All the Good Parts (19 page)

“I have a minute.” I squeezed in next to her, but she didn’t scooch over to make room. What kind of person doesn’t scooch? One butt cheek hung off the side of the step, and I held on to the rail to stay upright. “Maybe just a minute,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You have to rush off to Jerry’s, don’t you?”

“No, just meeting a friend. I don’t work for Jerry any longer.”

Estelle’s eyes sparked to life. “He fired you! What did you do?”

“His son fired me. I was talking to Jerry about personal business, and Paul, his son, felt it was inappropriate. Maybe it was, but I didn’t think so.” The words spilled out; obviously my body wanted to get rid of something, and they would have to do.

“What kinds of inappropriate topics?” She stiffened. “Are you a drug addict? I always suspected—”

“I’m not an addict, for heaven’s sake.”

“Then tell me what’s considered inappropriate,” she demanded. “No one ever discusses inappropriate topics with me. What are you hiding?”

Professor Larmon said a nurse is best judged by how she handles her most difficult patients. Hardening your heart to someone makes it too easy to dismiss her complaints. Though the patients may never witness it, they’re the ones who get the eye rolls, the flagged files, the vacant smiles. A good nurse treated all of her patients with dignity and respect, even the ones who set her nerves on fire.

Did Estelle have a right to know my personal business? No. Did I have a responsibility to try to make her feel better about herself? I believed that I did.

“I want to have a baby,” I told her. “I don’t have a man in my life, and this makes the whole thing a more difficult and expensive process. I was discussing my problem with Mr. Pietrowski, and his son overheard.”

Estelle screwed up her face in disgust. “Why in the world would you want a baby now? You’re too old, for one. It’s risky. Something could go wrong.”

“That’s true. I don’t usually like risks, but if I want a child, I’ll need to accept a lot of them.”

“I had Jason at forty,” Estelle said. “I would never have gone through with it if Freddie hadn’t asked me to. I agreed because I didn’t think the baby would survive. The doctors told me I’d never carry full-term, but to everyone’s surprise, I did.”

“Then, don’t you think he was meant to be on this planet?”

“Nothing is meant to be,” she said flatly. “It happens or it doesn’t. Life is a random pile of tragedies with a couple of good moments slipped in to keep you from offing yourself.”

“Estelle—”

“I hated being a mother. Every minute of it.”

“
Every
minute?”

“Well, I did enjoy watching Jason play baseball. He was quite good at it. Hurt his pitching arm in high school and that was the end of that.”

I hated the bitterness in her voice. How sad her life must be, if I needed to talk her into recognizing that somewhere along the line, she’d experienced joy. “Jason planted those mums for you. There must have been something he liked about your mothering skills.”

“Jason planted those because he wants to sell this house and there’s a problem with the drainage. The flowers cover up the worst of it.”

“Oh.”

“You’re seeing the world how you want to see it, Leona, not how it actually is,” Estelle pronounced, quite proud of her deduction. “That’s the problem with your generation. You’ve decided you don’t like reality, so you try to pretend it doesn’t exist. You think your imagination will save you, but it won’t. Keeping your head in the sand only means you’ll suffocate.”

“You might be right,” I said, and pulled myself to standing.

Estelle nodded. “I’m a realist, and realists are always right in the end.”

I wasn’t sure “realist” was the best definition of Estelle, but calling her misanthropic was just mean. “I’ll be back on Tuesday,” I promised her. “If you want, I’ll clean out the garage. You’ve got kind of a situation going on in there.”

I shouldered my purse and, impulsively, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “See you in a few days.”

“Your purse,” she said.

“What?”

“I need to check inside your purse.” Her voice held the same suspicious intensity it always did when I left.

“Do you honestly think I swiped your garden spade when you weren’t looking?”

She held out her hand without answering, the “injured” one.

I looped my bag over it. “Fine,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

She took her time, running her fingers over the smooth leather of my wallet, studying my grocery-store receipts, shaking her head when she found a scratch-off lottery ticket. “You’ll never win,” she muttered.

“Are you done?”

She returned my purse. “Don’t be so angry,” she said as I walked to my car. “At least
I
didn’t fire you.”

CHAPTER 22

Garrett wasn’t at the library when I arrived, breathless, late, and smelling of sweat and moldy leaves. The main floor was mostly deserted, and I chose a table in the corner, keeping an eye out for a tall man with a dirty duffel bag.

Anxiety grated my nerves, and my skin itched underneath my fisherman’s sweater. I shifted my weight in my chair, turning over what Carly said in my mind. Why not just ask him? We hadn’t known each other long enough for that to change things. I could make it light—
can I ask a little favor?
—and then he wouldn’t feel bad when he had to say no. I wouldn’t be pushy. That lesson was learned with Darryl. I’d checked my e-mail before leaving the house. Not one message. I’d worried he would be the one to flake out, but it was me who went off the rails. Would I be finishing up our project alone?

