This Much Is True Read Free Page B

shop? I can make sure they get delivered. I can’t give you the room number, but I can deliver it after you leave.”
    This seems the best I’ll be able to do. Charm isn’t working today, and my inexplicable quest for pursuing this whole thing begins to weigh upon me. There’s nothing I could have done. I did all I could, and clearly it wasn’t nearly enough. I push off the counter and head toward the gift shop. Within minutes, I pick out white roses and baby’s breath, and a nice little blue and white vase that I think my mother would have liked. I add a small teddy bear to my purchase as an afterthought once I reach the counter. I manage to spend a little over $120 on a girl whose name I don’t know and probably never will in less than ten minutes. And it still feels like it’s not nearly enough. But I have to do something. I lay out my Visa card, and the cashier runs it through with a slightly dazed smile.
    Ten minutes later, I’m placing a nice little cardboard box containing the vase of flowers complete with a white ribbon tied around it—because pink seemed inappropriate, and red seemed too morbid—and the little teddy bear tucked in next to it back on Mrs. Trinity’s desk. Times ahead were going to be rough for this girl, and giving her some flowers is the least I can do.
    Mrs. Trinity beams at me. Women really do like it when you do exactly what they’ve told you to do. It never ceases to amaze me even under these surreal circumstances.
    I can’t even explain why I’m here. Why I felt compelled to check three hospitals in the general vicinity of San Francisco and basically got the same answers from the same kind of helpful women at each information desk I went to. This is the first one who suggested the flowers, so I know I am, at least, in the right place this time.
    I flash her a little smile and give her a slight wave, and she nods with approval at my gifts. “She’ll be better tomorrow. Tonight, she’s just resting. Tomorrow, she’ll wake up and wonder where her sister is for a few minutes before she remembers.” The woman’s lips tremble as she says this. “It’s very kind of you to do this. I must say, I’m impressed. Now, if you just stay in school, Mr. Presley, and finish up at Stanford before you chase the money and that huge contract for baseball, you’ll really make me and your wonderful mother in Heaven both proud.”
    Audacious. My smile falters a little because she’s mentioned my mom again and Heaven in the same sentence.
    She waves her index finger at me. “Get those clothes washed. I’ll be here again tomorrow. Look for me then, and maybe she’ll be well enough to ask me about the flowers and who sent them, and I’ll tell her. Oh, you need to sign the card.”
    She slides the little white card that the cashier placed in with the flowers over to me. Thinking of You is printed in black script across the top of the card. I’m not sure it’s the best thing to say, but it’s better than the other card choice that said With Sympathy .
    I hate those cards.
    I write:
    Thinking of you. This much is true,
    Elvis
    For some reason, the anonymity with the name Elvis seems appropriate. She probably won’t even remember that she called me by that name at the accident. I can’t be here tomorrow. I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ll be on my way to L.A. to see my dad. I don’t volunteer this bit of news to Mrs. Trinity because, for some reason, providing her with that easy excuse and garnering her general disapproval is too much. Truthfully, the idea of seeing the girl from the accident again scares the hell out of me because there was something about her that captivated me at a soul level. Somehow, I think this woman would pick up on that. The truth is this: I can’t afford any kind of distraction, not even for the beautiful broken girl with the amazing green eyes and long dark hair lying in a bed somewhere in this hospital.
    My one and only focus is baseball. That’s the way it’s