Baby, It's Dead Outside

by E M Kaplan

  “How do you feel right now?” Josie asked when the woman paused to take a breath after the last, long-held note of the ad ditty, to which she added a shrill vibrato. If Lynetta was acting more paranoid about her food, that alone might help her avoid eating something contaminated until Josie could get herself over to the nursing home.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Can’t complain. How are you?”

  Josie swiped a frustrated hand across her face. However, telling the woman she was far from okay probably wasn’t the right course of action at this moment. “I hope you don’t mind, but I chatted with your primary doctor to see if there is anything I should be aware of.”

  “Yes, go ahead and do that. Dr. Charles is probably expecting you to contact her. I already signed the forms to let you have access to all that. Greta sent them to me weeks ago.”

  Of course Greta had. Josie advanced from rubbing her face to pinching the bridge of her nose. It would have been nice to know this ahead of time, but Greta probably would defend herself by saying she automatically assumed Josie would speak with Lynetta’s doctor first.

  The ER doors opened and a nurse called Josie’s name. She told Lynetta she would go see her as soon as she could, but when she tried to hobble toward the nurse, it was a no-go. Aloysius had supported most of her weight on the way in, but now she had to be rolled back to the examining room in a wheelchair.

  This trip is just getting better and better.

  

  “Not broken,” Dr. Patel told her a couple hours later. Despite the hours that had passed since she’d last seen him, he looked the same, even clean-shaven.

  “Don’t you ever go home?” she said through gritted teeth as he lifted her leg with surprisingly gentle hands and examined the swelling, which was already turning all kinds of colors.

  “Oh my. Someone is grumpy. I have been to my house and got called in. Several people have the flu, so I am back.”

  She wasn’t even sorry for snapping at him. Not when he poked a finger into the rapidly spreading bruise near her joint.

  “Are you sure it’s not broken? It hurts like a mother.”

  “You and I have very different mothers,” he said, taking her words literally, although she was one hundred percent sure he knew what she meant. “It’s just a bad hyperextension and slight tear of your ankle ligaments.”

  “That’s good right?”

  “That depends on you and how fast you heal. For some people, it might heal faster if it was a fracture. What you have is a sprain. Not the worst I’ve seen today—and I have seen three others already, plus one faker who wanted narcotics. Too many drug seekers these days. But as for real sprains, yours is not great, but not terrible. You’re also lucky it’s not your driving foot or you would be house-bound for a while.”

  Yikes.

  “Lucky? Oh boy, what do I win?” Josie asked.

  “You win a pair of crutches and a nice rest on your couch with a cup of hot cocoa. Do you know about rice?”

  Josie blinked. “Jasmine. Basmati. Bomba. Long-grain. Short-grain. Black. Brown. Sushi. Valencia. Wild.”

  “Very nice. I like saffron-flavored myself, but I was talking about the acronym, R-I-C-E. It stands for rest, ice, compression, and elevation. These are the things you should do to treat a sprained ankle.” He ticked them off on his slender brown fingers. “Rest—you obviously know what that is. No running marathons or making long trips around the shopping mall. Ice—there’s plenty of that outside, I don’t need to tell you that. Compression—we’ll give you a wrap to use. Not Gucci or Armani, but it will do the trick. And Elevation—keep your foot up, above your heart, to reduce swelling, especially at night.”

  Good thing she’d already moved her pillow and blanket to the couch downstairs. Her clothes and toothbrush were another matter, though. She was going to have to hop up there to get her stuff and push it down the steps to the first floor.

  Her face must have shown her irritation and uncertainty because he patted her shoulder with pity. “Maybe you can stay with your aunt at Pleasant Valley for a few days. I’m sure she’d love the company.”

  Very funny—not.

  Chapter 20

  With her crutches balanced across her lap, Josie rode in a wheelchair out to the hospital’s foyer—the glass enclosed, cage-like area between the sliding doors that smelled of dust and was covered in road sand—while Aloysius, who had returned to retrieve her before she could even call him, brought his car around to pick her up. The hospital volunteer pushing her chair was a robust old guy, like a geriatric candy striper missing just the white stripes on his red vest.

