One Unhappy Horse (12 page)

"Thanks, Lisa," Jan said. "I'm sorry today was such a mess."

"What do you mean? This is the most excitement I've had in weeks. I like your horse. And good luck tomorrow. Bye, Mrs. Wright." Lisa waved and ran for the car, where her mother was again tooting the horn for her.

First Dove and now Mattie, Jan thought. Was everyone
who mattered most to her taking turns falling apart? She called the nursing home that night. When she asked to speak to Mattie, she was told Mattie had no phone in her room and couldn't leave her bed. "Is she sick?" Jan asked.

"What is your relationship to the patient?" the cool voice asked.

"I'm her friend."

"Sorry," the woman said. "We're not at liberty to give out information about our patients except to the immediate family."

Next time she called, Jan decided, she'd claim to be Mattie's granddaughter. It wouldn't be much of a lie. She was beginning to feel as if she really was.

Somehow, Jan endured the stretched-out minutes of the next school day. At a quarter of two, her mother's note about the "appointment" they had to keep allowed her to escape from the building. Mom was waiting for her in the old pickup truck across the street.

"I called Mattie's daughter. Stella gave me the telephone number," Mom said.

"So what did you find out?"

"First of all, Stella told me Mattie's in the nursing home because she fell."

"Oh." Jan breathed a sigh of relief. "Then it's okay? She'll be going back to the assisted living home?"

"Well, that's not what the daughter said. She said Mattie's been having a lot of trouble lately, that she's getting forgetful and isn't doing well. She wanted to know why we were interested. I told her I was your mother and that you
were Mattie's friend. She said Mattie had talked about you."

"Did she sound ... nice? The daughter?"

"Hard to say. She was kind of cautious, like she wasn't going to trust a stranger right off the bat. But she was polite."

"Mattie's not getting forgetful, not
that
forgetful, anyway, " Jan said. "Her daughter just thinks that because of the ring—because Mattie had to say she lost it. I've got to tell her daughter what really happened."

"Better make sure that's what Mattie wants first," Mom said.

They had arrived at the parking lot next to the three-story adobe-style building with its discreet nursing-home sign. Mom parked the truck and asked, "Want me to go in with you?"

Jan studied the boxy building with distaste. Bathed in a harsh midday sun under a clear November sky, it had all the cheerfulness of a bleached bone. She dreaded entering it alone, but she made herself say, "That's okay. I can do it.

"Well, I could use the time to buy supplies." Mom waited a beat. "You sure?"

Jan hesitated. Having Mom with her would shield her from whatever awful things were inside that place which Mattie and Amelia feared. But the least she owed Mattie was some courage. "I'll be okay, " she said finally. "I just have to go in and ask to see her, right?"

Mom nodded. "It's visiting hours. And you don't need to be a relative. I called and asked."

"And you'll pick me up back here in an hour or so?"

"An hour," Mom said. "I've got to be at the restaurant on time. Wait here in the parking lot for me." Mom's eyes assessed her. "You'll do all right, Jan," she said. "You'll do fine."

Mom's reassurance gave Jan the jump start she needed. She turned her back on the truck, marched to the front entrance, and waited while the doors slid open. A receptionist sat at a desk in the bare, saltillo-tiled lobby. The only other person there was slumped in a wheelchair. The person, a woman, Jan guessed by the housedress, looked as nearly dead as Jan had expected.

She shivered and gave her name to the receptionist, who said Mattie was up on the third floor in room 312. With her pen, she pointed the way to the elevator.

When Jan pressed the elevator button, the old woman in the wheelchair startled her by speaking without lifting her head from her chest. "Take me to four."

The elevator doors opened. "Roll me in," the old woman commanded in a deep masculine voice.

Jan was about to obey when the receptionist called to her, "Just leave her be. She likes to roam. We don't have a fourth floor here."

"Sorry," Jan whispered to the wheelchair-bound lady. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the top number, three. The old woman glared right at her, as if Jan had betrayed her. Jan's heart was pounding and her throat felt dry. She swallowed
and said again, "Sorry. " Finally, the elevator door closed against the accusing eyes.

