By: Betsy J. Bennett
CHAPTER 4
The church was small, and the number of witnesses smaller still, but days before Kimble had vetoed Livi’s request that they go to a justice of the peace and had found a minister willing to perform the service. Neither one of them were church-goers, he supposed they’d both seen too much, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, it was important to him that this wedding be traditional.
Well maybe not completely traditional. Starting during the wedding processional, and not abating yet, Donna and Len’s two sons ran up and down the aisles, like the Cowboys and Indians he assumed they were playing, only because Donna had refused to allow the football in the church and she had also refused to allow them to engage in the old favorite, cops and robbers. He liked that the kids were joyous. It made a perfect background to his vows and it would be a more pleasant memory than the staid, quiet group of friends and coworkers who had watched Helen and him marry years before.
Livi’s dress was the traditional white, floor length but with no long flowing train, no seed pearls or lacy over-skirt. It was modest. She was a woman with no idea the advantage of a little cleavage, a low cut back. He couldn’t remember Helen’s dress. Seeing Livi, starting her walk down the aisle to a wedding processional, he couldn’t remember Helen.
With Len beside him as best man, and Donna as matron of honor, Kimble stood beside the minister, his knees strong, his heart thumping with an emotion directly opposite fear. There were no additional bride’s maids, no groomsmen. Really, they only needed each other and the two witnesses to make it official. The bride looked radiant, but then, he was used to seeing her in white, her lab coat that she had earned years before through study and dedication.
Because this was a church, she wore a hat, a small, white affair with a trace of wedding-veil lace. Donna had brought gloves, also traditional, but Livi had turned them down, stating the only gloves she wore were when she performed surgery. Her fingernails had been painted a pale rose, and she had been embarrassed, stating it was probably the first time her fingers had ever seen polish. Donna had insisted. Livi had missed out on so much, while striving to become a doctor, and then to be the best physician she could be.
Over the years, she hadn’t allowed herself to be a woman, for other med students and doctors equated feminine with weakness, lack of stamina or ability. Medicine in the late 1960’s was still almost completely a male dominated career. Livi had to brave stereotypes every step of the way.
He handed her a bouquet of yellow roses, and she had laughed, enchanted, showing traces of the little girl who had dreamed of a perfect fairy-tale wedding. If she wanted to toss them later, as was traditional, there were undoubtedly any number of unmarried women who came to her clinic who were willing to try and catch them. He wanted her to laugh like that every day of her life.
Color was high on her cheeks, but her eyes were clear, sparkling, and she returned the love he offered completely. Her hands as he held them remained steady. He hoped all though the future they would share that Livi would continue to hold him with the strength and faith she exhibited now.
“I do,” Kimble said, his voice clear as he accepted the marriage vows. This is what he wanted, needed. Her hands in his were warm, firm, and on so many levels, life-affirming. They exchanged wedding bands. He thought he would be nervous, that his hands would shake, as they had when he married Helen, but they were steady. No doubts, no confusion.
He exhaled, relieved. His greatest fear was that Olivia would realize the deal she was making, and want no part of it, that she would run. He wouldn’t blame her. He could, if she asked, give her tips, even if it would kill him. But Olivia wouldn’t run. She faced her problems head on, and miraculously, she didn’t see him as a problem. He had bought her a diamond, but she had complained that she spent too much time washing her hands and would probably lose it, but she would accept the plain gold band. He had provided his first wife with gold and diamonds and pearls at every major anniversary or traditional holiday. Helen liked adorning herself with the outer proof of his wealth. Still, he supposed the money hadn’t been wasted. Most of Helen’s jewelry had been sold to pay legal bills. A bit of irony, he supposed, that all her jewelry had gone to support appeals of the man accused of murdering her.
He met the priest’s gaze, nodded. He had asked for a minute to speak. This time when he looked he only saw Olivia and a future they would build together. “I fell in love with you a few weeks back when you kissed me to heal a boo boo.” He raised his arm, where a Band-Aid was on his wrist. He pulled it off, revealing clean, uninjured skin. “I tell you now you healed all my wounds that day, and made me whole. I could not have been complete without you in my life. Had you only wanted to be my doctor, my friend, my co-worker, there would have been deep abiding wounds that no Band-Aid could cure. Olivia, I ran for years, afraid of losing my life to an unjust verdict, but I was more afraid when I asked you to marry me that you would say ‘no’ for then I would lose more than my life, I would have lost any chance of happiness.”
