by Boris Bacic
“I’m okay with that. Thank you so much,” Cheryl said.
“Hop in!” the driver jutted his head to the side.
Cheryl climbed inside the truck and closed the door behind her.
“A little harder, girl, it’s an old door,” the driver said.
Cheryl opened the door and slammed it shut harder this time.
“Atta girl!” the driver said and stepped on the gas.
Cheryl suddenly felt like she may have made a grievous mistake entering a truck with a stranger in the middle of nowhere. What if he was a serial killer, or a rapist, or something like that?
For a moment, she contemplated if it would have been better for her to stay with Tom in the car and stoically endure the awkward silence until he dropped her off, or risk being dismembered by a serial killer trucker.
If I die like that, at least Tom will forever be haunted by his guilt, she thought to herself.
It became apparent soon that the trucker was a friendly and very talkative fellow. Cheryl still kept her guard up because she assumed that serial killers were exactly that type. Luckily, according to the driver, they were only around twenty minutes away from Medford.
During those twenty minutes, however, the driver talked Cheryl’s ear off. He talked about his asshole boss and how he was a cheapskate, about his coworkers and the adventures they had as truckers (which Cheryl didn’t find too exciting), about his wife, who he was scared of, and so on.
He never once stopped to ask Cheryl anything back, not even how she got into the predicament she was in, nor did he take the cue that she wasn’t in the mood to listen to him talking. He just kept yapping on and on, never taking a break, not even to take a breath.
He must have been really lonely on his long trips, which made Cheryl feel sorry for him, but God Almighty, was she happy to see the sight of Medford after the agonizing twenty minutes of listening to him babble.
As she stared at the town passing by the window, she was overcome by a feeling of nostalgia. It’d been a while since she came back home to visit, and even when she did, she went through Medford in passing and didn’t really pay attention to her surroundings.
She remembered spending her childhood in many of the places in Medford, up until she got bored of the small town and then later moved on to college. She saw the elementary school she attended, still vibrant with lively children skipping, chirping, exchanging remarks. Memories—both pleasant and unpleasant—of the days back when she went to school flooded her.
She saw the small dance studio where she went hip-hop dancing for a few years before discovering alcohol and parties. She wondered if Ms. Bennett still taught there. She saw the park where she had her first date and first kiss with a schoolmate named Brian. She also saw a lot of places closed down, but many more new places open—shops, restaurants, even monuments.
Everything in Medford stayed the same, and yet, there was an inexplicable change that Cheryl couldn’t quite pinpoint. Maybe nothing had changed at all, and she was just seeing the town with a different pair of eyes now that she was an adult.
As Cheryl watched her hometown, ignoring the truck driver’s incessant gawking, she found herself wondering where all her Medford friends and classmates were right now. She had some of them on Facebook, and a very small number of them stayed in the town.
She suddenly came to the conclusion that she would never return to live here again. Coming back to Medford felt like starting a new chapter in an already half-written book.
Being in Santa Barbara gave Cheryl a sense of importance and superiority. Part of her felt embarrassed to say where she was from when asked, because all the girls at college thought of other small-town girls as uneducated hillbillies. So instead, she always lied about being from Portland.
After Jill got married to Lee and moved to Portland, Cheryl visited her there a couple of times before their relationship grew cold. She didn’t know Portland as much as she’d like to, so she always tried steering away from the details when asked, but she already devised a story about the part of the city she lived in, the schools she attended, and some favorite spots. People usually didn’t go into the details when they tried getting to know her, but Maddie read her like an open book almost immediately.
“Girl, I know a lot of Portland people, and you aren’t one of them,” she had outright said in private to Cheryl the night they first met.
Cheryl panicked, but at the same time was impressed by Maddie’s intuition. The two of them spontaneously became best friends not long after that.
“Alright, this is as far as I can take you, girl,” the truck driver said as he pulled the truck to a stop in front of a convenience store.
“Thanks… sir,” Cheryl said, suddenly aware that she didn’t know the truck driver’s name.
She wanted to pay the man, but she was already low on money and doubted she’d have too much left after she paid for a ride to Sams Valley. Despite feeling guilty, she thanked the man and opened the door.
“Don’t worry about it, girl. My pleasure. I always say, if a woman commands something, we gotta do it without questioning. That especially goes if you have a wife, you know what I mean? I think husbands these days ain’t afraid of their wives enough.”
He chuckled at his own remark. Cheryl already stood outside the truck and held the door, ready to slam it shut, but wouldn’t do it out of courtesy, since the man was still talking. She flashed him a fake grin and wished him a nice day. He waved goodbye and, as soon as she shut the door, was on his way.
Thank god, she mumbled to herself.
She was equally relieved to be rid of him and just as relieved that he hadn’t turned out to be a serial killer. Cheryl took her phone out of her pocket, feeling the explosion of notifications that suddenly vibrated from it.
Ignoring all of them, she called an Uber.
***
“Is this the house?” the young male driver pointed to the large, white house off the road to the right.
“That’s the one. Thank you so much for taking me here on such short notice,” Cheryl thanked the man from the back seat.