  “Is that your partner’s car?” he asked, pointing at a white Lexus sedan pulling up to the curb. In fact, Aloysius drove a black Lexus, which he somehow kept close to factory showroom clean despite the salted streets.

  Josie didn’t know whether to gawk at the old man’s accuracy at guessing her neighbor’s car or laugh that he was progressive enough to assume she was in some kind of domestic partnership with a ten foot tall, finicky gay man in a violet sweater vest.

  Her ankle had been throbbing the entire chair ride through the hospital, and the dirt of the entryway was tickling her nose, but she suddenly felt her irritation lift as she suppressed a laugh. She didn’t bother correcting him, but when she twisted her neck around to look at his old face, he wore a wily half-smile.

  “Aha, there’s your fella,” he said as Aloysius pulled up to the curb.

  Josie chuckled again as the man expertly wheeled her next to the car door, which Aloysius had opened after hopping out of the driver’s seat. Together they maneuvered her into the passenger side and put her crutches in the back.

  She sat in front of the heat blowers with the seat warmer gently defrosting her rear as the doors were closed with the muted thud that seemed to be the signature of any car over forty grand.

  She gave a Queen Elizabeth style finger wave—just missing the pristine Minnie Mouse gloves—to the old man before he hightailed it back inside his dusty foyer to park the wheelchair and wait for his next passenger.

  Never mind the mayor. This is Candy Striper Charon on his gritty River Styx.

  As they pulled away from the hospital, Josie’s phone rang. She thought it might be Drew and she was dreading having to tell him about her latest injury. On the third ring, Aloysius said, “Uh-uh. You go ahead and answer that. If that’s family, you should never let it go to voicemail. Each moment is sacred, and you never know when it might be your last. You answer that. Pretend I’m not even here.”

  Caving under peer pressure, Josie answered her call, again neglecting to check caller ID. She was really playing caller roulette these days.

  “What happened?” Greta asked without any kind of greeting. “Why are you using your credit card at the Lake Park Villa emergency room?”

  Josie screwed up her nose in irritation, good feeling gone. She’d used Greta’s black credit card for the insurance copay at the ER, thinking she’d pay it back, if necessary. She didn’t know it had a tracking alert on the charges. That was an eye-opener.

  Creepy, yet reassuring at the same time.

  “I’m fine. I slipped on the ice and twisted my ankle.”

  Greta didn’t immediately say anything—it wasn’t her nature—and it left Josie trying to fill the empty air between them.

  “I have it wrapped up and I’ll need to ice it, but I’m totally fine to keep going.” If she said fine again, Greta was going to assume she was fibbing, so Josie scrambled to think of some evidence of progress she could mention, but failed to come up with anything. Discussing Lynetta’s fortune with Aloysius in the car was a bad idea, and Greta probably already knew the state of her sister’s inflated finances.

  “I’m not worried about the task,” Greta said. “I have confidence you will figure it out. You have never failed before.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence blossomed on the other end of the line, and Josie imagined Greta was trying to figure out the fastest way of backi
ng out of the conversation and pretending she hadn’t been concerned for Josie’s well-being. The two of them were a matched set of socially awkward cup and saucer on that front. Anything to do with feelings was uncomfortable territory for both of them.

  “How is Lynetta?” Greta asked, moving on. If their conversation was a game, their hypothetical floor was lava. They were hopping from one topic to the next when things got a bit too much.

  “She’s back at Pleasant Valley. I guess she got a good night’s rest in the peace and quiet away from her roommate. I’ll visit her in a bit.” As soon as Josie’s stupid pain pills kicked in, she planned to get herself over to Pleasant Valley.

  “All right. I’ll speak to you later.”

  Greta didn’t usually end her phone calls saying “goodbye,” but typically just hung up when she was finished with whatever pronouncement she’d called to deliver. Her last statement, followed by dead air, was more sign-off than Josie was used to. Maybe the old battle-axe really was softening up.

