But then I look out the window, and I see a familiar parking lot, almost empty as usual. “Dr. Zinta, that is Creekside Home.”
“Yes,” she says. “While you’ve been . . . gone, I moved into Creekside Estates.”
Creekside Estates is an assisted living community run by the same corporation as Creekside Home. “Mom, are you all right?”
“I am,” she says. “I’m not sick, I’m not dying, I’m just old. It made sense to be here where I’d have help if I really needed it, and where I didn’t have such a big place to take care of. And where Wayne and I could . . . work on you. Try to bring you back.”
She gets more coffee, and then she continues. “I moved in here about two years ago,” she says. “It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Dex—a man I’d been spending time with, I’m not sure if you ever met him—had a bad stroke. His attendant got him into an auto doc right away, but there was still a lot of damage. He came to Creekside for reparative therapy, but the damage was too severe for him to return home. He’s a permanent resident now. I can introduce you later.
“But that made me think. And I’d never had an attendant in my home. The idea just felt . . . It felt like taking my work home with me. If I could’ve had you, that would’ve been different. But not just an android. And I’m getting older—”
“You are not old, Mom,” I interrupted.
“And you’re a horrible liar, Carey. I’m pretty fit, thanks to modern medicine and taking care of myself, but I’m old. That could’ve been me. So I decided . . . Well, I hope Wayne goes home someday, back to Millie; but that would leave me alone. Better to be here, where help is nearby, and people check up on me now and then. And besides, this way I’m close to Dex. He even stays over some nights.”
“Oh.”
Dr. Zinta laughs. “Did I just embarrass an android?” She laughs again. “I said I’m old, not dead. In fact, why don’t I introduce you to Dex now? Plus there are some friends in the home who will be happy to see you.”
“But what about their shock?” I ask.
“Not to worry,” she answers. “We never told them you . . . We just told them you were in for maintenance. They asked about you for a while, but eventually they stopped.”
“They forgot me.”
“Oh, Carey, don’t act so hurt.”
“I am not hurt,” I say. “It is expected. The residents have memory and cognitive impairments. Forgetting is not surprising.”
“No, Carey, you’ve got it wrong,” she says. “A lot of people come and go there. A lot of them pass away there. It’s polite not to mention those who are gone.”
37. Tonight We Have a Party
We head across the street, through the empty parking lot, and into the dining room. It is too late for lunch, and too early for dinner, so the room is unoccupied save for an android putting out table cloths. The android looks up at us, a stiff smile on its face, and says, “Good afternoon, Dr. Zinta.” Then it pauses, almost as if surprised. “Carey Owens?”
I look closer. It looks like the tour guide from Meijer Gardens. Since it recognizes me, it must be the same unit. “Yes, that is me.”
I turn to Dr. Zinta. Before I can ask, she explains, “The guides at the Gardens were a test project. They didn’t work out so well. Oh, no problems,” she adds, “just people didn’t make much use of them. And MCA needed the money, back before the company folded, so Doctor Warren sold them off. A lot of them ended up in healthcare facilities. It is how we got started, after all.”
We continue through the dining room, and up to the east nurses’ station. I recognize only one of the nurses, Nell Kilgore. She looks up and recognizes me as well. “Carey!” She leans out over the desk, arms outstretched, and I lean in to briefly hug her. Over the years, my no-contact rule has been relaxed until it was effectively eliminated. And it had never applied to staff. “It is good to see you, Nell,” I say. I do not add that in my memory, I had seen her only yesterday. I would have to learn to adjust to a five-year gap.
“Does Vera know you’re here?” she asks.
“We haven’t told her,” Dr. Zinta says. “Is she in?”
“Yes,” Nell answers. “She’s in her office. Why don’t you go in and surprise her?”
We head down the north hall, to the Director of Nursing office. I see that it now has a new nameplate: Nurse Vera Rayburn. Dr. Zinta taps on the door, and Nurse Rayburn calls from within, “Come in.” Dr. Zinta opens the door and we enter.
