First Real Kiss

Chapter 29

Sheridan

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Rutledge.” I stood on their doorstep with a pot of homemade soup. It was a hot day, but soup was the only appropriate food I could think to share for a conversation like this. Soup was comfort, even when I couldn’t offer any myself. “You have been on my mind a lot lately.”

Mr. Rutledge reminded me of the actor who voiced Darth Vader in the early films, the one everyone wished would read the Bible aloud to them with that soulful voice. Mrs. Rutledge looked like an older, more well-fed Donna Summer. A photo hung on the wall of Roland standing on a snowy mountain, grinning and wearing a pair of ski bibs.

“Thanks, Sheridan. You’ve been on ours, too.” They invited me in and sat me on the end of a long, dark green sofa. “I was so shocked to learn you were the Library Rescue. You’re a celebrity—and you were Roland’s coach and guide!”

They went on for a few minutes, sharing their memories of the Great Quake, and I nodded and commiserated. The event had shaped the lives of everyone in Torrey Junction, and everyone had stories to share about that fateful day.

“We certainly hope you someday find your rescuer.”

Ah, and there we got to the twist of the knife. “That’s the thing I wanted to come and apologize to you about today.”

“Apologize? To us? Whatever for? You were nothing but a gift to us, to Roland and thereby to all our family, from the moment you entered our lives. No apologies, please.”

They weren’t making this easy. “I promised myself I’d deliver an apology from the doctor who”—how could I put it—“hastened Roland’s demise.”

They exchanged confused glances. “We’re not following,” Mrs. Rutledge said. “If you’re talking about that wonderful Dr. Hotwell, who was the last medical professional Roland saw …”

“Wonderful?” I mean, I’d had my moments of agreeing that Luke was wonderful. He’d certainly made me feel wonderful and loved and fulfilled on dozens of occasions. “But his direct manner with Roland was upsetting. Roland came to see me right after his appointment with Dr. Hotwell, and I sensed he was agitated.” Agitated enough to hasten a heart attack.

“That doctor”—Mr. Rutledge placed a hand over his heart—“brought Roland back to life!”

Uh, what? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Rutledge patted her husband’s knee and then explained more gently. “What he’s trying to say is, that after that appointment with Dr. Hotwell, Roland got energized. He’d needed some frank, man-to-man talk about his weight for a long time. We appreciated what you had done in your work and discussions with him, but”—she winced a little—“you were always a little too patient with him. Roland needed some tough love. When Dr. Hotwell gave him that stern talking-to, Roland went to see you, and then he came straight home and put on his ski bibs, grabbed his ski poles and headed up to the ski resort.”

“And that’s where he had the heart attack?” I asked, unsure what to say next, and obviously saying the wrong thing.

“No!” Mr. Rutledge shouted. Again. He was a shouter. He might have hearing loss, I thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “He skied there all week. He was out of practice, and on his sixth day of overdoing it, he ran into a tree. Didn’t anyone ever tell you how Roland died?”

“I—I always assumed … based on my conversation with him about his cardiologist appointment, that day …”

“That it was his heart?” Mrs. Rutledge smiled. “His heart was happy for the first time. He’d been a gold medal champion on his college ski team. The doctor’s encouragement gave him the impetus to get back in shape. We were so sad about the accident that we didn’t talk about it much, but we were so thankful that he went out of this life doing something he loved.”

He went out of this life doing exactly what he loved. Those were the same words Case’s family had repeated over and over at Case’s funeral. He’d lived for risk and died in a state of risk.

Then again, doing what you love is always a risk. Loving is a risk.

“I’m so sorry, Sheridan. I guess we figured you’d read the news articles. What a shame that you were upset with Dr. Hotwell about it up to now. Don’t be. He’s a good doctor who doesn’t avoid giving his patients the truth. Some people need the straight talk. Roland was one of them. Not that he liked it, but it got him moving and gave us hope.”

Hope. There was that word again. It rang in my soul like a gong.

Sometimes bad news forced a person to change. Change was hope. Information could force change.

Maybe Jane was right. Maybe I needed to change, get information, get a second opinion about my own health, and then I could at least move forward and do something about it.

“Thank you. And I should tell you, I did find my rescuer.” I stood up and gave each of them a heartfelt hug. “You’re not going to believe who it was.”

And guess who I owed an apology to next.