Finding an Uber was quick and easy enough, but more expensive than Cheryl expected. She rarely used Uber, and when she did, it was always with her friends, being taken short distances, and they split the costs. The thirty bucks she had to spit out for the ride came as an unpleasant surprise to her. She tipped him three extra dollars to avoid being one of those cheap customers and said goodbye to him before stepping out of the car.
She ignored the sudden squall of the cold wind that wafted into her face and focused on the ancient house. As she stared at the house, she thought she’d feel something—a sense of familiarity, maybe? But nothing like that came to her. Maybe it would occur only after she stepped inside.
She glanced at the two cars parked outside. She guessed that one of the cars belonged to Jill, but she couldn’t for the life of her tell which one. For all she knew, one belonged to the lawyer and the other to the nurse.
No, the one on the right was probably Jill’s. Cheryl didn’t know squat about cars, but the one parked on the righthand side looked more spacious.
Family friendly, Cheryl thought to herself.
She couldn’t help but wonder how Charlie was doing. She had last saw him when he was just two. He really took a liking to Cheryl back then, and Jill didn’t seem too happy about it. She didn’t say anything, of course, but Cheryl could see it on her face.
Charlie would be six now, if Cheryl’s calculation wasn’t off. Would he even remember her, and run to hug her, screaming Aunt Cherry! like he used to? Or did Jill tell him all the stories about evil Aunt Cheryl, causing Charlie to hate his aunt?
Cheryl dismissed those thoughts. Jill and Charlie were no longer her problem, and Jill made that very clear.
Right now, Mom was the only person that mattered.
Cheryl walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. She impatiently listened to the chirping of the birds, waiting for whomever t
o open the door for her.
Who would it be? Her sister? Or one of the hired people?
Her answer came moments later when the door swung open inward.
Chapter 5
Jill stared at her sister standing on the porch. She looked tired. No, not just tired. Jill knew that droopy look on Cheryl’s face. Even though years had gone by with them not speaking to each other, Cheryl still hasn’t changed. That resting bitch face could fool anybody else, but Jill saw right through it.
“Hey,” Jill softly said.
“Hey,” Cheryl said back with a vague smile.
There was a sudden moment of awkwardness. Jill felt like she should say something, but she didn’t know what, and Cheryl’s penetrating stare didn’t make things easier on her. Luckily, it was Cheryl who took the initiative to break the ice.
“Mind if I come in?” she asked with a more genuine smile this time that lifted her cheek muscles, “I’ve had one hell of a ride here, and I sure could use a break.”
There was sarcasm in her tone. Typical Cheryl, she hadn’t changed one bit.
“Yeah. Sure,” Jill said as she opened the door widely and stepped aside.
Cheryl retained the smile as she prudently walked inside. Jill expected her to just waltz in, kick her feet up on the couch, and demand dinner, but surprisingly, Cheryl was quieter than Jill remembered her.
Either she was tired and stressed over the situation with Mom, or she finally matured. Jill hoped for the latter.
“Cheryl, right?” Violet entered the foyer just in time to greet her.
“Hi. Uh, yeah?” Cheryl said with a perplexed stare.
“I’m Violet. I was assigned to take care of your mother until you and your sister decide what to do next.”
Jill was glad that Violet arrived when she did. She had already started thinking of conversation starters to avoid the awkwardness between her and her sister. Luckily, she didn’t have to do it now, because Violet had stepped in to save the situation.
“Well, then. I understand you had a long ride. Do you want to take a short break before I show you what you’ll need to do to take care of your mother?” Violet asked.
“Actually, I’d like to see Mom now, if that’s okay,” Cheryl smiled.
“I’ll go with you, too,” Jill added.
She didn’t want to, but somehow, she felt that Cheryl would attribute her lack of interest to a lack of emotions, and if that happened, she’d probably never let Jill live it down.
“In that case, Jill, why don’t you show her to your mother’s room? I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes to teach you everything you need to know,” Violet said.
Dammit.
Jill really didn’t want to be alone with Cheryl, but she tried to think positively about it. Maybe now the two of them could try and reconnect.
“She’s in her room,” Jill said as she led the way upstairs.
As they neared their mom’s room, Jill started feeling slightly uneasy once more. She braced herself for the medicinal and old people’s smell as she opened the door and stepped inside. The machine still produced the steady beeping noise. Jill stepped aside and observed Cheryl’s reaction.
Cheryl’s eyes were slightly wider, her nostrils flared up, and her chest slowly heaved up and down. As she made her way forward and sat on the edge of the bed, she gently placed one hand on Mom’s wrist.
***
Her wrist felt cold to the touch, unnaturally so.
“Mom, it’s me. It’s your Cherry. I’m here now,” Cheryl said, suppressing the tears that welled up in her eyes.
There was no response, of course. She thought back to the time when she last spoke to her. It was on the phone, just over a week ago. And when did she last see her? It must have been a few months ago. Mom didn’t seem to be doing well then, but she hadn’t said anything.
Of course she didn’t. She was always so selfless, always doing everything she could to not be a burden to her daughters. That’s why ending up in this state was the most ironic thing ever. The doctors Cheryl spoke to said that the chances of her waking up were not optimistic. They told Cheryl that the longer Mom stayed in a coma, the lower the chances were of her waking up. If only Cheryl had been here more often, or at least called more, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. That guilt burned within her like a hot flame.