The office is tidier than Director Kane kept it. Nurse Rayburn was always a stickler for neatness; and with no need for paper books or reports, there is nothing to clutter up the place, just pictures of family and residents.
“What is—” Nurse Rayburn looks up from her desk. “Carey!” She gets up from behind the desk, rushes around it, and embraces me in a strong hug. “Carey, you’re alive!”
I look to Dr. Zinta, and she shrugs. “She kept asking about you. I had to tell her.”
“Oh, Carey,” Nurse Rayburn says. “Is it really you? I mean . . . you’re not a copy or something like that, are you?”
“Would it matter?” I ask.
“Well, no . . . But . . . Yes, it would.”
“I am myself,” I answer. “Carey Owens, the android who worked for you for twelve years.”
“Oh, Carey.” She backs away and grips my shoulders in her hands. “It’s so good to see you.” Then she turns and grins at Dr. Zinta. “I knew you could do it! I never doubted you.”
Nurse Rayburn looks me over top to bottom again, and then she turns to Dr. Zinta. “Have you told Dex yet?”
“Not yet,” Dr. Zinta answers. “We were just going to find him now. But I wanted you to know that Carey’s back.”
“Thank you! We should have a party tonight to celebrate. You’ve still got some friends here, Carey, who will be happy to see you back.” Then she pauses. “You are back, aren’t you? I mean, are you coming back to work?”
At first I do not understand the question. I still have not adjusted to the five-year gap. So I do not see any question about coming back.
But then I remember, and I realize that it is a complex question. “I do not know,” I say. “I would like to, but I need to see if Millie and Susan need me.”
Nurse Rayburn nods. “Of course, family first. I understand. But just so you know, you’re always welcome here. Creekside hasn’t been the same without you.”
Nurse Rayburn is very efficient at putting together a party on short notice. Somewhere she comes up with streamers and balloons, and she instructs the nutrition bot to prepare special menus for everyone. She insists on keeping me hidden until the residents are seated for their meals. She goes into the dining room ahead of me, and says to the residents, “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the good china tonight.” The residents laugh and cheer. “You may have noticed a special menu as well. And you know it wasn’t on the calendar, so you’re wondering why.” Again there are cheers and voices of agreement. “Well,” she says, “it’s all to celebrate an old friend coming back for a visit.” She emphasizes that last word as she turns back to the door and waves me in. “Come in, Carey.”
I walk in, and I am met with cheers and applause. My empathy net is overwhelmed with good feelings. Several residents come up to see me and shake my hand: Auralee, Diego, Salvador, and many others. In the back of the room, I see Dr. Zinta standing next to a tall, thin, graying man who must be Dex. She smiles at me, and he waves. I wave back.
I greet so many old friends, all with variations of the same questions. “Where have you been?” “How long can you stay?” And “Are you back for good?”
Nurse Rayburn fields many of the questions herself, which is good. I am not comfortable lying about my absence. Still, I dissemble as well as I am able.
But amid all the smiles and chatter, there are faces that I miss. Nurse Rayburn had told me about Mrs. Carruthers, of course, and some others. Some we lost before my absence, when I still worked here.
But one . . . I t
ap Nurse Rayburn on the shoulder and gesture for her to lean closer. When she does, I ask, “Is Luke . . . ?”
She frowns. “He’s still with us, Carey,” she says. “But he . . . doesn’t come to the dining hall much anymore. He doesn’t do much of anything but sit in his room.”
“I see.” I feel an impulse to go find Luke; but as much as I would like to, I have too many friends here. I cannot abandon them again, not so soon.
So we have a celebration. The nutrition bot serves up healthy but high-quality, tasty meals for everyone. I insist on serving my friends myself, going from table to table, stopping briefly to talk to each one. They introduce me to their new friends, and I file each name away for later. I can only spare a few words for each person, or else the food will get cold; but I promise each one that we will talk more in the days ahead.
That is when I realize that I have decided: I am coming back. I am needed here.
Once everyone is eating, I make the rounds of the tables again. Several times I have to remind my friends to eat their food while it’s still warm. “This is too good to waste,” I say.
