Page 51 of His Wounded Heart

Good.

I hadn’t been able to get Trenda to talk about her nightmare, and that’s still bugging the shit out of me three days later. I keep telling myself to let it go. Afterall, did I want someone peeking into my psyche?

Fuck no.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to know what was going on. To help erase the dreams from her memory.

I open the door to the nursing home and smile at the woman manning the front desk. She reminds me of Violet in the sense that she could be blown over by a strong wind.

“May I help you?”

Well, her voice is sure strong. I like that, makes me feel like she can handle whatever comes through the door.

“I’m here to see Luther Randolph. His social worker should have put me on the visitor’s list. My name is Simon Clark,” I say as I pass her my Virginia driver’s license.

She looks down at a clipboard, then squints at my driver’s license and up at me. “Okay, you’re approved to go up. The elevators are around the corner on your right. Go to the second floor. You’ll see the nurse’s station; they’ll direct you to Mr. Randolph’s room. I do hope he’s having a better day today.”

Shit.

I didn’t bother asking her what she meant, I just want to get to him.

By the time I’m upstairs the nurse doesn’t need to direct me to his room; I can hear him from her station.

“Where’s Violet?

“Where’s my wife? I want my wife.

“Why’d you take away Violet?”

“Hello, Mr. Clark,” the nurse says when I introduce myself. “As you can hear, Mr. Randolph is not doing well. We’ve been monitoring him closely. We’re discussing changing his status with his social worker and sending him to the Rolling Hills facility. But even if his status is changed, it will depend upon when a bed comes available.”

“What’s that?” I ask. But I know.

“It’s a psychiatric hospital.”

I follow the nurse down the hall to Luther’s room. When she opens the door, he is sitting on the one small chair that looks over the courtyard, his head bowed. He doesn’t even look up when we come into his room.

“Look, Mr. Randolph, you have a visitor.”

His head whips upward. “Violet?” he yells out hopefully. When he sees it’s only me he bursts into tears. The nurse quietly backs out of the room.

I walk over and crouch down in front of Luther.

“Luther,” I whisper. “Do you remember me?”

“Where’s Violet? She’s sick. I need Violet.”

I pull out my phone. I help Luther to sit up straight in the chair. “Luther, can you look at my phone?”

“I want Violet,” he begs.

“Violet is here. I need you to look at my phone.” I make sure the volume is all the way up, then play the video.

“Luther, Darling,” the frail woman in the bed says as she looks directly into my phone’s camera. “I miss you.”

“Where’s Violet?” Luther demands to know. He tries to shove up off the chair, but I keep my hand firmly on his shoulder, making him sit on the chair.

“Look at my phone, Luther. Violet made a video for you. She’s waving to you. Do you see her? Look at my phone.”