Now, it was up to Cheryl and Jill to decide what they would do with her.
They had the option of taking care of her themselves—which would be pretty much impossible—or putting her in a nursing home. The problem with that was that it would cost an arm and leg. That’s partially why Cheryl and Jill were here. They had to decide if they would sell the house and use the money to take care of Mom.
“It’s so strange to see her this quiet, huh?” Jill spoke up.
Cheryl briefly looked at her and nodded.
“She always had something to say. Or a question to ask,” Cheryl said.
“When she wasn’t shouting,” Jill jokingly retorted.
Both of them melancholically laughed at that.
Cheryl looked at Mom’s other hand, the one that wasn’t attached to the medical things. It was outstretched to the side towards the nightstand, with her palm facing upward. Cheryl pointed and said.
“Jill, do you mind putting her arm in a more comfortable position?”
Jill squinted, and then her eyes widened slightly in terror.
“What’s wrong?” Cheryl asked.
Jill opened her mouth and gestured to the arm.
“She… she moved.”
“What?” Cheryl sat ramrod straight.
A glimmer of hopefulness surged through her. Jill strode over to the door, opened the door, and shouted Violet’s name in a tone that conveyed urgency. Within seconds, the nurse rushed upstairs, visibly winded.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she pushed her way inside the bedroom.
“Mom’s arm moved,” Jill frantically pointed.
“When?”
“I don’t know, it was across her chest, and now it’s… like this!” Jill looked like she was losing patience.
That was the sister that Cheryl remembered. If Violet didn’t acknowledge her concerns soon, Jill was going to have an outburst and start shouting at the nurse. Violet, on the other hand, just stared at Mom’s motionless body. She calmly walked over to her outstretched arm and placed it in a more comfortable position on the side of her body. Both sisters stared at the nurse expectantly, silently asking for an answer. Violet saw it, and with a forlorn grimace on her face, simply said, “Reflexes.”
“Reflexes?” Cheryl asked.
Violet looked at her and nodded.
“Yes. Comatose patients usually display signs of activity, but unfortunately, those are only reflexes.”
“That was no reflex. Did you see where her arm was?” Jill demanded.
“Yes,” Violet calmly answered. “Sometimes, the reflexes tend to be strong. There are reported cases of patients even speaking for brief moments.”
“Well, what if she woke up and then fell back into a coma?” Cheryl asked with concern.
Violet shook her head.
“We would have noticed a spike in the EKG machine’s activity,” she must have noticed the incredulous stares in the sisters’ eyes, so she quickly added, “I’ll keep a closer watch on her. I suggest you do the same. If you notice anything else suspicious like this, we’ll call in a specialist. How does that sound?”
Both sisters nodded almost lethargically.
“Well, then. Let me show you what you need to do to take care of your mother,” Violet smiled.
Still feeling somewhat unnerved, but deciding to dismiss Jill’s alarm, Cheryl agreed.
***
Jill wasn’t as good with nurse-related stuff as Cheryl. She was clumsy, while Cheryl managed to do everything calmly and with elegance. Eventually, Violet dedicated more attention to showing Cheryl all the ropes while Jill stood behind and watched, probably because the nurse noticed the
disinterest in Jill’s demeanor. Once everything was done, Violet smiled and said.
“Well, then. I’m done for the day. We did everything that needed to be done. I’ll be here tomorrow around 5 pm to see if everything is going alright, and to feed her. If anything urgent happens, feel free to call me. Oh, and one more thing,” she pointed to the radio. “If you’re too busy to talk to your mother, I suggest leaving the radio on for a little bit every day. Some patients have been known to react to their favorite songs.”
She approached the radio and pressed a button on it. A slow song began playing in the distorted way customary for old radios.
“Thank you for all your help,” Cheryl said, and went to see her out.
Left alone in the hallway on the second floor, Jill whipped out her phone to see if the lawyer had sent her any messages or tried calling, yet. It was almost seven-thirty, and Jill really didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary. She heard the front door shutting and went downstairs to meet Cheryl.
“Hey, did you get a call from the lawyer yet?” Jill asked.
Cheryl shook her head.
“It’s just that he was already supposed to be here, and—” before Jill could finish that sentence, the phone started ringing in her hand.
She looked at the screen and saw the name Dennis Lazarev, Lawyer.
“Speak of the devil,” she said and swiped the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”
A stern, male voice came through as a shout.
“Hi, Jill?”
“Yes, it’s me. Mr. Lazarev?”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m really sorry, but I ran into some trouble on the way,” Jill heard a car driving by in the background, deafeningly loudly for a second before fading in the distance. “I ran into some trouble, and I won’t be able to make it today. In fact, I won’t be able to make it until Monday.”
“Oh,” Jill muttered.
She felt immense disappointment overwhelming her. Monday? She was hoping to be out of here by Sunday. Maybe even tomorrow. She looked over in Cheryl’s direction and realized that her sister was staring at her with rapt focus.