Return by Karen Kingsbury

painting again. Beautiful pieces, portraits of the residents at Sunset Hills and landscapes of Bloomington’s rolling hills and farmlands. She was averaging one painting every few weeks now. On a day like this she wished she could skip work and find a meadow of wildflowers where she could set up her easel.
    But trouble filled the air from the moment she stepped inside. The new girl, Maria, was serving breakfast to Helen and Edith, but Irvel’s spot was empty.
    Ashley hung her sweater in the closet, went to the kitchen, and put the tea in the cupboard. From there she went to the dining room. “Where’s Irvel?”
    Helen waved a trembling hand in the air. “No one checks people anymore around this place.” She gave the table a sharp rap with her hand. “I’ve had it.”
    Edith’s hand shook as she directed a forkful of eggs toward her mouth. Her words were quiet and more of a continuous mumble. “Hello … hello … hello …”
    “It’s okay, Helen.” Ashley made her way around the table, all the while keeping her eyes on the new girl. “I’ve been checked.”
    Helen shot her a hard look. “Who are you? That’s what I’d like to know. Showing up so late in the afternoon, and how do we know you were checked?”
    “I was checked, Helen.” The only time Helen was calm was after a visit from her daughter, Sue. Otherwise the Alzheimer’s left her angry and suspicious, as she was this morning. But Irvel never missed breakfast, and Ashley felt a gnawing within her at the sight of the empty chair at the head of the table.
    She followed Maria into the kitchen. “Where’s Irvel?”
    “I didn’t want to talk about her out there.” Maria lowered her voice to a whisper. She was a soft-spoken woman with a kind heart and a strong work ethic.
    So far she’d been wonderful with
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    the five residents at Sunset Hills. “Irvel’s sick. Her blood pressure is up, and the doctor ordered her to stay in bed today.”
    “Sick?” A pit formedjust beneath Ashley’s heart. “I’ll check on her.”
    She headed down the hall toward Irvel’s room and prayed that the situation with irvel was minor. The residents at Sunset Hills were like family to Ashley. Bert, with his newfound ability to communicate and the saddle set up in his room for him to shine each day; Edith, who had screamed at her own reflection until Ashley removed the mirror from her bathroom; Helen with her mood swings; the newest patient, a woman who rarely left her bedroom; and Irvel.
    They, all mattered to Ashley, but Irvel was special. Irvel was her friend.
    Though it took the old woman time to figure out who Ashley was, and though some days she never quite did, Irvel was always genteel and hospitable, a woman with Southern charm and an insistence that her dead husband was still alive.
    Ashley had framed a dozen old photographs of Hank and hung them on Irvcl’s wall.
    Then, a few months ago, she’d painted a portrait of the man. As manager, she’d been given full control by the owner to continue on with a type of care that allowed Alzheimer patients to live in the past. Past-Present, the method was called.
    Now that no one reminded Irvel that her husband was dead, she’d been much happier. And much healthier. Until today. Ashley took quick steps down the hall and into Irvel’s room.
    The woman was awake, but her face was gaunt and her hands lay limp on the bedspread. Her eyes followed Ashley as she made her way across the floor to the edge of the bed. The air was hot and stale, and tinged with a sick smell.
    “Hi, Irvel. I heard you weren’t feeling so good.” Ashley ran her fingers across Irvel’s forehead and brushed back the wiry fringe of bangs.
    “Yes, dear,” Irvel swallowed, and the effort made her wait a 43
    beat before talking again. “Hank … Hank told me to rest for a while.” She managed a lighthearted smile. “So here I am.”
    Ashley glanced at the woman’s nightstand and saw a fresh glass of orange juice.
    “Are you thirsty,