“It’s not comfortable, but it’s not quite pain, either. What hurts is the unfairness. To give your life in service to mankind and then...this.”
“No, it’s not fair at all,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. He held hers in his and squeezed it. She took heart in the strength she felt in his hands. There was life in him yet.
“You know what else isn’t fair?” Allison said. “You still have to take your meds.”
“Ah, dammit.”
“I know a man trying to change the subject when I see it.”
“How about you recite me another poem?” he asked. “A good long one. An epic, maybe? The Iliad?”
“‘Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.’”
“Prometheus Bound,” he said.
“‘Such is the reward you reap for loving mortals.’”
“My mother would have adored you. How about The Odyssey?”
“How about you recite me a poem?” She stood up, crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
He chuckled a little, wagged his finger at her.
“Oh, that’s your trick not mine. But I know one. If I can recite one poem, will I still have to take my meds?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“How about this?” he said. “I recite my poem and you keep that nagging monk out of my room so I can pretend for one night I’m a grown man.”
“All right,” she said. “Deal. Recite.”
He smiled a little and tapped his temple as if trying to jar the poem free. He recited the poem to her.
“So much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.”
Allison applauded. “William Carlos Williams. A classic. A very short classic.”
“You know what it means?”
“An ode to a wheelbarrow?”
A deal was a deal. She watched as Dr. Capello took his pills one by one.
“Dr. Williams was a pediatrician,” he said. “He wrote that while sitting at the bedside of a dying child.” Dr. Capello blinked and in an instant tears were in his eyes. And hers.
“I never knew,” she said. “Wonder why he thought of that.”
“I’d say he was looking out the window and trying to think about anything other than the little child he couldn’t save. All doctors keep a graveyard inside their hearts for those patients. That’s why I like my view so much.” He reached out and tapped the glass of his window, which looked out onto the ocean. “It comforts me.”
“Looking at the Graveyard of the Pacific comforts you?” she asked.
“Of course it does,” he said, gazing out his window at the dark shifting waters in the near distance. “Compared to that graveyard out there, mine’s tiny. A doctor with children in his graveyard takes any comfort he can get.”
Chapter 18
Allison left Dr. Capello in his bed and walked out into the hallway. Her talk with him tonight had been strange and revealing. She never would have guessed someone as sweet and funny and well-adjusted as Deacon seemingly came from such a violent background. Well, that explained the pepper spray. What explained Oliver? She wasn’t sure about Roland’s theory that Dr. Capello’s memory was failing. She’d challenged him to recite a poem from memory, and he’d done it without breaking a sweat. And yet reciting one little poem hardly proved anything, right? Seemed far more likely Roland remembered the timeline of events differently than Dr. Capello did. Did it matter? Allison felt safe staying at The Dragon. Dr. Capello devoted his life to helping children, not hurting them. And Deacon had given her pepper spray to protect herself. Thora had saved Allison that very day from a severe injury. And Roland had asked her to come back, which is the last thing someone with something to hide would do.
Nevertheless, she wondered...
She was about to go downstairs when she noticed that the attic door was ajar and someone had taped a note to the frame that read, Family meeting at 10:00 p.m. Attic! This means you, Al!
Family meeting? Why were they having a family meeting in the attic?
Allison carefully peeled the note off the door, closed the attic door behind her and headed up the stairs. When she reached the attic, she found everyone already present, including Brien the cat draped over Deacon’s shoulder, dozing like a furry baby. This was to be an informal meeting, Allison saw. Everyone was in their pajamas—Thora was in a short white nightgown with a chic oversize ivory cardigan wrapped around her, while Deacon and Roland were both in plaid lounge pants and T-shirts. They’d uncovered some chairs and the old metal camping cot. It seemed all was in place, but for her.
“Well?” Allison said to Deacon. “I’m here. What’s this about?”
“I call this meeting of the Capello brood to order,” Deacon said. Allison sat on a pillow on the floor and rested her back against Roland’s legs, the way she’d done as a kid on Friday night movie night in the sunroom.
“Someone tell me why we’re having a family meeting,” Roland said.
“Because I’m pretty sure we’ve all had a very hard week. And because it’s been twenty years since the four of us got to play together, and...as our Allison has been living in Kentucky for way too long, I thought we should give her a very special Oregon welcome. As opposed to an organ welcome, which is what my brother gave her last night.”
“God help me,” Roland said, his head falling back.
“An Oregon welcome?” Allison asked.
Deacon held out a wooden box and opened the lid. Allison leaned forward to look in, then narrowed her eyes at him.
“Deacon...is that what I think it is?” Allison asked.
Deacon waggled his eyebrows.
“You on the Left Coast now, baby girl.”
Allison stared at Deacon. Deacon stared at Allison.
“Please tell me one thing,” she said. “That’s not your dad’s medical marijuana you stole, is it?”
“That hurts, sis,” Deacon said. “Right here.” He tapped the right side of his chest where his heart wasn’t. “I’ll have you know this is my own stash.”
“So it’s illegal?”
“Nope. It’s legal here,” he said. “Ready to pack up and move yet?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Roland said. Deacon put Brien down and walked the attic, opening all the windows.
“Yes, she does,” Deacon said. “We’re bonding. Aren’t we, my twin?” Deacon chucked Thora under her chin.
“We’re voting?” Allison asked.
“Gotta be unanimous,” Deacon said. “Capello rules. What’s your vote, Thor?”
“We’re twins,” she said with a wink at Deacon. “I vote how you vote.”
“Well, we all know how I vote,” Deacon said. “Brien?” Deacon said, holding out the box. Brien lifted his head to sniff and Deacon shut the lid. “None for you, cat. You’re stoned enough as it is.”
“Why is Brien stoned?” Allison asked.
“Ragdoll cat.” Deacon put his box down and picked up Brien, then flipped him over, and the cat went limp as a noodle. “They have all the aggression bred out of them. They are, in other words, born stoned. Lucky bastards.” He flipped Brien back over and put him on the chair again. Much like someone stoned, he didn’t seem the least perturbed by what had just happened to him.
“I’m having what he’s having,” Thora said.
“Now you, brother...” Deacon said to Roland. “Yea or nay?” Roland started to protest and Deacon made a slashing gesture with his hand. “Shut it. Monks have been drunks since Jesus still walked the earth. Ever heard of anyone dying of a pot overdose? Ever heard of pot poisoning? Ever heard of a mean stoner? No, you have not. You’re not allowed to get holier than thou less than twenty-four hours after jumping Allison’s pretty little bones, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. Or skip the pipe because my rolling skills are second to none.”
“I’m in,” Roland said. “If it’ll shut you up.”
“No guarantees of that,” Deacon said.
“And,” Roland said, “we have to check on Dad every fifteen minutes.”
“Now you, little sister.” Deacon went onto his knees in front of her, his hands holding hers. “Would you do me the honors of riding with me and Mary Jane all the way to the top floor? Don’t be afraid. We’ll walk you through it. There’s a first time for—”