opened, exposing his bony bare arse in the sling.
“Feel like Peter Pan?” the male nurse said and Stew turned his face away, his eyes watering.
“We should go,” Hannah said. “Grandpa doesn’t want us watching.”
“Let’s wait in the hall,” Jesse said. He ushered his son and daughter past the hoist. They sat in the orange plastic chairs in the hallway. Staff had propped up a few elderly patients in the waiting area at the end of the hall, their wheelchairs facing the television. One or two watched a football game. Others sat with their heads back, staring at the ceiling, but most slept with their chins on their chests.
Jesse could hear Annette in the bathroom, congratulating Stew. “Great! That’s two successes today!” The old man mumbled in response. The stink of shit. What milestone was this in his father’s life when a bowel movement had become something to celebrate? Jesse thought of Hannah and then Brandon when they were toddlers and the poop discussions he’d have with Elaine on returning home from work.
Brandon went potty twice today!
Hannah had jumped in excitement around him, her little pigtails bobbing, as he’d clapped his hands.
“Grandpa would rather be shot than end up like this,” Brandon said. “He wants to die at home.”
“I know,” Jesse said.
Hannah shifted in her seat. “I could help take care of him. I already pulled out of my classes this semester.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“Didn’t I?”
“I’m here now.”
“Then let’s bring Grandpa home.”
Jesse said, “We couldn’t even get him to the toilet, for Christ’s sake.”
“You just don’t want to deal with him,” Hannah said.
Jesse didn’t reply. There was no point in arguing. He knew this to be true as much as she did. He turned to Brandon. “Gina says you’ve been skipping school too.”
“I can’t think,” he said. “I can’t read. Nothing makes sense.”
“It’s just stress,” said Hannah. Then, to her father she added, “I needed Bran’s help on the farm.”
“What was all that crap about the Wunks?” Jesse asked Brandon. “You think you’re possessed or something?” Brandon wouldn’t look at his father. Jesse eyed him and sat back in his chair.
Through the space between the doorway and the curtain Annette had closed for privacy, Jesse saw the male nurse help Stew to the bed, then fasten a diaper around his hips. He looked away, anywhere but at his father: at the man who slept, open-mouthed, in the room beside Stew’s; at the old woman shuffling her wheelchair down the hall towards them, calling for help.
When she reached them, she stopped and took Hannah’s hand in hers. “Help me,” she said. Her voice was old and shaky and flat. “Help me.”
Hannah removed the old woman’s hand from hers, setting it gently back on the handle of her wheelchair, and the woman carried on down the hall as if she hadn’t stopped, still calling for help. From one of the rooms an elderly man took up her cry. “Help me, help me, help me,” he mumbled in a monotone, as if he had long ago given up hope that help would arrive.
— 8 —
The Red Door
THE WEATHERED WOODEN sign that greeted them at the gate when they got home from the hospital read, simply,
Robertson
, a sign that had served the family for three generations. Pink flamingos perched on the fence posts on either side of the gate, and a hodgepodge of garden gnomes, birdbaths and lawn ornaments covered the lawn, a patch of grass Stew never mowed anymore. The ornaments were Stew’s idea of a joke: elaborate decorations on his junky, decaying estate.
Abby ran up to greet them as Jesse parked the truck, and then barked and leapt up to gain his attention as he got out. As Jesse scratched the dog behind the ears, Brandon disappeared into the house without saying a word. Hannah headed towards the pasture.
Jesse called after her, “Hey, I thought we’d have a bite to eat.” He hauled the cooler out of the back of
“Feel like Peter Pan?” the male nurse said and Stew turned his face away, his eyes watering.
“We should go,” Hannah said. “Grandpa doesn’t want us watching.”
“Let’s wait in the hall,” Jesse said. He ushered his son and daughter past the hoist. They sat in the orange plastic chairs in the hallway. Staff had propped up a few elderly patients in the waiting area at the end of the hall, their wheelchairs facing the television. One or two watched a football game. Others sat with their heads back, staring at the ceiling, but most slept with their chins on their chests.
Jesse could hear Annette in the bathroom, congratulating Stew. “Great! That’s two successes today!” The old man mumbled in response. The stink of shit. What milestone was this in his father’s life when a bowel movement had become something to celebrate? Jesse thought of Hannah and then Brandon when they were toddlers and the poop discussions he’d have with Elaine on returning home from work.
Brandon went potty twice today!
Hannah had jumped in excitement around him, her little pigtails bobbing, as he’d clapped his hands.
“Grandpa would rather be shot than end up like this,” Brandon said. “He wants to die at home.”
“I know,” Jesse said.
Hannah shifted in her seat. “I could help take care of him. I already pulled out of my classes this semester.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“Didn’t I?”
“I’m here now.”
“Then let’s bring Grandpa home.”
Jesse said, “We couldn’t even get him to the toilet, for Christ’s sake.”
“You just don’t want to deal with him,” Hannah said.
Jesse didn’t reply. There was no point in arguing. He knew this to be true as much as she did. He turned to Brandon. “Gina says you’ve been skipping school too.”
“I can’t think,” he said. “I can’t read. Nothing makes sense.”
“It’s just stress,” said Hannah. Then, to her father she added, “I needed Bran’s help on the farm.”
“What was all that crap about the Wunks?” Jesse asked Brandon. “You think you’re possessed or something?” Brandon wouldn’t look at his father. Jesse eyed him and sat back in his chair.
Through the space between the doorway and the curtain Annette had closed for privacy, Jesse saw the male nurse help Stew to the bed, then fasten a diaper around his hips. He looked away, anywhere but at his father: at the man who slept, open-mouthed, in the room beside Stew’s; at the old woman shuffling her wheelchair down the hall towards them, calling for help.
When she reached them, she stopped and took Hannah’s hand in hers. “Help me,” she said. Her voice was old and shaky and flat. “Help me.”
Hannah removed the old woman’s hand from hers, setting it gently back on the handle of her wheelchair, and the woman carried on down the hall as if she hadn’t stopped, still calling for help. From one of the rooms an elderly man took up her cry. “Help me, help me, help me,” he mumbled in a monotone, as if he had long ago given up hope that help would arrive.
— 8 —
The Red Door
THE WEATHERED WOODEN sign that greeted them at the gate when they got home from the hospital read, simply,
Robertson
, a sign that had served the family for three generations. Pink flamingos perched on the fence posts on either side of the gate, and a hodgepodge of garden gnomes, birdbaths and lawn ornaments covered the lawn, a patch of grass Stew never mowed anymore. The ornaments were Stew’s idea of a joke: elaborate decorations on his junky, decaying estate.
Abby ran up to greet them as Jesse parked the truck, and then barked and leapt up to gain his attention as he got out. As Jesse scratched the dog behind the ears, Brandon disappeared into the house without saying a word. Hannah headed towards the pasture.
Jesse called after her, “Hey, I thought we’d have a bite to eat.” He hauled the cooler out of the back of
Similar Books