He squeezed her hands, smiled, waited as she smiled back. “Olivia, I will love you every day for the rest of my life. I need you to know that.”
“You may now kiss as husband and wife,” the priest said.
Richard bent his head and settled his lips against hers. If he had intended this to be a gentle kiss, both the new groom and the bride wanted, and took more. It was as if they had forgotten there were witnesses, that they were not alone as they celebrated this first token of their nascent marriage. It was only when Len shouted “enough already!” that they broke apart and laughed, and the small congregation laughed with them.
Kimble’s sister enveloped him in a big hug. Her eyes were red. She liked crying at weddings, felt no need to be embarrassed about it. “I’m so happy for you, Dick,” she said. She had probably said the same thing with his first wedding, but this time she meant it. For reasons he wasn’t certain he understood, Donna and Helen had not gotten along well. Then Donna hugged Livi, said “sister,” which had both women laughing and rubbing their eyes. Even Dora Ann and Maggi, the only other witnesses to the wedding got their hugs in. The boys, perhaps tired of racing through the chapel returned, and Kimble and his bride took the time to shake their hands. It pleased him no little bit that both had grass stains on their forearms that their mother hadn’t found with her deadly efficient washcloth.
Donna grabbed her infant back from her brother who liked babies and was loath to part with the young Veronica. Richard had taken the child only seconds before. Veronica had watched the service, a fat cheeked cherub dressed in pink, perhaps dreaming of her own special day. Veronica’s brothers, Richard’s two nephews called their sister Ronnie, as if somehow giving her a masculine nickname made it ok to have a sister.
“That was beautiful,” Donna said, placing the baby on her shoulder and patting her back. Veronica apparently loved weddings. In two decades the Tafts would be planning another wedding.
“Yes, indeed,” Len agreed. “Short.”
Donna made a face at her husband, which had both the groom and brother-in-law laughing. “Do you want to go somewhere for lunch? I think this wedding party needs some champagne.”
He could see this bride of fifteen seconds was thinking of refusing so Richard said, “I think the boys are probably starving.” That was a true statement. They were boys. They ate everything, all the time. He’d swear they’d grown a foot since he saw them last.
“I’d like to stop by the clinic, just for a few minutes,” Olivia added as appeasement, although everyone there, with the possible exception of Ronnie, knew if Dr. Olivetti got to the clinic it would be full dark before they saw her again.
However this was exactly what Dr. Kimble was hoping his new bride would say. “Lunch first?” It wouldn’t be believable if he gave up too easily and allowed her to go to the clinic.
“Ten minutes?”
“All right. Ten minutes. I’m sure Donna has something stashed in her purse to keep those boys from wasting away.”
Donna carried a purse quite a bit larger than most people used for checked luggage for trans-Atlantic flights. She reached in and pulled out two oranges. The boys, wanting cookies, groaned, but accepted the fruit good-naturally. “I’ll probably need to find someplace quiet to feed this one too,” she said, bouncing the wide-eyed baby. Ronnie had brilliant blue eyes, like her mother, and had watched the wedding in complete fascination. Kimble found the baby a miracle, that the Tafts who had been affected by his fugitive years had found this way to heal.
“You don’t mind, do you Len?” Kimble asked.
Leonard Taft shared a look with his wife, the comfortable understanding of a couple who have been together so long they know each other’s thoughts. “I know enough at this point to let a bride have what she wants.”
“We could drop you off,” Richard said, with a look that spoke of sincerity.
“No, actually, I’d love to see this miraculous clinic that has you practicing medicine again. I’ve read so much about it in Decker’s columns that I feel I know the place.” He met Kimble’s grin and continued, “Stainless steel operating rooms with all the latest in technology, med cabinets stocked with any drug a physician could possibly need, up to date filing systems…should I go on?”
Richard, who started choking as Len started weaving his fantasy said, “If that’s what you want, you’re going to be disappointed. Downtown Detroit is like a third world country that the rest of the United States prefers not to think about.”
“Except when we make the national news for rioting,” Livi said.
“Or apparently harboring a former fugitive,” Donna interjected.
