Page 26 of Theo of Golden

Kendrick’s eyes were fixed on the portrait. Finally, he spoke “I’m gonna give it to my baby. I’m on my way to see her right now.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“No, sir. My baby. My little girl.”

With those words, “my little girl,” sweetness overcame any lingering distrust that Kendrick might have felt toward the old man. He smiled, eyes and mouth, at the prospect of giving such a gift to his daughter. “Today’s her birthday.”

“Maravilhoso!” Theo gestured dramatically, both hands shoulder high, palms open and upward. “How old?”

“Eight years old today. I’m going to the hospital to see her right now. The bus’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

Kendrick pointed to a nearby corner, where public transport collected passengers. A small knot of people was huddled at the pick-up point.

Theo’s smile disappeared and his expression changed from one of celebration to concern.

“I hope she’s OK, your daughter. She’s in the hospital? I don’t mean to be impolite, but is she alright?”

“She got hurt real bad in a wreck. Her mama died, and she been in and out of the hospital since it happened. Her leg isn’t healing right, so they had to do another surgery.”

Theo stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing steadily at the young father.

“I work night shift and stay with her in the daytime. My grandmama works day shift and stays with her at night. My grandmama is sick, too; she’s got ‘sugar,’ but she loves that little girl.”

“Sugar,” Theo found out later, was diabetes.

“Who is the doctor at the hospital?”

Kendrick shook his head. “I have a hard time sayin’ his name. He’s not from here, so I just call him ‘doctor.’ And they change her doctors a lot, so there might be a new one when I go up today. I hope not. But I gotta take what they give me.”

“What is her name, your daughter?”

“Lamisha. But I call her Scooby. She likes to draw.” Kendrick looked closely at his portrait. “Uh, uh, uh. She is gonna love this. He did this with pencils or what?”

“Pencils. It’s amazing, isn’t it? It looks just like you.”

“Shoot, it looks more like me than I do.” Kendrick smiled, even laughed a little. “Well, it can’t look more like me than I do, but it’s something’ else.”

“Mr. Kendrick, I tell you what I saw when I first looked at your picture. I thought, ‘This is a strong man.’ I could see worry and some hurt in the eyes, but still, I said to myself, there is kindness in this face. And now I know it is the face of a good father.” Theo nodded toward the frame. “Yes, I could tell, this is the face of a man who can do much good in the world. The artist captured it all so clearly. Mr. Kendrick. I’m honored to meet you.”

Again, not knowing how to respond, Kendrick simply nodded. He was not used to being praised, especially by those so unlike him, but he didn’t feel that the old man was being patronizing or insincere. He was relieved to see the bus approaching. “There’s my ride. It only comes once a hour, so I gotta go. Yes, sir, my little girl is gonna love this.” He held the portrait up with both hands. “Now, what’s your name again? Mr. Theo? Am I sayin’ that right? Theo?”

“That’s perfect!”

“Well, thank you for the picture. That’s really nice. Thank you.”

Kendrick turned and hurried toward the bus stop, a mixed gait of walking and jogging, as Theo stood at the fountain with his hands behind his back, leaning slightly toward the water.

Kendrick boarded the bus, cradling the picture to his chest. He took a seat beside a window. From there as the bus pulled away, he could see the old man standing at the Fedder. Two things dominated Kendrick’s thoughts: Scooby will be happy, and hardly anyone ever calls me “Mister.”

Late that afternoon, there was a knock on the door of room 626 on the orthopedic floor of the Crossway Medical Center. Kendrick woke from a light sleep, crossed the room, and opened the door. A young man, a uniformed courier of some sort, stood beside a cart. It held a birthday cake, a small arrangement of fresh flowers, and a large wrapped box.

“These are for Miss Lamisha Whitaker,” the young man said.

“From who?” Kendrick’s voice was tinged with suspicion.

“I don’t know, sir. I’m just supposed to deliver it. It doesn’t say who sent it. But here’s a card.” The young man handed two envelopes, one pink and one white, through the sliver of the open door.

“Do I have to pay for this?”