Page 66 of Deprived No More

“Would you mind if I asked why you were here to visit Mark?”

“I told you. I took care of him recently and wanted to check on him.”

She instantly cocks her head to the side as if calling me on my ridiculous excuse. They all but verified they knew his medical issue was stable, and he was able to go home. This flimsy excuse is fooling no one. I need to fess up.

“Mark and I go way back. I hadn’t seen him since… well, since he’d been hospitalized. I felt I needed to meet with him outside of a patient-provider environment. It felt like time.”

Her eyes spring wide like saucers. Just how well does she know him? How much does she know? Does she know how he received his injuries?

“My name is Hailey. I’m a physical therapist here. I’ve known Mark for years, and you’re the first person I ever recall visiting him.”

Again, with the enormous feeling of guilt. Why do I feel this way? Could it just be overwhelming sadness for him? For a guy who made my life a living hell?

“You seem to care. If you really want to see him. I can take you to him.”

“What?” I’m shocked, and I’m sure there’s no hiding it.

“I can take you there. I have a lunch break. You could follow me, and I’ll point out where he is.”

“Thank you, Hailey. I’m not sure that’s a good-”

“Look. You came all the way out here. Just go talk to him.”

I can’t help but fidget. This is awkward. How do I tell her I don’t want to be alone with him? I can’t exactly ask him to come and speak outside if he’s in a wheelchair.

“He’s usually in the park right now. It’s down the street from where he stays.”

“Oh,” I answer, surprised. That could work. But how does she know so much about him if he’s no longer residing here? Maybe they’ve gone there for therapy? None of my business. “Okay. If you’re certain, you don’t mind leading the way.”

She seems to perk up at this. I guess it’d be hard to work alongside patients whose lives appear so empty. Watching them spend each day alone, wishing you could help in some way. Emergency medicine is the opposite. You see them for a short blip in time and then have to wonder what has become of them.

“I’ll run and get my keys. My car is parked over there.” She points at a beat-up-looking Honda Civic with its rear bumper adhered to the rest of the car with duct tape. Is that thing safe to drive?

Entering my car, I’m a nervous wreck. How am I going to confront him when there’s no one there to hear him if he says or does something untoward? This was going to be difficult enough when he was here, surrounded by medical staff. Taking a few calming breaths, my eyes on the rearview mirror, waiting for Hailey’s car to move, I decide to say my peace and walk away. If anything gets to be too much, I simply walk away.

My thoughts are interrupted as I watch Hailey run out of the front doors like her pigtails are on fire. They bounce to and fro as she jogs to her car. Despite her peculiar dress and the tattered appearance of her car, she seems to be in great shape. She doesn’t look the least bit winded as she stops to open her door. I should be so lucky. She must be in her early twenties. Maybe that’s the difference. I need to get on the treadmill and stop using Nick Barnes’ sexcapades as an excuse not to exercise.

Following Hailey down the main thoroughfare out of Hanover, we enter a neighboring county. The area is dotted with brick-covered buildings housing assorted factories and warehouses. It’s only about ten miles from the rehabilitation center, but it’s a world away. There’s not a well-manicured lawn in sight. As we pass a row of old apartments on the left, a park comes into view across the street. Several men are wearing green camouflage military-style clothing in the area, one in a wheelchair and the other sitting on a bus stop cement bench. Veterans, I assume.

The bright red flash of Hailey’s right rear blinker catches my eye just as she parallel parks her jalopy. I pull around in front of her and park in the space she’s left for me. As I step out of my car, I notice she’s still seated in hers. I assume she’s rolled the window down to speak with me, yet, it may very well not go up with this car.

“He’ll be right there, under that tree.” She points. Squinting, I don’t see anyone and turn to ask her if there’s anywhere else I’d be able to find him, and I see her thrusting her finger in that direction again.

Turning back, a familiar thin curl of white smoke comes from behind the tree.

“It’s a nasty habit. But it helps him cope. He swears he only smokes one a day,” she assures me as if I’m worried about the long-term effects.

“Thank you,” I say. My limbs are shaky as I gather my nerve to cross the street and finally come face to face with Mark on neutral territory. Granted, I don’t expect to have anything life-changing happen here today. But it’s a start.

“You’re welcome. I hope… well, I don’t know what I hope. I’m just glad you’re here,” she says with an earnestness I can’t quite place. I see her look to her rearview mirror and take a few steps back as she puts her car in reverse.

I guess that’s my cue…

Feeling like a newborn foal, I traverse the road toward the park with my heart in my throat. I should’ve practiced what I’d say versus going in blind like this. This is crazy. Why am I here again?

As I reach the tree, the smell of cigarette smoke wafts in my direction. Wringing my hands, I try to gather my nerves one last time before walking forward. “Hi, Mark.”

Startled doesn’t touch the expression I’m met with. I try to stay quiet in case he decides he wants nothing to do with this conversation. I mean, why should he. Everything about me should bring back haunting memories. Heck, scratch that. My name’s probably a present-day nightmare.But it was his doing, not mine.

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