“There’s always that. But Len, these are some of the most giving people I’ve ever come across. They don’t have much, and their friendship is hard earned, but they are generous to a fault. Dr. Olivetti has them all in line. And, I’ll add, I think they’d rather like me better if I did have a murder conviction or any number of outstanding warrants.”
“That they can understand.”
“And should the need ever arise, I know every single one of them would hide me from police raids.”
Donna looked at her brother, and her gaze was pensive. She had hoped he had broken himself of the habit of checking out windows, of always having an escape route planned. “You’re safe now, Dick,” she whispered. “That’s all in the past.”
He wished he could believe that.
They packed into the stationwagon the Tafts had driven up from Stafford, Indiana, still with the new car smell. It had mock-wood siding on the outside and had brakes that actually worked. The Taft’s former car had brakes that squealed at red octagonal signs as if protesting the indignity of something so small, so insignificant, bringing it to a complete stop. Richard found the car another sign the Tafts were healing. He was sure they kept their expenses down in case they needed money for lawyers, or to ship to him, carefully, so it couldn’t be traced back to them. Although while on the run he had never asked for funds, he knew they would find a way to get it to him. That thought had given him comfort numerous times. He owed them more than he could ever repay.
Kimble drove, with his new bride beside him, with Donna and Len in the seats behind them, with Donna holding Veronica in her arms. David and Billy were tucked in the back, wrestling like brothers, with such honest sincerity that he was glad neither had a knife, for the other would likely be scalped, and although he and his new wife were physicians, he would rather Livi not have blood on her wedding finery, at least not for another twenty minutes or so.
They were a block from the clinic before Olivia realized something was up. Cars were parked by the hundreds on the side streets, and there was a sign that the road was closed ahead.
“Closed?” Livi asked. “How could it be closed?”
Finding no place to leave the car, Kimble shifted the car into park, and pulled up the parking brake in the middle of the street. “Will you find someplace to abandon this?” he asked Len. “I’m going to take everyone else to the clinic.”
“I’m not sure where it is.”
“Straight ahead, and if you get lost, ask anyone. They all know the clinic.”
Richard couldn’t prevent the grin from spreading across his face. “What are you up to?” Donna asked, causing Livi to look over at him.
“What is going on?” Livi demanded.
He grabbed his new wife in his arms, and carried her half a block past the “Road Closed” signs, and into a crowd that had to amass in the hundreds. As soon as they were sighted, a cheer rose up.
“What is this?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you get away without a wedding reception, did you? Everyone here wants to congratulate me on winning the most fabulous woman alive.”
After the cheer died down, the DJ, who had been expecting them, dropped a new single. “I fought the law and the law won,” rang through the street, a Bobby Fuller Four song that had been out a couple of years.
With one arm still wrapped around Livi, Kimble waved his other in an overly dramatic manner. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, let’s get something straight here. I might have fought the law, but let it be known I won!”
The cheers were deafening. “And for those of you who think it might be funny, I don’t want to hear “Working on the Chain Gang,” or “The green, green grass of home.” Got it? This is a wedding. We’re going to eat and dance, and then I’m going to take my bride home with me, and this section of Detroit won’t have a doctor until Monday morning.”
He kissed her again, and the cheers rose again.
“How did you manage this?” Livi asked. “You were working every minute these past two weeks, and I can tell from their reactions, the Tafts didn’t know about this.”
“I would do anything to make you happy, Dr. Olivetti.”
“Dr. Kimble,” she thought rubbing the gold band on her left hand, and knew she’d have an uphill battle to get him to accept that. Kimble was not a name she felt ashamed accepting.
There were chairs set in comfortable conversational groupings, and tables so laden with food it was amazing they weren’t buckling. She noticed a tapped keg, and another one, sitting in a bucket of ice for later, and the white frosted multi-layered cake that perhaps took an eighteen wheeler to deliver.
She was swung around in dizzying circles from one patient to another, all willing to kiss the bride for luck. And there was an entire corner, beside the front door of the clinic, stacked about six foot high with wedding presents.
“We don’t need all this stuff.”
Livi only knew how to give, of her time, her skills, her heart, but these were proud people too, and although none of them had much, they had enough to celebrate a wedding by bringing gifts. “That’s ok. I told them we need a toaster and a mixer.”
“What am I going to do with a mixer?” she asked, for he knew even she could probably figure out how to make toast.
