into my stomach as he grips me.
“Johnny,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I’m back.”
He holds me tight, only loosening so I can kneel and look him in the eye.
“Are you sad?” he shakes his head.
“Happy?” he nods, wiping a tear with his forearm.
“I’m happy to see you too.” I’ve already forgotten about holding in my emotions as my tears match his. “I’m sorry I went away.”
Johnny nods.
“Do you like it here?”
He smiles and nods many times. I can tell he’s doing so well. He has other kids to play with and even his balance and strength have improved. It’s humbling to accept that maybe I needed him around more than he needed me. He drags me to his friend, Thomas, who also seems to have cerebral palsy, but can still speak. He has a best friend. Someone like him. Someone who understands what he goes through every day in a way I can’t.
I toss the ball with Johnny and Thomas until it’s time for him to go to therapy. When I leave him with promises to return, he’s smiling. He’s safe. It was all worth it. No matter what happens to me, he’ll be okay.
The library is nearly empty during this time of day, so the librarian seems happy to help me when I tell her I am doing some research for a real estate class I am taking.
She is all too eager to assist me in pulling records, bound together into books several inches thick. My search begins for property owned by the Hunter or Ridgefield family. It would have to be large, possibly designated as farmland. Somewhere quiet. Isolated. It turns out there is a lot of land to go around in that family. There are many Hunters and Ridgefields and many generations of land ownership.