“Very. He was in the hospital for months and then in a rehabilitation facility for almost a year. He speaks now and can use his upper body, but he can’t walk.”
“He’s paralyzed? He stays in bed?”
“Heavens, no. He uses one of those scooters and gets around just fine.”
“But… but he can’t work like that. And golf. He can’t play golf or tennis, can he?” When her father wasn’t working, he could usually be found playing one of those two games at the country club.
“No, he can’t. It’s been quite a change for him, but your father is a strong man and he has managed just fine-to all outward appearances, that is.”
Josie knew what that meant. Brought up in a family where “No one wants to hear what’s wrong with you” was a constant theme, and “Keeping yourself to yourself ” was considered a virtue, outsiders wouldn’t have any way of knowing to what extent her father was suffering. “When did it happen?”
“The stroke?”
“Yes, the stroke.”
“Years ago. I told you.”
“But when? Exactly.”
“Three days before Christmas your freshman year of college-your only year of college apparently.”
Josie didn’t even hear the second half of the statement. “Are you sure? I mean about the day. Exactly. Are you sure it was three days before Christmas? Not a day later?”
Dr. Van Ripper took being accurate very seriously. “Let me think about it. As I recall, you were due home the day before Christmas Eve.”
“I was, but how did you know that?”
“Your mother was in the library the week before trying to find a recipe for some sort of cookie you liked. I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was something made with peppermint. She said she had never made them.”
Josie slowly nodded her head. “They were made from pink and white dough, twisted together and shaped like little candy canes. Our next-door neighbor used to bake them for Christmas when I was a kid, but then she moved to Florida. My mother always said they were just too much trouble to make.” She looked at the librarian. “Are you sure she was going to make them? For me?”
“That’s what she was planning. To surprise you, she said.”
“It would have amazed me,” Josie admitted. “But about the stroke. Are you sure it happened the day before I was to come home?”
“Yes. I was one of the last people to see your father that day. It was snowy and I took a longer than usual lunch hour to pick up a few last-minute gifts. I should have walked-you should always walk when you can, of course-but I was hoping to find a large stockpot for my sister-in-law and I didn’t want to have to lug it halfway across town on foot, so I ended up driving around downtown looking for a place to park. I had just about given up when I saw your father get into that big black Mercedes he always drove. Funny how you remember things when tragedy strikes, isn’t it? Later that night, when I heard the news, all I could think of was how healthy and happy he had looked, tossing the wrapped gifts he was carrying into the passenger seat and waving for me to take his spot when he left. I called out a greeting, of course, and he replied, saying something about how it would be a good Christmas because you would be home.” She nodded to herself. “He looked wonderful. Who would have known?”
“He said that? That it would be a good Christmas because I would be coming home?”
“Yes, I think his exact words were that you would be home tomorrow. So, you see, that was the day he had the stroke. Is the date very important?”
“Yes. To me, it’s very important.” She thought for a moment before continuing. “He almost died. That’s what you said, that he almost died.”
“Yes.” Dr. Van Ripper paused for a moment, then added meaningfully, “And no one from town ever saw you again.”
“I…” There was just too much for Josie to assimilate. Everything she had thought, every hurt, every angry moment, had been, apparently, based on an untruth, a misunderstanding. She had no idea what to think. “I don’t know what to say. You… You and everyone in town… You don’t understand what happened. How… this all got started.” She looked around at the torn-apart house. The life she lived now, the life she had created for herself, was, if she could believe this woman, based on a misunderstanding.
Dr. Van Ripper was staring at her and Josie realized she should say something. She grasped at the only topic that didn’t seem to matter very much at the moment. “You mentioned Courtney. What does she have to do with this?”
“It was Courtney who told me that you still have no contact with your family.”
Josie tried to focus on the topic at hand. “I don’t think she and I spoke about that.”
“Perhaps not, but she has spoken with your family.”
“When? Recently?”
“My dear, just because you chose not to keep in touch…” She didn’t end the sentence.
“You mean other people did.”
“Others, yes, and Courtney was prominent among them.”
“You did say that she always came to the library to visit when she was in town, but I’m sure she didn’t visit my parents the same way. Of course, her mother and my mother are probably still close.”
“Yes, I’m sure they are. I don’t want to upset you more, but there are people in town who are of the opinion that Courtney has become something of a substitute daughter.”
“For my parents?” Josie realized she sounded stricken. It was almost as though she had discovered she actually did have a family only to have it taken away from her once again.
“Yes. Things have been difficult for them, of course. And since you chose not to be around-for whatever reason- they have come to depend on Courtney more and more.”
“Is that what they say?” Josie asked. Something didn’t sound right here. Unless things had changed dramatically, her parents weren’t likely to be complaining about their lives-or their daughter’s choices. Of course, she realized, things had changed dramatically. A lot had happened. She had changed. Why wouldn’t they have done so also?
She remembered the last time she had spoken with her mother. She’d called right before leaving school, thinking that the announcement of her pregnancy would be easier on the phone, that they could use the night to get over the shock and then the three of them could sit down and talk it through once she arrived home. Looking back, she knew it had been a cowardly thing to do, but she had been young, scared, and, she had to admit, stupid.
Her mother’s response to the news she had blurted out abruptly had been straightforward-or so she thought at the time. She had said nothing. After a few minutes of silence on the other end of the line, Josie had asked to talk to her father.
Her mother had finally spoken. “I’m sorry, dear, but under the circumstances, your father will not-cannot-speak with you. I’m very sorry, dear, but you’re going to have to… take care of… yourself by yourself. Your father… I… Your father and I have a lot on our plates just now-”
Josie had hung up without listening to more. That was the last time she’d spoken with either of her parents. Over the years she had replayed the conversation again and again. She had wondered about each and every word of rejection. It had never occurred to her that the circumstances her mother was referring to were something that had happened at home, not her pregnancy.
“Josie, you’re becoming a bit absentminded, dear. It’s not an attractive trait.”
It was true. She was getting absentminded. She needed to find out more about Courtney. She needed to ask questions this woman might be able to answer. She took a deep breath and opened her sandwich again. She would think, worry, mourn her relationship with her parents later. Right now she had to find out who killed Courtney Castle before her murder damaged the life Josie had-whether prompted by necessity or a foolish misunderstanding-worked so hard to create.