“The rest of this stuff is things I told them we need for the clinic. Fresh linens, towels, a coffee maker, and baby stuff.”
“Baby stuff?” she choked.
“For the clinic.” And if he was very lucky, for them, but he wouldn’t terrorize her now and mention that. “We’ve had two healthy babies already, and judging by the pre-natal appointments Dora Ann has been making, there will be more. You know I refuse to send a baby home wearing a diaper made from paper towels.”
“For heaven’s sakes.”
“I made a list of what we needed. They took donations. You’re a bride. You should have everything you need on your wedding day and the clinic will be better for it.”
“Richard,” she whispered into his arms, “I only need you.”
Their kiss had the entire block cheering.
*****
“Congratulations,” Mike Decker said, thumping Kimble on the back then forcing Livi into an impromptu dance. The radio was loud enough to shatter ear drums, and they were promised a live band for later that evening.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
Decker was a large man who had put on weight in recent years, and lost hair, but his smile was genuine, and his reputation as a great reporter gaining momentum. “Wouldn’t miss it. Paula loves a good wedding. And in case you’re wondering, I’m interviewing a lot of people who came.”
Kimble rolled his eyes, pure histrionics. “Is there anything that can stop you?”
“Doesn’t look like it. I’m on a roll, keeping my editor happy for a change. And he realizes now the money he gave me for a Richard Kimble story all those years ago is paying dividends. “Top of the Deck” shows no sign of slowing down.” He stopped, puffed out a breath. It was unlikely Decker would be joining Richard on his laps around the track. “Does it bother you?”
“No. I mean, yeah, most of these stories are making me out to be some kind of hero, all but leaping tall buildings in a single bound, when most of the time I was just a scared rabbit, trying to hop the next bus or train out of town.”
Decker thumped the groom on the back as he roared with laughter. “Funny how we see that differently, isn’t it?”
“Mike, if nothing else, I’m glad it’s working out for you. If anyone should hate me—“
“We’ve been over this. Keep reading the column.”
Kimble rolled his eyes. “I have to. My patients all do, and I need to know what they’re talking about, and honestly, I’ve had a lot of great conversations with Livi, that I wouldn’t have brought up. I want her to know what I went through, so I have to keep contradicting a lot of the stories you wrote.”
“And she married you anyway?”
“It’s a mystery.”
“Congratulations, Doc. If anyone deserves a happy marriage, it’s you. Now they’re barbequing ribs back there, and they should be done by now. I’d like to get in line before they’re all gone. And Paula is here somewhere. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
“I would love to see her.” Paula, Decker’s wife, was another friend, another person who had believed in his innocence over a jury of his peers.
“Phil,” Richard said, accepting a very grown-up handshake. Phil Gerard, Lieutenant Gerard’s son, a young man Kimble had kidnapped once while on the run as a fugitive, and who now, like his father, was considered a friend. He had matured since Kimble had seen him in the clinic few months before, stood straighter, had more self-confidence. By rights, the kid should have needed constant psychological care after spending the night the captive of the convicted murderer Richard Kimble. Funny how life was turning out. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” The kid was blond haired, blue eyed, and a perfect testament to health of an American high school student. “I told my Dad I was going to write my college essays on the time I spent with Dr. Richard Kimble.”
Richard groaned good-naturedly. “And he handed you a foot thick pile of files to pull information from, including, I’m sure, slides and any number of maps.”
The kid shrugged. “No. He told me to let it drop. That all things considered, you deserve some time out of the spotlight.”
“Says the man who apparently has a second “Top of the Deck,” column coming out.”
Phil Jr. continued. “I didn’t know about the hurricane. I mean, I know he came back all wounded and all, and said you saved his life, and he was not happy.”
“That I saved his life?”
“That you got away.”
Kimble roared with laughter. “I got lucky.”
“Anyway, on your wedding, congratulations, Dr. Kimble.”
“And Lieut—Phillip,” Kimble said, trying to treat Gerard like the friend he had become. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Our pleasure. Looks like you really know how to throw a wedding reception.”
“All I did was show up.”
“The best kind.”
“And Mrs. Lindsey. It’s good to see you again.”
“Come now, Mr. Carver. We’re grown-ups here. We can certainly call each other by our correct names.”