When the elevator reached three, Jan stepped out into a bare beige corridor lined with rooms whose doors stood open to reveal the most decrepit people she had ever seen. It was every bit as depressing as she had imagined. Barely living lumps of helpless humanity lay on beds or sat in chairs. She spotted a nursing station down the hall, and headed for it quickly, trying not to look into the rooms as she passed them. Though the vinyl-tiled floor seemed clean, a faint odor of urine hung in the air. Somebody was groaning. A toothless man, pushing a metal stand with plastic attachments hanging from it, shuffled past her in his bathrobe.

Just before she reached the nursing station, Jan spotted room number 312 out of the corner of her eye. With relief, she ducked into it. And there was Mattie. She looked incredibly small lying in bed, covered to her chest by a sheet. Her eyes were closed, and her hair was stuck together in wisps on her pale scalp. Trembling, Jan approached her.

"Mattie, " she said. "Mattie. It's me, your friend, Jan."

Mattie's eyes opened. She squinted at Jan with a pained expression as if she didn't know who she was. Then she sighed and smiled. "Oh, hi, honey. What're you doing here?"

"Visiting you."

"Where am I, then? I don't know this place. It scares me."

"Well, it's sort of a hospital," Jan said. "But you'll get out of here as soon as you're well."

"I'm sick?"

"They said you fell."

Mattie thought about it. "I don't remember. But my bottom hurts. I can't move it too well. You say I fell?"

"That's what I heard."

"Well, that'd explain it, then. How long do I have to stay here?"

"I don't know. Until your bones knit back together, I guess. Want me to ask someone?"

"Not now. Don't leave me. It does me good just to see your sweet face. You're such a pretty girl."

"Mattie, I'm not. I'm too tall and my face is too long."

"Now, you telling me I can't see well anymore, either?" Mattie asked with a return of her old spunk. "You're
supposed
to smile and say thank you when someone gives you a compliment." Mattie reached out her small hand and Jan closed her fingers around it. The hand felt so dry and fragile that Jan feared it would break if she squeezed too hard.

"So, now, how's your horse doing?" Mattie asked.

"The vet says the operation was a success and Dove should be fine, but I can't get him to walk. He probably still thinks his leg'll hurt him if he puts weight on it."

Mattie chuckled. "I know just how he feels. You tell him I asked after him and give him a pat for me, hear?"

"I will."

"He'll be all right, Mattie added. "He's not going to stand around on three legs forever, not young as he is.

"I hope not."

"And I'm here because...?"

"Because you fell."

"But I'm not going to stay?"

"No. Even if your daughter doesn't—Well, I think Mom will let you come live with us if it doesn't work out for you to go back to the big house. Like if they get another roommate for Amelia or something," Jan fabricated quickly.

"Oh, Amelia. She ask about me?"

"She doesn't know what happened to you except they took you away."

Mattie smiled and said, "Yes, she probably expects I'm as good as dead. That Amelia always thinks the worst."

Jan laughed. It was true Amelia was something of a pessimist.

"Well, I'll come visit you as much as I can until you get well enough to leave here," Jan promised. "But don't expect me every day because I have to get someone to drive me, and you know how busy Mom is."

"Don't you worry about it. I'll be fine now that I know you're waiting for me. But, honey, one thing we've gotta do."

Mattie made as if to sit up in bed. A spasm of pain crossed her face and she squeezed her eyelids shut for a minute. Jan made a sympathetic sound. She could feel the
pain reflected in her own bones. Mattie opened her eyes and said, "It's okay. Just whatever I broke hurts some. But listen, what I want to say is—" She hesitated and seemed to be searching inside her head.

"We have to do something," Jan said.

"Oh, right. You have to go to my room and get those papers out of the silver shoes. Do it before my daughter finds them. Or she'll be real mad at me."

"You mean the paper from the pawnshop?"

"And the one from your mother. You keep them for me. Don't lose them. We need that pawn ticket to get back my ring."

"Mattie, wouldn't it be best to tell your daughter what really happened?"

"No, no, no! You mustn't tell her. If you do, she'll say I'm not responsible. Anyone can lose something, but if she knows I gave it away—" Mattie took a deep breath. "Just do like I say."

