The Third Daughter's Wish

That was another reason Josie was here. Their isolated childhood had made all three of the Blume sisters feel different. Within the family, however, Josie was the only oddball. Her sisters were reserved and thoughtful; she was loud and reckless. They excelled at math and science; she’d had to work to conquer those subjects.

But whenever something in the house had broken, Josie had been the go-to girl. She didn’t even look like her family. They were tall, slim and fair-skinned. She was short, buxom and dark.

Did she take after her father? Did she act like him?

She’d sought out her father for Lilly’s sake. Truly she had. But Josie was also here for herself.

She wouldn’t bother with ringing the doorbell again. The dog stood at the window, wagging tongue and tail, but there were no noises from within. Obviously, no one was home.

Josie was both disappointed and relieved. As she returned to her truck, she determined to follow proper procedures the next time she attempted to meet her father. If she tried again. She’d send a letter and follow it up with a phone call.

The outside dogs started a frenzied round of barking that caused Josie to glance toward the road. A shiny red pickup had just pulled into the drive.

Oh, God. That must be him. Man, she was scared!

Clutching her sweater to her chest, Josie watched the pickup window. A sober-faced man lifted a hand off his steering wheel in greeting, then the woman passenger waved, too.

Her father had never divorced her mother, so new questions arose.

In that instant, Josie envisioned how tough it would be to approach that front porch Welcome sign and announce, “Hi, Dad and Whoever. I’m the daughter you never bothered to meet. Aren’t I clever to look you up? Now, let’s discuss your health.”

Maybe such a jarring proclamation wasn’t necessary. Before she identified herself, she could acquaint herself with him in a safe way. If she offered a bogus name and reason for being there, she could simply talk to him. If he behaved decently enough, she’d tell him the truth: that she was his third daughter, here with questions about any seizure disorders.

That was plan enough for now.

The man steered the pickup to the opposite side of the drive to park, allowing her the space to get her truck turned around. The woman got out first. She was about Josie’s height and stocky, with rust-colored curls and solemn brown eyes that filled the frames of her purple-rimmed glasses.

When the man stood up, Josie noticed he was very tall and thin. The woman had already climbed the porch steps, but he approached the house with a more cautious gait.

He was older than Josie had imagined—perhaps in his seventies. His blue buttoned shirt and tan pants hung loosely on a gaunt frame, and his head was saved from total baldness by a low fringe of wiry hair. He reminded her of someone…some celebrity—Art Garfunkel! Except that this man wore bifocals and his hair was snowy white.

He stopped beside the woman, peering shyly at Josie. “Gonna introduce us, Brenda?”

Josie felt a heaviness in her chest, and it took a second for her to realize the source of her disappointment. She’d hoped to have her father’s eyes or his hair or his build. She’d dreamed that her father would take one look at her, recognize who she was and pull her into a hug.

She’d prayed for that easy connection.

Before the woman could announce that their visitor was a stranger to her, Josie offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Sarah. Sarah, ah, Thomas.” She’d used her middle and Gabe’s last names. As she turned to grasp her father’s hand for the first time, she said, “If you’re Roderick Blume, I’m here to see you.”

Lying about her name didn’t feel half as strange as saying his. Her mother had always referred to her father as him, that fool man or Rick. Josie’s Internet search had been lengthened by days, until she had followed yet another wrong path and discovered she should be searching for a Roderick and not a Richard.

“I’m Rick Blume and this is Brenda,” he said. “Can we help you with something?”

“Invite her inside,” Brenda urged. “You’re late taking your pills and I’m too hungry to keep dinner waiting tonight.” After unlocking the door, she pushed it open and spoke gently to the dog as she made her way inside.

The man…Rick…her father—Josie wasn’t even sure how to think of him—knit his brow. “You’re not selling anything, are you?”

“No, I—”

“You’re not from the county? The dogs get fresh water three times a day, and Brenda feeds them an expensive, high-protein food she buys online.”

“I’m not here about the dogs. I’m visiting from Augusta,” she said, deciding to stick to a version of the truth. “I know your relatives there.”

Her father backed up a step. Josie got the impression that he’d prefer dealing with the dreaded salesperson or an animal welfare worker, rather than someone snooping around about his past. “You mean Ella?” he asked, studying Josie. “Or the girls? They’d be ’bout your age, I guess.”

“All of them.” Josie forced a calm expression.

Rick’s eyes grew dark, and she waited patiently while he wrestled with the worries or regrets he should have dealt with a long time ago.

After a moment, he opened the door. “Down, Gracie!” he told the dog as he waved Josie inside.

Gracie sniffed Josie’s hand, then trotted to a floral armchair near the window and stood, as if to communicate that this was the preferred spot for guests.

“Have a seat,” Rick prompted.

She did so, folding her sweater across her lap. When Gracie sat at her feet, Josie leaned forward to rub the dog’s silky ears. Her father crossed to the end of the sofa nearest the kitchen and yanked a blue tea towel from between the cushions. Bending slightly, he spread it across the worn armrest and tucked it in at the back. Then he sat down, sighed and knocked it half off again with his elbow.

He must sit in that same spot all the time. He must repeat those motions several times a day.

Questions were being answered without any need for conversation. Rick Blume was fair-skinned, cautious and methodical.

Nothing at all like her.

When Brenda returned to the living room to offer Rick a glass of water and a handful of pills, he grinned wryly at Josie’s concerned gaze. “When you get to be my age, the pharmacist has to help keep the old heart ticking.”

Heart ticking. Could this problem be seizure related? And he’d been driving. Did that mean anything?

Josie hmmmed her concern, hoping to draw explanations.

“I was always strong as an ox,” he said. “Years of eating fried bologna and kraut dogs gave me a heart attack coupla years ago. Now I live on pills and greens.”

It didn’t sound as if he had a seizure disorder, but she couldn’t be certain without asking specifically. Josie watched her father swallow the pills and return the glass to Brenda, and a new worry invaded her thoughts. What if the shock of learning her identity canceled the effects of those pills? What if the man died here and now? From a seizure. A heart attack. Shock.

“Would you drink some coffee or iced tea?” Brenda asked Josie on her way to the kitchen.

“No, thanks.” Josie wished she could follow Brenda and escape out the back door. Her father had just said he’d always been as strong as an ox. He drove a truck. If he’d suffered from epilepsy or some other disorder, it must be well under control.

Josie’s sister and brother-in-law would work until Lilly’s condition was controlled or extinguished. Why disturb an old man’s contented life? Perhaps Gabe and her sisters were right.

“How are they?” Rick asked, causing Josie to jump. He leaned forward on the sofa, as if eager to hear the answer.

This was her opening. Ella died seven years ago, but her children are great, she might tell him. Then, Enjoy your life. And Goodbye.

“They are fine,” she said. “More than fine, actually. They are amazing people.”

“Are they?” He peered into Josie’s eyes, nodding slowly. “Brenda’s cousin read about Ella’s passing in the Kansas City paper several years ago. I thought about contacting the children then, but figured I was too late.”

“You did?”