“I’m really going to have to get that story some day,” Phil Jr. said. “I bet it’s a great story.” The kid tilted his head, looked at both his parents and the former fugitive. “You kidnap her too?”
“Something like that.”
“Cool.”
“Phil, if you find two other white kids, could you keep an eye on them? They’re my nephews.” White kids were definitely in the minority. “Let them play ball or something. It will keep them happy.”
“No problem, Dr. Kimble.”
Richard grabbed a baby from a passing grandmother, both his patients, this one a little girl with Down’s Syndrome with her arm in a cast. The girl’s smile was radiant. She loved her “Doc.”
“And those women over there are clearly prostitutes,” Marie Gerard said, scorn dripping.
“We welcomed everyone from the neighborhood.”
The record dropped, started playing “Working on a Chain Gang.”
“I told them not to—“ he growled, with a tone of voice Gerard wouldn’t have expected just two minutes before.
“You ever work on a chain gang?” Gerard asked, as the DJ, with no prompting from Kimble, changed the record to “Unchained Melody.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know what the definition of a chain gang is, but I did get sent out on a work detail.”
“In Indiana?”
“No. Death row inmates don’t get that privilege. No, this was while I was on the run. They didn’t know who they had, or it would have been a lot worse.”
“Bad?”
“Yeah, bad.”
“How come I didn’t know about this?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we weren’t exactly exchanging Christmas cards back then.”
“I could have helped.”
“Maybe we should compare notes on what your help might have involved. No, I got away, and that time period falls into the category of things I still have nightmares about.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said they didn’t know they had Richard Kimble. You must have been picked up for some crime.”
“Oh, yeah, a crime: hitchhiking. What I didn’t know was it was apparently an offense with a 30 day jail stint, including time as the song goes, ‘breaking rocks in the hot sun.’”
“I should look into this.”
“Don’t bother. Old news. And trust me, no one from there is writing for “Top of the Deck.”
After Gerard left, Richard roamed the reception, speaking with patients, and people from his past who had shown up. He’d stop, pick up a plate, eat potato salad, baked beans and barbeque chicken, washed down with cider so cold it made his teeth hurt. Occasionally he’d catch a glimpse of Olivia, talking with her patients, and after a while, when he could no longer see her, he suspected she’d grabbed Maggi and gone into the clinic, half a dozen people following in her wake. He was taking steps to find her, perhaps to cut the cake for the entertainment of their wedding guests, when he literally ran into another old friend from his time on the run.
“Mrs. Leonetti,” Richard said, hugging her. “I wasn’t certain how to get in touch with you. I’m glad you could make it.”
“Decker called everyone. I have no idea how he got my name, but I’m honored to be here. If he wasn’t working for the newspaper, this would have been an episode of This is Your Life, I’d imagine.”
“Probably so. I keep trying to get him to stop.”
“What? And deny the rest of us the pleasure of finding out what you were up to while a fugitive?”
“Most of it lies.”
Her laugh was honest, and rang through the crowd of people who were themselves having a great time. “That I sincerely doubt.”
Kimble poured ginger ale into a plastic champagne flute, offered it to her and poured another one for himself. It was still shy of noon, a bit early for beer, although the line at the keg was long and moving steadily. Although the weather was temperate, he would have preferred coffee, but he didn’t see any.
He tasted the soda, so happy with his life he felt drunk already. “Don’t tell me, you’re writing an article for the Top of the Deck?”
She sipped, laughed. “How could I not? After my husband died, I wanted to somehow make amends.” Her expression grew serious, and her hand on his forearm was meant to express comfort. “It was because of us you got shot.”
“It was not.” He knew where to place the blame, and a one-armed man named Fred Johnson topped the list, but there was also a former friend Lloyd Chandler he could mention, a trial judge, and even himself for not being there when Helen needed him. “If you believe anything, believe this: I don’t blame you, and I never have.”
“I know that about you, Dr. Kimble, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t enough blame to go around. If we hadn’t recognized you and called the police I’m sure you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
“Enough people were looking for me. I was bound to be recognized.” He stopped, having no idea how to phrase the next question. “Did Victor?” he said, mentioning her husband.
“Did Victor what? I suppose you know he died a year back.”
“No, not that. Did he confess to killing Helen?”
