The Thief Who Saved My Life

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

After receiving the ok to leave this place I change back into the short, red dress that I arrived in and get ready to do a bizarre walk of shame home from the hospital. On the bright side, the color masks any blood that may have stained the fabric.

I guess it’s times like these when I realize that maybe, just maybe Dr. Maggie is right about me. It would probably be nice if I had a friend that I could call to pick me up or at least bring me proper clothes and maybe a pair of shoes. But the only person I could call right now is the last person I’d want to see. So I refuse.

Instead, I make my way to the nurse’s station and meekly ask if I can borrow their phone to call someone. I know the number by the heart and quickly dial and wait while it rings. And rings. And rings. Just as I’m sure he won’t pick up and nearly slam the phone back onto its receiver the deep, aggravated voice of my father erupts through the connection.

“Hello.”

“Dad? It’s me.”

His irritation disappears at the sound of my voice and I take that as a sign that I’ve caught him in a good mood. “Evangeline,” he says fondly. He never calls me Evie and argues that the name is too childish. I suspect the real reason has to do with the fact that my mother, who was by all accounts a free spirited loving woman, also bore the name Evie.

Hermina, the woman who should receive all credit for raising me- though if she saw me now I’m sure she wouldn’t want it- was the first to nickname me Evie. I’m certain this was much to my father’s disdain, but Hermina insisted that I was the spitting image of my mother body and soul and thought the name only fit. Besides Evangeline is a bit of a mouthful for a toddler to learn, so Evie stuck… for everyone except my dad.

“I take it you are well,” he greets as if I’m calling after a day of school instead of from a hospital where I just essentially spent the last three days in a psych ward.

“Of course I am,” I tell him just what he wants to hear. There is simply no reason to start an argument in such a public place. Especially one that I cannot win. “But it would seem that I’ve forgotten my phone and money at home, I was hoping that you might call me a driver?” I laugh lightly as though I’ve been silly and forgotten my purse while out at dinner instead of leaving them at home because I was carted away on a stretcher. Conversations with my father are all about avoidance.

“I will send a cab for you,” he promises and I know then how upset he is. If he weren’t upset with me, he would have sent a towncar and if he were really thrilled to hear from me I might have been waiting on a limo. But he’s sending a common, dirty, yellow cab and that is how I know he is unhappy with the inconvenience I’ve placed on his week.

“Thank you.”

“And Evangeline? Please consider the affect your actions have on my reputation in the future. It is not like you to act so thoughtlessly and without regard to others.”

Ladies and gentlemen… my father. This is likely the closest we’ll ever get to speaking about what happened. Though it sounds cold and heartless and as if he only cares for his reputation, I can detect the note of worry in his voice. He is somewhat concerned about my well being, even if he does a very poor job of showing it.

I forgive him for his lack of emotion though. My father has his reasons for being the way he is and while I wish he were a more attentive parent, I understand his struggle to spend time with me. Perhaps if I looked more like him… or less like her.

“Of course, dad,” I promise and that’s as close to an apology he’ll ever get from me. When the line goes dead sigh and turn back to the nurse with a forced smile. “Thank you,” I tell her as I lean over the counter to place the phone back in it’s cradle.