GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (15 page)

That afternoon had been proof of such. The doctors had various theories for Paw’s flare-ups. Some stated that dementia brought out the child-like behaviors in a person, while others stated it brought out the
truth
… Perhaps those theories were one and the same. The elders in the council had come and prayed over him; Brother Paul gave him special soup. He was once a leader after all, a man that others urgently came to for guidance, a good word, sometimes even a monetary loan.

If one wanted to know anything about their cultural past or present, Paw had it wedged between his temples. He was a walking library, a shrine of intelligence. He had a way about him with his wittiness, and drew a crowd towards his natural born power. Yet, as time wore on, it took a piece of his mind, bit by bit, second by second, in the cruelest of ways. His mind was his greatest gift—and it was now under fire, caught in the middle of a full-fledged feud. The enemy and the healer forgot what side of the line they stood on, and began to beat their own selves into oblivion. His body suffered, too…

Sometimes, Paw awoke screaming out for his wife, forgetting she’d passed on so long ago… Sometimes he’d yell out for his dead son, too—the one Zenith had called Father at one point in time… Yes, he’d beg for him, claw at his wet sheets covered in his own sweat, eyes crazy as a pack of wild dogs. Life and death were funny that way, the manner in which they played a callous joke and used people as their hostages in a game of truth of dare.

Zenith sat and thought long and hard about that philosophy. He imagined Truth and Dare were mutually deranged lovers, and every time Ms. Life and Mr. Death had a fight, it seemed someone was born and someone died at that same exact time. It was an abusive relationship, domestic violence to the 100
^th
degree… but it was the way things simply were, a vicious cycle of sorts.

Zenith placed his glass on a square wooden coaster and for a moment, let go of his sordid thoughts. He blamed his nonsensical whims on being dog-tired. After a long sigh, he focused on the television glow reflecting on his glass. He took notice of the smudges, a slight lip imprint, and his wide fingerprints.

My hands…

He looked down at the callous on his right palm, his long fingers outstretched before him as if he were reaching for an invisible woman who’d promised her devoted, undying love, but only if he could find her.

Those hands would grip wooden drumsticks, made fire burst free against steel… and now they picked the old man up from the couch and carried him off to bed, too. As he moved down the darkened hall, he caught the scent of Paw’s skin—his cheap Palmer’s cocoa butter lotion mixed in with the Old Spice cologne and aftershave he used religiously, each and every morning. In that moment, Zen found a sliver of comfort, something heated and calming to hold onto. He gently placed the man on his bed, pulled up the sheets, and tucked him in.

Returning to his bedroom, he gently closed the door behind him. Sitting at his computer desk, he picked up his cell phone, eager to scratch off another item from his to-do List.

“Hello, may I speak to Ms. Grant?”

“This is the breast man’s grandchild, isn’t it?” She laughed lightly, drawing him into the mood.

He rubbed along the side of his jaw. “Yes, I’m the old, crotchety boob man’s grandson… I’ll get right to the point. I’d like to offer you the job.” He shrugged. “Paw liked you, I liked you, you’re more than qualified, and you don’t live that far away. I called your references, too. Two out of three called me back so far, and they had nothing but good things to say about you… So, are you still interested or did he scare you away?” He chuckled nervously, hoping she wouldn’t turn him down.

“You sound apprehensive. Don’t you worry about a ting! Your grandfather is a good man, pretending to be a bad bwoy… he’s scared, too.”

“It’s funny how you don’t know him, but picked that up. He’s not in control and it frightens him, I suppose… and so much has happened.” Zenith’s voice trailed at the end as he glanced out his bedroom window. Hot pain stung his chest, spread across his heart and grabbed the damn thing in a hearty grip.

“He’s got fresh sadness in his eyes. It doesn’t belong to him, it’s borrowed… Something happened, didn’t it? Nuh true?”

‘Isn’t that true?’ she’s asking. Yeah, it is. It’s all true…

Bursts of spiky memories swarmed him; moans and echoing cries flooded his ears, playing their old, ghastly tapes in full stereo while fragmented images of a hand slapping across Paw’s face made him cringe right then and there… A goddamn nightmare right on his doorstep, and he feared he’d feel guilt for it for the rest of his damn life. He’d daydreamed of finding where the fired nurse’s aide lived and putting his hands around her short, fat throat…squeezing…and squeezing a bit harder. It scared him how
badly
he wanted to do this… still contemplated doing it… almost
needed
to do it.

“I had to take him out of a nursing home,” Zenith confessed on a long sigh. “It had a great reputation, and most of the staff is competent. I still say that after what happened but they had a bad apple, you know? She messed everything up. I just…I mean, I could have just put him in a different one, you know? Started over, but I don’t trust none of them now, and I don’t… I just… He deserves better is all.”