They passed a grill, the scents of roasting hamburgers and other meat intoxicating. Kimble accepted a hot dog, waited until she took one too. Carefully he fed the baby in his arms. The food at his first reception had been catered, expensive, made the society pages with white linen tablecloths and napkins, ice carvings, a three piece band. Mrs. Lionetti didn’t seem to mind the simpler fare. “Yes.”
“I swear I didn’t know until a few months ago. If I had known—“
“You would have done something really stupid like get yourself caught again.”
“Well, yes, probably. But I do appreciate the gesture.”
“How did you find out? We haven’t been advertizing the fact.”
“After Gerard caught me, we left California by train for Stafford. I was terrified, couldn’t speak, was probably going into shock, although as you know physicians are notoriously bad at diagnosing themselves, so the lieutenant kept up a running conversation, telling me what he discovered, what he learned while hunting me.”
“Gerard spoke to you?”
Kimble stopped, accepted handshakes then turned back to the conversation. “Yes. I think he was trying to be kind.”
“Kind is not a word I mentally associate with Lieutenant Gerard. I got to know him quite well when Victor was confessing. And Stafford is relatively small. I certainly know him by reputation.”
“He can be compassionate.”
“Right. I still can’t believe he told you about Victor.”
“Yes. Seems there was no way he could have disproved Victor’s confession. I’m glad he didn’t die in jail for something he didn’t do, and I am glad the real killers have been caught.”
“Yes, me too. I’ve been reading the papers. I didn’t know Reistling, but he certainly had a great reputation for getting convictions.”
“In case you’re wondering, it’s usually the DA or the prosecutors who get the reputation for getting convictions, not the judge. The judge is supposed to be impartial.”
“So true. So you said you were scared? I can hardly believe that. I saw you when you were running from the police. You were as cool as if you were walking down the street a free man.”
“It was an image I learned to cultivate. And if you don’t think I still get scared, you should have seen me this morning, when Livi said she needed to talk to me before the wedding. There are so many reasons why she shouldn’t have gone through with it.”
“And now you’re married.”
“Yes, now I’m married. I didn’t think I would ever again. Actually I never knew if I was going to survive the day, but I certainly never expected to find someone to love the way I love Olivia.”
“I heard…I heard you had a hard time after the exoneration.”
“Yes. Oddly enough it was harder for me to cope as a free man than it had been in many respects while on the run. I didn’t think it would break me, but it did. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Tried to find comfort in a bottle. Why Donna put up with me as long as she did, I’ll never know.”
“I’m sorry. I was hoping with the exoneration, all the hell would be over.”
“I’m not real sure it’s over yet. But back then, a year ago, I shattered and for a long time I lost myself. I didn’t think I could ever practice medicine again, and I was always afraid someone would recognize me, who hadn’t heard about my freedom. I couldn’t hold a job, had no idea what I wanted to do.”
“But you’re back to medicine now.”
“Yes, trust me, that’s Olivia healing me, as she heals all who come to her clinic. I was her janitor, but she saw more in me. Trusted in me.”
“And loves you back.”
“I don’t know why. Thanks for listening. I don’t think I’ve told another soul that, about how bad it was. And I’m glad you could come. I’m glad that there is no bitterness between us.”
“Never. I wrote a check—“
“That wasn’t necessary, but I assure you, we will put it to good use. There is so many things the clinic needs, so many drugs and equipment Olivia has been doing without. She’s giving them her best, so while I can, I’ll make sure she has what she needs.”
“It’s the least I could do. I got a tour of the clinic, and I have to say, it’s not what I expected. It’s nothing like your offices in Stafford.”
“No, it’s not. But there is not another doctor anywhere nearby, and most of these people for one reason or other won’t go to an emergency room.”
She had been shocked by the limited resources of the clinic, the worn furniture, the end-of-hope exam rooms, nothing like the state of the art clinic he and his father had run. And his Indiana patients had been middle and upper class, not like these people society had forgotten.
“Since I’ve been here I’ve spoken with about six dozen people who are singing your wife’s praises. I am very happy for you, and Dr. Kimble, I want you to have love and security every day for the rest of your life.”
“I hope to find it here.”
“And if there is ever anything I can do, please let me know. I’m on a bunch of committees and we send a lot of aid to third world countries. There’s no reason why I can’t direct some of that charity a little closer to home. I want you to have everything you need.”
“Thank you. I’m very glad you could come.”