So. Five minutes. Ten. Garrett’s no-show ratcheted up my soaring anxiety. Maybe I got the time wrong. Maybe he decided to prepare on his own, or to not do anything at all. Maybe I didn’t really know that much about him. He could be lying in an alley, heroin needle sticking out of his arm. He could have been beaten and left for dead.

He could have simply left town. Rachel, a nurse friend, said that when homeless people were brought into the emergency room, they often disappeared before treatment. Just gone, she said. She always wondered if they’d find them in the surrounding area, half-dead and in pain, but they never did. It was like they disappeared into thin air.

Of course there was always the possibility I was being melodramatic.

“Have you seen Garrett today?” I asked the distracted librarian at the circ desk.

“Who? The homeless guy?”

“Him.”

“He was here earlier, I think.”

Relieved, I thanked her with a smile and wandered upstairs to nonfiction to check the stacks. The upstairs was even more deserted than the main level, stacks of lonely, quiet books, tall windows throwing long shadows on the gray carpeting, a horror movie waiting to happen. I glanced down each row, checked the copy room and the corner reading nook, and stopped short in front of the men’s bathroom.

The faucet squawked, a short, aggressive belch. I knocked. “Garrett?” No answer. The water burst on again. I knocked harder. Nothing.

I pushed gently on the door, opening it a crack. Movement. A sliver of pale flesh, dark hair, faded denim. I couldn’t help myself. I nudged the door another inch with my foot.

Garrett stood at the sink, shirtless, jeans hanging low on his narrow waist. His eyes were closed, hair dripping, water pooling on the floor. Quickly, he slicked his hair back with his fingers. A shiver tore through him, and every muscle in his sharply defined chest bunched. He sneezed.

“Bless you,” I said automatically, and he let out a short bark of a scream. “I’m sorry!” I said quickly, looking anywhere but at him. “I was looking for you, and I couldn’t find you, and I’ll just leave you alone.”

“I’m nearly done. No harm, Miss Leona,” he said. “Time doesn’t usually get away from me like that. I’m the one who should apologize.” He rummaged through his duffel, pulled out a Rocket Industries T-shirt, and used it to wipe the water from his face and chest.

I worked hard at regulating my breath, trying to hide the fact that it was ragged. Garrett wasn’t cut; he was sculpted by some fine artistic hand. He missed a spot, one rivulet of water coursing down the smooth muscle of his shoulder, and it took everything I had not to trace it with my finger.

“I’ll just wait downstairs,” I squeaked. “Our usual spot.”

“Give me two minutes.”

It took that long to start breathing normally, and for my skin to lose its bright red hue. Fully dressed, Garrett sank into the chair next to me and, after a moment’s hesitation, gave me a swift, dry kiss on the cheek. “Sorry about that. I haven’t been sleeping well. Sets me off.”

“No problem,” I managed. I felt shaky inside. “Want to get started?”

We practiced interviewing techniques, from handshakes to “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” to follow-up questions. We created a thank-you note template. We discussed wardrobe and power breakfasts and exit strategies in case things went south.

“I’ve never been a good liar,” he said when we were finishing up. “What if they ask me why I’ve been out of work for so long?” He toyed with the corner of his resume. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m worried I’ve wasted your time. I’m so sorry, Miss Leona. I don’t think—”

My hand found his shoulder, and I kneaded the taut muscles. “It’s going to be okay. You’re prepared for this, and if it doesn’t work out, there’ll be another. A gap on a resume is not unusual now. Lots of people are in the same predicament.
Lots of people are the same as you.
”

He caught my eye. “No, not exactly the same. At least, I hope not, for their sake.”

“What happened to you, Garrett?” I asked, keeping my voice mild and nonjudgmental. “Why are you living at the Episcopal church?”

He glanced away. “I don’t know. I’d like to say it happened quickly, that everything spiraled out of my control, but that’s not the truth. I watched it happen. Watched my money run out, watched myself stay in bed all day, watched myself draw further and further away from the life I’d constructed. I watched it all fade away to nothing, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“What about your family? Did they try to help?”

His expression closed up. “My father remarried after my mother passed on. He wanted to start over, and he has. New family, new town. He wanted me to fade away, just as much as I did. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“Even so, don’t you think he would have helped you?”

“No,” Garrett said flatly. “I don’t. He would have wanted me to help myself.” He picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans. “I couldn’t do that. Help myself. It wasn’t in me. I don’t know if it is now.”

“It is,” I assured him, with conviction. Garrett had such potential. Anyone could see it, but I wanted him to. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s going to sound crazy, but I want you to know what I was thinking about and why I was thinking it.”

Looking like he’d been given a reprieve, Garrett smiled. “Please, let’s talk about you. I don’t think I can stand to talk about myself for another minute.”

I didn’t like that either, but I moved on, hoping to circle back to his situation. Garrett needed a boost, and I hoped it would be me to give it to him. “I’m thirty-nine. Did you know that?”

Garrett shook his head. He suddenly looked fearful, like I was going to announce a terminal illness. He was so fragile. I couldn’t ask yet. The time wasn’t right.

