Sylvie's Cowboy: Cinderella In Reverse

CHAPTER 15: THE PARTNER

Sylvie parked Walt's red truck at the end of the hospital parking lot near a small, blue lake dotted with black and white Muscovy ducks. She appeared calm and assured when she emerged from the truck dressed in jeans, plaid shirt, old cowboy boots, and a floppy well-worn Stetson. She carried a handful of wild flowers and a tote bag bulging with paperbacks.

She was a different woman than she had been four weeks ago. She wore no makeup these days, and her hair curled naturally about her shoulders. People often said she seemed to get prettier every day.

Sylvie's priorities had changed irrevocably the night she sat in a helicopter and held Walt's limp hand all the way to the hospital. Death had ridden with them, hovering closer and closer, but was cheated of its prey by a narrow margin.

She had experienced the loss of her money, her cars, her home, and her supposed friends, but that was nothing. All those losses were mere inconveniences. She needed only one thing to live, thrive, and be happy -- and she had felt Death's bony fingers trying to take him away from her. Only then had she experienced true despair.

Enjoying the clear Florida sky, the azure lake, even the hissing, milling ducks, Sylvie strolled through the lot toward the hospital entrance.

Minutes later, she exited the elevator onto an upper floor and breezed down the hall, flowers and books in tow. She started talking even before she was through the door of the familiar hospital room. "Sorry I'm late. Had to chase old Beauregard halfway to Okeechobee--"

She finished the sentence under her breath, "--before I could shut the gate and leave." The bed was empty. A nurse's aide was stripping the sheets. Sylvie couldn't get air into her lungs. Oh, please, God! He can't be dead!

"What happened!"

The aide looked up at the visitor. "Pardon?"

"Where have they taken him?" Sylvie demanded to know.

"Who?"

"Mister McGurk! Where is he!?"

A teenaged Candystriper volunteer entered with an armload of fresh linens. "I think she means Walt," the teen told the aide.

The aide smiled and nodded, "Oh, Walt! He's down in physical therapy. Be back in about half an hour."

Sylvie felt as if her feet had opened and her blood fell out of her body like water down a flushing toilet. She dropped flowers and books into the visitor's chair near the door and leaned against the doorjamb to keep from collapsing on the cold tiles.

The Candystriper worried that the cowboy lady was going to faint. "Are you okay? Ma'am? Are you--" Sylvie was gone. She had bolted as if the room were afire.

Sylvie didn't stop moving until she reached the shore of the small lake outside the hospital. She slumped onto a bench and tried to calm her panicked heart. She watched the ducks on the lake. On the opposite shore families strolled. Children floated toy boats along the water's edge twenty yards away. At first the sights were blurred, but she soon had herself under control, and tears stopped flowing.

She didn't know how long she sat there. She didn't hear the man wearing bathrobe and slippers who limped up behind her, leaning heavily on a cane. She rubbed her temples.

A deep voice said, "Headache?"

She started and would have turned toward him, but he leaned his cane against the bench and used both hands to begin massaging her neck and shoulders. "There now," his velvet voice soothed her, "just you relax. Let Uncle Walt make it all better."

She nodded and closed her eyes.

He continued the massage, saying, "I was twelve and living on the streets. He was ten years older and a hundred years meaner and drunk as a skunk. He tried to knife me for the two dollars I had in my pocket and I killed him. Deader'n dirt."

She tried to stop him, "You don't have to--"

He went on as if she'd said nothing. "Juvenile Court put me in the custody of a man named Harry Pace -- who came down to speak up for me because his wife read about it in the papers and wouldn't let him rest until he did something to help. So, Harry and Helen sent me to boarding school and college and set me up in a business. Took care of me like a son even though they had a little girl of their own. I didn't see her but once or twice a year, when I'd come home for school holidays, but I always thought she was the most beautiful thing God ever made."

He seemed to wait to catch his breath, but the massage never stopped. Soon he spoke again. "I woulda been dead or in jail a long time ago if it hadn't been for Harry. I ain't excusin' what I done, helpin' him with his crazy scheme, but I owed him a big favor, and he collected. I swear I'll never lie to you again."

Sylvie slid away from his hands and turned to face him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He let the back of the bench take some of his weight. "I think one should be familiar with one's associates. You ain't asked to be a partner in this ... enterprise, but I intend to take an active role in signin' you on."

He looked down at his feet, smiled, and shook his head. He looked down into her waiting eyes. "I know," he said, "I oughta be on my knees right now, but I'm some stiff yet."

Sylvie rose, walked around the bench, and melted into his arms. "Are you proposing, McGurk?"

"Well," he said, "as much as I hate to ask you to give up a promising career in electrical appliance repair..."

She kissed him.

He pulled her closer and kissed her. Bathrobe and cane notwithstanding, he kissed like a man whose strength and health were fully restored.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

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This is the conclusion of Sylvie's Cowboy. You have been wonderful. Thank you.

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