The nutrition bot comes in at the end with special dessert: ice cream, sherbet, and fruit freezes for everyone. I scoop up the dishes, while Dr. Zinta and Dex and the attendant droid carry them to the tables. It is a splendid night, as festive as any I have seen since Millie and Wayne’s wedding.
But that memory gives me pause. It reminds me that celebrations can be brief, and trouble can follow. I wonder what I will find in Luke’s room.
I tap on the partly open door. “Luke? Are you awake?” He does not answer, so I push the door fully open, and I walk inside.
Luke lies in his hospital bed. He wears an old red robe. He used to say that robes were for old people sitting around, waiting to die. Now I see what he means. He has shrunk. His muscles have atrophied. He stares intently at the TV, even though it is not on.
“Luke,” I try again. “Nurse Rayburn said you were here.”
After a long pause, Luke says, “She said I should come see you. I didn’t believe her.”
“I wish you had come,” I say. “We had a great party. There was even ice cream. I saved you some.” I hold out a bowl. “Cherry ripple.”
At that, his eyes twitch. Cherry ripple is his favorite. But he remains stern. “Where’d you go, Bo?” he asks.
I cannot bring myself to lie to Luke, so I think of a truth that he can understand. “I had sort of a brain injury,” I say.
“You? A brain injury?” He reaches up and touches his own head. “I didn’t think that could happen. Did you lose your memory, too?”
I think how to answer that. “A little bit,” I say. “But it was more like I was in a coma. I did not forget, I just never knew what was around me. So do you want the ice cream?”
“Never pass up cherry ripple,” he says, and he smiles.
In that moment, I see the old Luke. He has gotten grayer, weaker, but he is still Luke. Still my friend. I hand him the ice cream, and I sit so we can talk.
He is still reticent. He talks a little about residents that we knew, but that is a delicate subject. Too many of them have passed away. Mostly, he talks about the circus, stories that I have heard half a dozen times before. But I listen attentively. Telling them makes Luke smile.
Finally, when Luke pauses for a bit, I ask the question that has been bothering me. “Luke, Nurse Rayburn says you never come to dinner anymore. Why is that?”
Just like that, Luke withdraws again. “Don’t feel like it,” is all he says.
“But Luke, you still have friends out there.”
“I know,” he says. “They come in during the day. We talk.” Then he turns to me. “But I’m old, Bo. Tired.” He pauses before adding, “Useless. Nothing more useless than a circus artiste who can’t do his act no more. Who wants to come see that?” Another pause, and then he adds, “Who wants to see me?”
From the way he asks, I sense a deeper sorrow. “Has Gordon come to visit?” Luke’s son Gordon never had visited very often. Maybe three or four times a year, while on business trips or for holidays. I know that used to make Luke sad; but he would always say, “At least he comes.”
I could see from the way Luke’s mouth froze that I had hit the mark. “I am sorry, Luke,” I say. “Maybe you should call him.”
“I’m not gonna beg,” Luke says. “I may not have my reflexes anymore, I may be missing half my marbles, but I’ve still got my pride.”
His pride. Something to feel good about in his life. That gave me an idea. “Luke,” I say, “you’ve still got good eyes, do you not?” He nods. “You still know our routine, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Then you can still teach me. I am out of practice, and you still have twenty years of tricks I haven’t learned yet.”
Luke looks at me. “You don’t think you can fool an old man just because his brain’s a bit rattled, do you?”
“All right,” I say, “that sounded like a trick. But it is not, Luke. I enjoy working on our act. I enjoy talking to you. So this is something I want to do.”
Luke is silent for so long, I worry that I have angered him. Or perhaps that he has fallen asleep. But then at last he says, “You better be on time. You have to learn a new solo act, and I’m gonna make you work at it.”
38. Today We Have a Family Reunion
The next morning, Dr. Zinta calls Millie’s home number, but Susan answers. I stand outside of the video pickup as Dr. Zinta says, “Good morning, Susan. I have some very good news.”