"Okay," Jan said. "I'll go to the house and see if they'll let me into your room. I'll tell them you asked me to bring something to you at the nursing home."

"That's right. Stella will let you. Stella's partial to me."

The hour passed quickly. It was easy to talk to Mattie, even here in this place. She was either reminded of a story to tell or she asked questions. When it was time for Jan to leave, she realized she'd had Mattie's hand in hers the whole time. The hand was warm and felt more alive now.
She bent and kissed Mattie's forehead. "I'll come back as soon as I can," Jan promised.

"I'll be waiting for you, Mattie said. "It'll give me something to look forward to. Thanks for coming, honey.

"My name's Jan," Jan said.

"I know who you are. I know. It's just your
name
I can't remember," Mattie said.

"Lots of people aren't good at names," Jan said.

"Well, I used to be," Mattie admitted. "When I was young, I was good at remembering. There's a lot of things I was good at that I can't do right anymore." She smiled. That was something Mattie could still do beautifully, Jan thought.

"How is she?" Mom asked when Jan got back into the truck.

"She doesn't like it there. But she was very glad to see me."

They agreed that Mom would drive Jan to the nursing home three times a week until Mattie got out. Mom said she would try to find out when that would be.

"I've got to get something for her from the house," Jan said.

Mom didn't ask what the something was and Jan decided not to tell her. Mom might think it was like stealing or something to take those papers from where Mattie had
hidden them. Actually, it
was
like stealing, and Jan had never taken anything that wasn't hers in her entire life. But this was a crime for a good cause, and it was a very small crime and a very important cause. She could do it, she assured herself. She
had
to do it.

Getting into Mattie's room in the assisted living home turned out to be easy. Stella opened the front door while holding a telephone receiver to her ear. She put her hand over the receiver and asked Jan, "Did you get to see Mattie in the nursing home?"

"I just came from there."

"Good! I meant to visit her myself, but I haven't made it yet. How's she doing?"

"Okay, I guess. She wants me to bring her something from her room."

"Oh, all right, then. You go ahead and I'll talk to you later." Stella waved Jan in and resumed talking into the phone.

Jan passed two women she didn't know in the living room and glimpsed Amelia sitting out on the back patio. Quietly, she opened the door and stepped into Mattie and Amelia's shadowy bedroom. When Mattie was present, it hadn't
seemed polite to examine this room, which had been Jan's private sanctuary for so many years. Now that she was alone in it, she gave in to the urge to find some trace of her past self. But with two partial sets of mismatched furniture crammed into it, the room resembled a furniture store more than a secret retreat.

Jan opened the closet door to find her name just where she had carved it above the doorknob. But it struck her as sad, like a name carved on a gravestone. Nothing else remained of her here, even though she'd been gone less than a year.

One deep breath and she turned to the job at hand. First, she had to determine which side of the big closet was Mattie's and which was Amelia's. Mattie was small; Amelia was tall. All right, but the clothes were jammed so tightly on the rod that it was hard to tell sizes. Below the hanging garments were shoeboxes next to a rack full of shoes that had to be too big to be Mattie's. In a row on top of the boxes were child-size shoes. Mattie's, then. But no silver slippers.

Jan crouched to study the end panels on the boxes. Which one should she open first? She'd make a terrible private investigator, she told herself. This whole business made her feel sneaky. Gingerly, she lifted the top of first one box and then the other. Finally, she located the silver sandals—high-heel, sling-back sandals that were indeed glamorous. She was about to poke through the tissue paper in the box for the papers when she heard a noise. Her heart leaped. Caught in the act!

"I'm in the closet, Stella," Jan made herself say. It had to be Stella come to see what she was up to.

The closet door behind her creaked as it was opened wide. "Who are you?" a cold voice asked.

Jan jumped up in guilty terror, hiding the shoe behind her. She was facing a grim-faced middle-age woman with gray hair clipped very short. The woman was primly dressed in a straight skirt and striped blouse.

"I'm Jan, Mattie's friend. I came to get her something."

"And what might that be?"

"Who are you?" Jan dared to ask.

"I'm her daughter, Valerie Williams."