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She pulled open the large drawer to the right. Two pictures that she had painted with watercolors in grade school were neatly placed at the top of the drawer. Kim smiled as she picked them up. One was a picture of the sun and the earth, the other a picture of what she knew was supposed to be a little girl standing next to her father. To Daddy, Happy father's day, was written in neat cursive handwriting on the bottom. She set the pictures down and glanced back inside the drawer. She saw a group of letters neatly robber-banded together. She knew they were hers immediately. It looked as though her father had saved every single letter she had ever sent him. She picked up the bundle and took the rubber band off. Taking the top letter out of its envelope, she saw that it was dated Christmas of 1982. She scanned through the letter, which was basically filled with details of her plans for Christmas. It was boring, really, just details of where she and her friends had shopped and what the weather was like. What was extraordinary about the letter was where the blue ink had run. The letter had tear marks on it, as though her father had cried when reading it.
Kim quickly folded the letter up and put it back on top of the bundle. Slipping the rubber band back on top she put the bundle back in the drawer. After she replaced the pictures she had drawn, she picked up her water and turned off the light.
Back in her room, Kim tried to busy herself with unpacking but was unable to stop thinking about her father. She needed to understand the feelings that were flooding through her. The guilt, the anger, the confusion
. If her father had loved her, why hadn't he made more of an effort to stay in touch with her?
Kim took out her portable easel and the painting she had been trying to finish.
She needed to express her feelings the only way she knew how. The same way she had when she was six years old. She wanted to paint a picture for her dad.
* * *
Chapter Five
Kim waited inside the lobby. She tried to appear as casual as she could, even though her heart was racing. Why was she so nervous? It's not as if this was… a date or something. It was merely a chance to get out of the hospital and do something different.
The elevator doors opened, and Tony walked out with his skates swung over his shoulders. He was wearing jeans and big heavy construction boots. He had his hands tucked into his Patagonia jacket. "Hi, Kim," he said with a smile.
"Hi… Dr. Hoffman," she replied.
Tony grinned at her. "Cmon," he said, nodding toward the exit. As soon as they stepped outside, he said, "Can you call me Tony now? I mean, we're not in the hospital anymore."
"I don't know," she said with a laugh. "I can try."
"Are you bundled up warm?" he asked.
"Warm enough."
"Good," he said. "Because I had to bring the motorcycle today."
His motorcycle? It couldn't be any warmer than thirty degrees. "Don't you have a car?" she asked suspiciously.
"I have a car, but it's got a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it, so it's continually in the shop. I need to go pick it up, but I haven't had a chance to get over there. Up until recently, though, it's been a great car. I can't quite bring myself to trade it in. Anyway," he said, nodding to the left, "my bike is right over there."
"We can take my car. Or rather, my dad's car," Kim offered hopefully.
"I like the fresh air. Do you mind? The park isn't far. It’s right up the street."
"No," she said, resigned to making the best of the situation. "It's fine."
He stopped at his motorcycle and slipped his skates into one of the containers he had fastened on the back. He handed her a helmet. "You keep an extra one?" she asked. Smooth operator.
He shrugged. "Sometimes." He slid onto the bike and motioned for her to get on behind him.
She winced as she pushed up her coat, straddling her legs over the banana-shaped seat, and sat up against him. This was way too intimate. What was she doing with this doctor without a cause? She looked for a place to hold on and, not finding any, folded her hands neatly in her lap. "So what kind of car do you have," she yelled. "A Jeep?"
"No."
"Saab?"
"No."
"Volvo"
He lifted off his helmet and twisted around. "Wrong again. This is Detroit, remember? I drive a Ford. A Taurus."
She looked at him as though she didn't quite believe him. He didn't look like the kind of guy who would drive a Ford Taurus. Too practical. She thought at the very least he'd be in a Jeep.