  Doubtful, but whatever.

  Josie shifted her legs in the car and caused a zing to arc through her ankle. She sucked in her breath without making a sound.

  Aloysius shot her a concerned look, making her realize she hadn’t been as quiet as she’d thought. “Oooh, just look at that crazy bastard. He’s staring at us like we just tried to convert him to our religion,” he said as they turned onto Lincoln Street. “Isn’t he supposed to keep your steps clear of ice? There may be a lawsuit in his future, if you’re up for it.”

  Harris Kane was, in fact, staring at them suspiciously as if they were in cahoots somehow and plotting against him.

  “What is that crazy white boy’s problem?” Aloysius gripped the steering wheel with his long fingers like he was trying hard to resist jumping the curb just to spook Harris. “He’s looking at us like we’re bringing the neighborhood down. You didn’t let your dog do his business on his lawn, did you?”

  “No, but if he keeps staring at us like that, I just might.”

  Josie hoped Harris Kane couldn’t read lips. Aloysius cackled and hit a pothole that had to be four inches deep. Josie grimaced. Even the struts on the cushy Lexus couldn’t compete with road faults that rivaled the San Andreas.

  “Have you met the woman who lives with him?” she asked to try to distract herself from her throbbing foot. The pain had zinged up the side of her leg during that last bump.

  “His wife, Ann,” Aloysius said. “She used to be a kindergarten teacher, but she quit to run her own online business. She sews dolls or something like that. The juicy rumor is she’s an alcoholic—and not the functional kind. I think she got fired from her school for it. Plus, the kids didn’t like her. She’s kind of a beeyotch. And kids don’t pull punches when it comes to that kind of personality flaw. It’s one thing being terrible to adults, but fifth graders gonna jump you in the back alley and pummel your spirit until you take early retirement.”

  Josie gawked at Aloysius as he spoke. He had good dirt on their neighbor.

  He turned into the driveway of her house, even though it was literally less than three feet away from his, and skillfully steered the car around the back using one hand. He pulled up to her kitchen door—which was good because she was never using the front steps again—and put it in park, but didn’t turn off the engine.

  “What? If he and Ann want to air their dirty laundry all up and down the street with their squalling and screaming, I’m going to make some popcorn and pull up a chair. That’s free entertainment right there.”

  He slipped out of the driver’s side and jogged around the car before she could even unbuckle her safety belt. Somehow he managed to get her out of the vehicle and wedge the crutches under her arms before she could even figure out how to maneuver her foot without whacking it on anything.

  “You’d make a good nurse,” she told him.

  “Bite your tongue, little missy. My mother and three aunties are all nurses back home. I might have been a nurse, but I don’t like people. They’re disgusting. All the germs and…fluids. That’s some nasty business right there, girl. Just leave me to my sweet life as a house husband because, girl, I make some fine-ass arm candy. That’s about all I’m good at.”

  She thought he might give up waiting for her to hop her way up the back two steps, but he stood in the chill with the patience of a saint, and even took Bert out into the backyard for a few minutes after he helped her get situated on the sofa.

  When he returned with her dog, he said, “I have to get back home, but you can call me if you need anything. I’m just a couple steps away.”

  She thanked him, but had a sudden thought. “Have you ever seen Harris Kane and his wife have a fight—I mean, a physical altercation?”

  He shook his head. “No, I never have, but that doesn’t mean they don’t. Then again, some people enjoy that kind of thing. Fighting makes all kinds of sparks fly in the bedroom. Not my cup of tea, but different strokes for different folks, if you know what I mean.”

  Chapter 21

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Lynetta asked her.

  Well, this is an unexpected role reversal. How the mighty have fallen.

  Josie switched the phone to her other hand as she repositioned her elevated leg on the couch. This sitting still business was a drag. Bert, on the other hand, gave a contented moan and rolled onto his back in a patch of sunlight on the rug by the window. She, however, shivered thanks to the ice pack on her ankle. The fireplace was dark and empty. Maybe she could hop over there on her healthy leg and light a fire in a while.