“Oh?” Susan’s eyes light up. “You don’t mean . . .”
“I do!” Dr. Zinta says. “Come here, Carey.”
I step into the camera’s view, and Susan starts to cry. “Carey! Is that you?”
“It is I, Susan. I am so sorry I have caused you pain.”
Susan’s tears flow. “It’s not pain, Carey. It’s . . . Oh, please . . . Dr. Zinta, can you come over right away? Carey’s not . . . injured, is it?”
“Carey’s fine,” Dr. Zinta says. “We just weren’t sure how to break this to you. We thought it might be a shock.”
“Of course it’s a shock! But a good one. Please, I want to see you both.”
“Is Millie home?” I ask.
“No,” Susan says, “she’s at the university. But I’ll call her right away. She’ll want to come home for you.”
We walk into the Owens home, and I am disturbed by what I see. The shelves and lampshades have not been dusted recently. There are children’s books and dirty clothes scattered on the stairs. I cannot smell, but my room air analyzers show the air to be stale, with hints of dust, old body odor, and food waste. The floors show no signs of recent mopping, and only halfhearted sweeping. What is wrong with the cleaning bots?
Susan hobbles into the entryway from the living room, and I see that she is walking with an assist suit. The way she moves, I can see that she has pain in her right hip. “Susan, are you all right?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says as she limps forward and hugs me. With her face buried in my shoulder, she says, “My new hip has troubles. But today I don’t care. Today I feel like I could dance.”
My ultrasound scanner shows a divide in her femur. A section of the shaft has been regenerated. The muscle around it is still loose. “This is a recent break. Susan, when did you break your hip?”
“Just last month,” she says. “I got out of therapy ten days ago, and now I’m walking again.”
“But you shouldn’t be,” I say.
“Nonsense,” Susan says. “It’s good exercise.”
“Yes,” I say. “But still, we should sit.”
“OK.”
Susan turns away, and I see her wince. So I add, “I could carry you.”
Susan half turns back and glares at me. “No, you can not! Dr. Elmhurst says I won’t get better if I take the easy way out. Next week he’ll take off the assist suit so I’ll be completely on my own. Walking is the best exercise for me,
he said . . . no matter how bad it hurts.”
Dr. Zinta and I follow Susan back to the living room, and Susan sits in the old blue wingback chair. “You know I prefer the couch,” she says, “but I can’t get out of it right now. Not even with the assist suit. So please, you two, sit.”
Dr. Zinta and I sit on the old gray couch. I cannot help noticing that it has stains and scuff marks that had not been there before. Scattered clothes and toys plus a pile of dishes in the sink and on the counter are proof that children live here now.
Susan beams at me. “Carey, you’re all right? You’re not . . . damaged?”
“My diagnostics say I am fine,” I reply.
Dr. Zinta nods. “As good as new. Well, better with all the upgrades.”
I continue. “The only stress I feel is emotional. I am sorry that I have caused such pain to you and Millie. I am sorry that I have missed so much in your lives, and the children’s lives. Five years is so long for them.” I pause, but there is no way to avoid what else I have to say. “And I am so sorry that I did not get to say goodbye to Paul.”
I see sadness in Susan’s face, and in how her shoulders slump; but when she speaks, there is only a slight tremor in her voice. “I know,” she says. “I miss him every day, Carey, but . . . Five years . . . You build up scars in five years.”
“Still, I wish I could have been there for you.”
“Oh, Carey . . .” Her eyes seem to look through us. “It was a beautiful ceremony. So many people turned out . . . to say goodbye . . .” A tear rolls down Susan’s cheek. I spot a box of tissues on the end table, and I hold them out to her. She takes out two. “Thank you, Carey.”
Susan tells me about Paul’s funeral, and Dr. Zinta adds in her own memories. When Dr. Zinta mentions the children, I use that as an excuse to nudge the conversation in another direction: how the children are doing in school. Slowly, that brings a smile to Susan’s face. She is a proud grandmother.
Then Susan looks around the room and laughs. “But they’re not exactly neat.”
Today I Am Carey Page 22