Page 120 of Babies at Coconuts

Chapter 84

After the stunning news, Hope canceled her afternoon student appointments and walked the halls in search of Hilltop’s janitor, the man she was positive had raised her. On the third floor, she spotted his thin frame near his cart filled with mops, brooms, and a trash bin.

As she approached Larry-Mac, she wondered how she’d broach the subject of his thought-dead wife, especially with the new discovery of his engagement to Willow. For months, she had treated him gingerly, hoping against hope his memory would return naturally. Organically. Sadly, it hadn’t. He occasionally called her “ma’am” which was like a knife through her heart every damn time. When she heard the phrase she wanted to shout: I’m your daughter. You adopted me but never bothered to tell me. You raised me—or I basically raised you but still. She couldn’t. Even if the man didn’t know her, she took comfort in having Larry around. Besides, she now had two dads—Larry and Paul, her biological father. She had come to peace that Montana was dead but now . . . astonishingly, they both somehow managed to survive the train accident. I feel like I’m in a soap opera.

Hope’s heart thrashed as she approached him. Could this earthshattering news jar his memory? Could it work in reverse and cause him some sort of brain damage? Should I consult a psychiatrist or neurologist before telling Larry? Even with a counseling degree, Hope didn’t know the answers but decided to forge ahead. She had waited long enough, plus he needed to know.

Working up new-found courage, Hope placed both hands on Larry’s bony shoulders and got almost nose to nose with her dad. She wanted his full attention and spoke gently but firmly, “Stop mopping. Look at me. How could you do this? How could you get engaged to my good friend?”

Surprise lit up Larry’s lined, weathered face. “I thought you’d be happy for us. Willow’s a free spirit like me. We like the same things. She’s easy to be around. She’s my old lady.” He stared at his worn shoes. “I love her.”

Hope wanted to cover her ears. He had always referred to Montana as his “old lady.” She had hated the term. Plucking the folded newspaper out of her back pocket, she smoothed it out and held it in mid-air for him to read.

Waiting as patiently as she could while he stared at the article for several seconds, Hope eventually asked, “Recognize the woman in the bed?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

Wanting to slap his memory into him, which was totally unlike her, Hope used every restraint she could muster to keep from screaming. “Listen to me. Think hard. Look at the macramé plant hangers. Remember those?”

Stroking his chin, the janitor said, “I think you have one in your office.”

Exasperated, Hope said, “Yes, I do. But do you know where it came from? Do you know who made it?”

He shrugged. “Probably China and sold at some Dollar Store.” Glancing at his Timex watch, he furrowed his brows. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got one more hall to polish and don’t want to get into trouble, Miss Truman.”

“My name’s Hope, dammit.” She refolded the newspaper and stormed off.

---