“Yes,
truss mi
. Some are good, some not so good. There are bad people and good people, and all those types of people get jobs. Sometimes they get jobs they shouldn’t have. Sick people in this world… Mr. Taylor, you have my word, I will take
good
care of your grandfather. I’ve been a nurse for over twenty-seven years! I do this now because I find it easier on me to just focus on a client or two, and go home to my
fambly
. That man needs company and care, but he needs his space, too. He’s used to going his own way. I’m good at helping, not imposing. He’s in good hands, okay? Everything will be
irie
.”

Something about the woman filled his heart with unbelievable warmth, a soothing salve of respite. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear up and down that Mawmaw had found this woman and sent her their way. Ms. Grant had been referred to him in a long list obtained from Crouse Hospital. There was a little red star by her name, letting him know she was available for a new patient. He’d selected several more and conducted the interviews as soon as possible, not realizing that the first woman through his door would be the best fit. Her client had passed away three weeks ago, and he’d found her just in time for she had other interviews lined up.

“Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be videotaping his care, at least initially.” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s nothing personal,” he added, just in case she wanted to jump ship and bail. He had no reason to hide this fact, and he wanted it to be known. Instead of hesitation, an excuse to end the call, or request for clarification, the woman grunted an acknowledgement.

“In this day ’nd age, if I were you, young man, I’d do it, too. Now, can you email me your grandfather’s medications, when he takes them, what type of food he likes, etc.? Tell me anything and every’ting you wish. I can also send you my survey and the things I need in the home to help him.”

“Yes, right, I can uh…” He looked about, searching for a pen to jot a note or two. “I can do that now. Oh.” He paused and looked up at his blank bedroom wall now in freshly coated layers of light gray paint. “When can you start?”

“When do you need me?”

“Tonight.” He snickered, slouching on his chair as he let his fatigued eyes close.

“I can be there in thirty minutes or so.”

“Really? I was just kidding, but
really
, you can?” He looked at the time on his computer and perked up.

“Yes, that is what this job is about, Mr. Taylor—accommodating the families I work for. My children are adults… out of the house. It is just my ’usband and I. My schedule is open and I fill it with work, a little R&R, church, and my grandbabies. That’s it… that is what makes me happy.”

“Well, I would love to go to band practice tonight since you offered. I hope that’s alright… It’s been a while, too. I probably don’t even know what new songs they’re playing.”

“You’ve had a lot going on. I’ll be right over. No problem, no worries.” He heard what sounded like the woman sighing, then moving about here and there.

“He’s asleep, so you won’t have to do much,” he assured, feeling a bit guilty about such late notice and taking full advantage of a good thing.

“That’s fine. I can even stay overnight if you wish and fix him breakfast in the morning so you can get some sleep. I can sleep on the couch after you return home…bring a change of clothes. You stated during the interview sometimes you’d need that, right?”

“Yeah, I need that. My life is a juggling act right now. I sometimes work long hours and I’m a drummer… So, the couch pulls out, okay? And I have clean towels, a couple bars of soap, and sheets in the bathroom closet. Help yourself.”

“No worries, I’ll bring my own. Your paperwork for payment hasn’t cleared, but it’s been approved. Consider this on the house. You just go on and get ready to leave. Anything else needed?”

“Um, no, that’s all. You’ve done enough… thank you for this. I really appreciate this; you have no idea.”

“Call me if you remember something. See you in a short while. More time!” she said, ending with Jamaican slang for ‘goodbye’.

And then, the call was over. Zenith sat there for a moment or two longer, pivoting in his seat. He grew quiet, blocking out his grandfather’s notorious loud snores for a second or two and then, like clockwork, the sounds returned to his ears.

Restful sleep, old man…

He headed to his bathroom to take a quick shower, one that was twenty-four hours overdue. He scrubbed the bizarre day away, as well as the overflowing night. However, the shame of it all didn’t go away as quickly, but he hoped he could make it up to Paw over time, find a way to make it all right. Even if he couldn’t, he knew that each and every day, he’d wake up, then fall asleep, still trying…

“A
isle 13… aisle
13…aisle 13…” Silver pushed her wobbly cart about, one wheel out of four turned to the left for a career as a solo act, swiveling and shaking while the other three started their own steel wheel band, going their separate ways. “I always get the messed up one!” she complained under her breath as she used her upper body strength to keep the thing on the semi-straight and narrow.

Fox’s Discount Parts offered a wide assortment of new and refurbished motorcycle segments, and Sunday morning after her weekly chat with Mama proved to be quiet and lazy, the perfect day for her to get what she needed. Then, she’d head back home for an afternoon nap before jumping back into the work she’d brought home in preparation for the Monday ahead.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” one of the employees asked, a jagged grin on his glistening mahogany face.

“I’ve already been helped, thanks.” She turned away to scour the aisle until she’d laid eyes on what she needed.

There are the filters…

“You here for your boyfriend?” the man continued, rocking back on his worn Chuck sneaker heels like something was funny, a joke she’d missed along the way.