Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
My shoulders relax a little. She’s good at her job, at least the people-skills part. I think through my carefully crafted story, one that’s not too far from the truth.
“My mother. She’s . . . dying. Slowly.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Kendra leans in, a concerned look on her face.
“I’m just so . . . anxious. I’m having trouble sleeping. She’s in Louisiana, and I was there to see her recently, but I had to come back to teach classes.” I ramble on, talking fast, letting tears well in my eyes, tears that surprise even me. “Anyway, I was hoping you might be able to give me something that will help me sleep. I think if I could get some rest, I could keep it together.”
“Oh, of course. Let me just give you a quick exam.” She touches a hand to my elbow, takes blood pressure, listens to my heart, my lungs, asks me some routine questions about other medications I take. When I leave, it’s to head to the nearest pharmacy to pick up some Ambien I desperately need.
The pharmacy is located next to Mr. Hank’s nursing home. As soon as I have the pills safely in my purse, I’m a lot calmer, so I go next door for a visit. New York, as big as it is, is a lot like a small town, too—everything crammed together.
Mr. Hank is like comfort food to me. Seeing him boosts my mood because it reminds me that there’s someone in my life I’ve always been able to depend on. I find him where I usually do, in the communal TV room. But unlike my usual visits, there’s a woman in a wheelchair sitting next to him, holding his hand.
“Hi, Mr. Hank.” I smile at him, glancing over at the woman.
“Elizabeth! When did you get here?”
“Just now. I was running an errand nearby and couldn’t pass up popping in. I hope I’m not interrupting.” I’m not sure if the woman’s another patient or a visitor, but she looks at me and narrows her eyes.
“Have you been fooling around with my Charlie?”
“No, ma’am.” I smile. “Charlie and I are old friends.” I shift my gaze to my ex-landlord. “Aren’t we, Mr. Hank?”
“Sure, sure.” He pats the woman’s hand. “Elizabeth lives here in my building, right across the hall. I keep my eye on her. Young girls in the city can never be too careful.”
It’s so odd how he can remember my name and where my apartment was, but not realize he’s been living in this nursing home for nearly five years now. I nod and look over at the woman, wondering if she’s going to think what he just said is strange.
She’s still looking at me suspiciously but gives a stiff nod and brushes back her gray strands. A staff member approaches and bends to speak to her. “How about we go get you a muffin, Ms. Parsons? You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
The woman frowns and sighs, but doesn’t argue. Once she’s out of earshot, I drag a chair next to Mr. Hank. “Who was that? Do you have a new special lady friend?”
“Nah.” He grins, waves me off as if she’s nobody. “But when a pretty girl wants to hold your hand at my age, you go along with whatever bullshit you have to.” He winks, and it makes me laugh—actually laugh—a refreshing moment after these past weeks. It makes me happy, too, that he’s mostly lucid. It’s a reminder that there’s been good in my life. “So what’s going on, missy? You look tired. Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
Did I tell him that recently, or is he referring to when I first moved to New York twenty years ago? Or maybe he thinks the trouble I had sleeping back then was last week because he’s got his years confused again. I’m not sure, but Mr. Hank is one of the few people who knows the truth about how and where I grew up. Well, not the full truth—not about Mr. Sawyer, but I told him about my family life at least. Alcoholism is one of the things that first bonded us. His wife died of cirrhosis of the liver a year after I moved in. “I was away,” I say. “I went to see my mother.”
His bushy brows shoot up. “You went to Louisiana?”
I take a deep breath in and blow it out. “I did.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not great. My mother is dying.”
He reaches over and covers my hand with his, gives it a squeeze. “The drink finally get her?”
I shake my head. “Cancer. Pancreatic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“How long are the doctors saying?”
“Not too long. A month or two.”
He nods. “You gonna go see her again?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I have a few more weeks of the summer session to finish teaching. I guess I’ll see how things are then.” I sigh and shrug, anxious to change the subject already, even though I’m the one who brought it up. So I lean and bump shoulders with him. “But tell me about you. You’re not gonna replace me as your best girl with that Ms. Parsons, are you?”