  “I’m fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Josie was pretty sure she could still drive with her good foot…even though the thought of going back to Pleasant Valley filled her with a sudden and weird dread. Probably just bad associations thinking about her own mom. "How are you?”

  “I won five dollars and a thirty percent off Kohl’s coupon playing bridge this morning. I thought my partner overbid, but then we made a small slam. So, victory for us!”

  Lynetta sounded sharp as a tack with no signs of confusion. Not that she needed a discount for anything. Josie wasn’t sure how long this window of mental clarity was going to last, so she cut right to the chase.

  “Speaking of which, I visited Bob Fisher at your investment firm, and I want to ask you why you still live at Pleasant Valley when you can afford to live in your own home with private care.”

  Lynetta was silent for a moment. “It’s pretty simple, really. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “But…” Josie paused. Lynetta didn’t have family other than Greta—and they obviously weren’t close. “You could at least live in an assisted living facility in a warmer climate. How about a spa in Switzerland? A grand hotel in New York City? Somewhere near a beach?”

  Josie didn’t know the going rate for owning an island, but the woman could practically buy one. At least compared to her own anemic bank account.

  “I don’t know anyone in any of those places. I’d still be alone. Here is as good as any other city—and I have friends at Pleasant Valley.”

  More like groupies.

  “But…” Josie said again, but she couldn’t think of an argument against the Lynetta’s reasoning. Maybe her ankle pain was sapping her mental function, but there had to be a way of improving the woman’s life, maybe even without uprooting her from her familiar surroundings.

  An image of Lynetta “holding court” in the activities room of Pleasant Valley came into Josie’s mind. Without a doubt, she needed her friends. Her minions. Her backup singers. Whatever they were.

  Maybe Josie could help her arrange an endowment and have a private wing built at the facility. One that was administered by a carefully appointed staff. Plans like these would take a firm executive hand. Greta could certainly help in that area. Or point Josie in the right direction for hiring someone if she didn’t want to get personally involved. Greta was an effective CEO of her own life, decisive and somewhat ruthless like an Eastern
European dictator.

  “I may have an idea,” Josie said, feeling more optimistic now than at any point during the trip so far. “Let me work out some details and I’ll get back to you.”

  This scheme was going to take a lot of planning and negotiation, but she was stuck on the couch for a while. What else did she have to think about? And she was determined to do some good and leave her fake aunt’s life better than how she’d found it. At least, that was the plan.

  “Sure.” Lynetta sounded noncommittal and unimpressed. “We have a ballroom dance presentation in an hour. There are going to be actual dancers giving a demonstration in full costume. It reminds me of some of the dances I used to attend when I was a young girl. I didn’t expose as much skin as some of these women, but I loved the dresses and the feathers and all the sequins we used to wear. I met Lawrence Welk once when I was young.”

  Josie listened to Lynetta’s reminiscing for a good while longer until the woman abruptly hung up to go to her afternoon’s entertainment. The excitement in her voice was evident, and Josie thought maybe Pleasant Valley was a good place for Lynetta…if it didn’t kill her.

  

  Hopping around the first floor of a tiny Victorian house hadn’t been in Josie’s plans when she’d envisioned her short time in Lake Park Villa. She’d pictured cups of hot tea, softly falling snow through which she and Bert would heartily tromp, and friendly but stoic Midwestern neighbors. Maybe some kołaczki or even a king cake.

  When the heck is Epiphany anyway…other than something I’m always waiting for? Or is this Lent season?

  She was no Catholic, but she’d heard some woman at the grocery store talking about pączki—pone-shkeey—those tasty Polish donut things that many Chicagoans ate around Lent. Jelly filled bits of heaven. Any talk of donuts was bound to make her eavesdrop and possibly convert religions.

  Bored and trapped in her house without donuts, she looked around again, eventually glancing out the window, but she couldn’t see much from her angle on the sofa.