“What do you want to tell me, Leona?”

I took a breath. “Do you want to come to a party this Saturday? My brother-in-law, Donal, is turning forty.” I winced. “It’s got a patriotic theme, and my sister is hoping people dress up.”

He grinned, and I got a flash of what Garrett looked like as a kid, open and charming. “Will there be sparklers?”

“Knowing Carly? Yes.”

He laughed. “Then I’ll come.”

“I can pick you up.”

“No,” Garrett said, his voice growing forceful. “I don’t want to put you out. I can make my own way there.”

“You can,” I said. “You absolutely can.”

Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K

Leona A:
You there? I’m sorry for being such a pushy drunkard. Did I change things? Please don’t tell me I did.

I drove around for a while after leaving the library, stopping here and there, aimless. Garrett insisted on walking home, claiming he wanted the time to process what we’d discussed, and I didn’t argue. I was pretty sure he simply felt like he had taken too much from me today, and in accepting the offer would further add to what he saw as a debt. Living in my sister’s basement kept me well acquainted with the constant guilt weighing down my side of the scale of our relationship.

I rarely left Brophy House on Sunday nights, and it felt strange to be out. The kids would be finishing up with dinner, arguing over whose turn it was to load the dishwasher. Homework came next, then bath time, then more squabbles over the remote. I usually helped keep the mayhem at bay, or at least occupied Josie while Carly and Donal managed tempers and tears. I didn’t doubt that they missed me, but tonight I didn’t want my sister’s family. I wanted my own.

I shot off a quick text to Carly so she wouldn’t worry, and cruised down the empty streets of Willow Falls. It was a family suburb. Six o’clock on a Sunday evening resembled three a.m. in the city—the only people out were the people who had nowhere to go.

I turned onto a main thoroughfare, the warm yellow light emanating from a Starbucks calling my name. I ordered two coffees, no sugar, and drove over to Jerry’s house.

It looked nicer in the few weeks since I’d seen it. Refreshed. Paul hadn’t stopped with the railings—he’d painted the door and window casings, too, the same deep, forest-floor green. It contrasted well with the blond brick. Paul Pietrowski, uptight, closed-off lawyer, had an eye for color.

Maybe if I told him so, he’d respond to the bit of flattery with tolerance and let me talk to Jerry. I balanced the coffees in one hand, took a deep breath, and rapped on the door.

“Sweetheart.” Jerry had taken his time answering, but his breathing was raspy. He wore a loose-fitting robe over a T-shirt and sweats. His socks didn’t match.

“I came by to say hello,” I said, looking past him for Paul’s enormous shadow. “You alone?”

“Yes, thank God. Come on in.”

The antiseptic smell still pervaded the house. He brought me into the kitchen, where he rifled through the fridge with his good arm. “There’s nothing edible in here,” he mumbled. “Nothing I would even give a dog.”

“I brought coffee. Let’s stick with that.”

He sat down heavily in the wooden chair, and jabbed his finger at the wall next to the closed fridge door. “Get a load of this shit.”

Apparently Paul wasn’t worried about Mrs. Lim ripping him off. The time sheet was gone, but in its place he’d posted a road map of spreadsheets. I caught the words “medicine,” “vitamins,” and “sleep hours.”

“Paul’s work?”

“No. Lim. She’s out of her ever-loving mind. Take your medicine now, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry. You sleep too much, Jerry. No ice cream for you, Jerry. It never ends. I rested more back in ’Nam.”

“She’s conscientious,” I countered, trying to stay positive. “She’s good for you.” But not that good. There was something musty about Jerry, a sour sadness that coated him like a layer of dust. “What else is going on? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah? Neither do you,” he said.

I shrugged. “Hangover.”

“I hope you had fun on the way to it.”

I tried to fight the embarrassing grin that overtook my face. “I did. I met someone. He’s not right for me in any way, but it’s kind of exciting.”

“That’s great!” Jerry dipped his chin. “So, is this guy a candidate for . . . you know.”

“For what?” I said, keeping my expression blank, pleased we were back to playing these kinds of games.

Jerry flushed. “The
guy
. The baby guy. Can you date this fella and ask him to help you have a child?”

“I don’t know if we could have a future. That should make it easier, but it doesn’t. I like him. I want to know him better. He’s got . . . problems, but I want to see if they are the temporary kind. The weird thing is, the more I get to know him, the less I want to ask him. Not because I don’t like him, but because it doesn’t feel right at this point.”

“Do you still want a baby?” Jerry asked gently. “It’s okay to change your mind.”

“The thing is, I haven’t. I still want one. But circumstances are telling me it isn’t the right time. Maybe I should listen to the universe?”

“I don’t know about the universe,” he said, “but these circumstances seem to involve people other than you. What you want hasn’t changed.”

Jerry awkwardly tightened his robe and took a sip of his coffee, then another, fidgeting as he thought through his answer. He was uncomfortable with pronouncements, but when he spoke, I always felt I should be taking notes. In another life, under different circumstances, Jerry could have held his own at the head of a classroom.