His Name Is Ron Read Free Page A

How are we ever going to tell Kim?”
    I was afraid that if I let myself fall apart, I would never be able to put the pieces back together again. I had to be there for everyone, and I willed myself to stay in control. There were Patti, Lauren, Michael, and Brian to consider. And Kim.
    Kim was at the core of it all.
    *   *   *
    Ron and Kim were truly a pair, closer than I could have imagined my two children would ever be. From the day Kim was born, Ron looked at her like he had been waiting for her all his life. In the snapshots of my mind I saw them as children, holding hands, hugging, whispering, laughing. And, as the years passed, that had never changed.
    My marriage to Ron and Kim’s biological mother, Sharon, had ended when Ron was only five and Kim barely two. Over the course of the next few years, I had obtained full custody of the kids and Sharon drifted from their lives. As the years passed, Ron became not only Kim’s big brother, but her protector, her confidant, her second father, and her best friend. They shared a bond that was unique in its depth—a “you and me against the world” resolve.
    Now Patti and I were terrified that Kim might see or hear something on the news before we could contact her. At the same time, I knew that informing Kim of her brother’s death would be the most excruciating task I had faced in my fifty-three years.
    Quickly, deliberately, Patti and I moved back into the kitchen. I reached for the wall phone and dialed Kim’s number in San Francisco. Patti picked up the extension on the kitchen desk.
    Each unanswered ring of the phone increased our anxiety. Finally, on the fourth or fifth ring, just as the answering machine kicked in, Kim’s boyfriend, Joe Casciana, picked up. “Joe, it’s Fred, have you been listening to the news? Is Kim home?”
    â€œNo, not yet. She’s on her way,” Joe replied.
    I hoped desperately that she did not listen to the news on her car radio.
    â€œWhat time is she going to be home?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe six-thirty or so.”
    I blurted out the words. “Ron’s been killed. And we have to tell Kim. As soon as Kim gets home I want you to have her call me. Don’t tell her anything. Just be by her side.”
    â€œOh my God,” Joe said.
    The semester had just ended, so Kim was able to put in a few more hours at her job with Wells Fargo Bank. A recent promotion had her handling loans, accounts, and customer service.
    Joe usually plays soccer on Monday nights, but Kim had called home earlier and was surprised to find him there. When he told her that he haddecided not to play this night she was delighted. “That’s great,” she said. “We can go to the gym together!”
    Kim’s friend Amy Levine drove her home from work. The sun was shining as they sped along the coast and Amy had her usual R&B station blaring on the radio. The two young women laughed and joked about an eccentric customer they had dealt with during the day.
    When Kim walked into the apartment, Joe had a strange expression on his face. Kim had always been attracted to his Mediterranean look—jet black, curly hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. This evening his face was fixed in what Kim called his “nervous look,” but she did not immediately sense tension. She was in too good a mood, preoccupied with her plans for a trip to the gym.
    He greeted her with a terse “Kim, you’ve got to call your father.”
    We talked all the time. Getting a call from me was not at all unusual. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll call him in a bit.”
    Joe was persistent. “Kim, you’ve got to call your dad,” he repeated.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Kim said. “I just got home. Give me a breather.” She sat at the kitchen table and idly began to sort through the mail.
    â€œKim, call your father,” Joe repeated.
    Kim ignored him.
    He leaned