Pineapple Hurricane

by Amy Vansant

  Maybe I should leave the back doors open during the storm and let the hurricane clean it out.

  “Why do we have to come here?” asked Bob.

  Mariska shut the door and walked as fast as she could toward the building, answering over her shoulder as she went. “It’s safer. Charlotte is safe at Declan’s and Darla has Frank.”

  “What do you mean Darla has Frank?”

  She heard the slap of Bob’s size-fourteen sneakers closing in behind her. He wasn’t a tall man, but he had feet like a platypus.

  “You have me. What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “This building is safer than—” They entered the nursing home and all eyes turned toward them. She’d been screaming to be heard over the wind, and in the quiet of the lobby, she sounded like a banshee.

  “Sorry.” Mariska smiled at the woman behind the desk. “Mariska and Bob Garitz, reporting for duty.”

  “Oh great.” The woman reached over the desk to greet her, appearing business-like but not unfriendly in her plum suit and floral blouse. “I’m Laura. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m usually here on Wednesdays.”

  Mariska shook her hand, admiring the woman’s colorful rings. “I’m usually here on Thursdays. What would you like us to do?”

  “You could start with the kids.”

  “Kids?” said Bob behind her, his tone strained. Mariska turned in time to see his forehead bead with sweat.

  “I thought this was an old folks’ home?”

  Laura frowned. “Nursing home. It is. But for the hurricane, some of the residents have their at-risk families staying with them. I was thinking you could help us organize a little hurricane party for the younger ones.”

  “Oh, that would be fun,” said Mariska.

  “Not the word I was thinking,” muttered Bob.

  Mariska stiffened, but if Laura heard Bob, she didn’t show it. She moved around the desk to join them.

  “I’ll take you to your room so you can drop off your bag and then show you to the playroom.”

  The woman strode ahead of them down a long hallway, Izzy’s toenails tapping on the shiny tile floors. The air smelled like disinfectant.

  “You didn’t say anything about any kids,” grumbled Bob.

  “Oh, you love kids.”

  “Not other people’s kids.”

  “Oh shush.”

  They dropped their bag in a room bare but for a queen bed, before heading back down the hall to the playroom. Mariska heard the kids chattering as they approached and it made her smile.

  A woman in the playroom turned as they entered. She sat on a stool reading a book to a crowd of eight, single-digit-aged children. Flyaway strands of hair circled her head like a halo, and her eyes lit as they entered. She snapped the book shut and stood.

  “This is Mariska and Bob. They’re going to babysit for a bit,” said Laura.

  “Wonderful.” The woman thrust the book at Mariska and headed directly for the exit, disappearing before Mariska could say hello.

  Laura watched her go and flashed an uncomfortable smile as one of the children began pulling on her pant leg. “Mariska, do you know where the games are?” asked Laura.

  “I think down the hall in the supply—”

  “Great. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Laura disappeared as quickly as the last woman did.

  “Now what?” asked Bob, watching her go.

  Mariska motioned to the kids. “Just watch them for a second. I’ll get games and music and then we’ll play with them.”

  Bob grimaced. “I’d rather be swept out to sea by the hurricane. Do I have to talk to them?”

  “Just keep them in the room.”

  He grunted.

  Mariska headed down the hall toward the supply room. The building felt more alive than normal. She could hear families talking and laughing inside the rooms as she passed. Usually, all she could hear were televisions playing game shows and soap operas.

  In the supply room, Mariska found a metal cart on which she piled toys, an old boombox and a box of children’s cassette tapes before wheeling it back down the hall.

  She heard the children in the playroom screaming the moment she left the supply closet.

  Oh no.

  She quickened her pace.

  As she turned the corner, a small boy dodged to avoid the cart and instead ran directly into her leg. She stooped to grab him by the back of his shirt before he could bounce to the floor.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  He grinned and tried to twist from her grip. “I’m a wild Indian.”

  “You don’t say?”

  Mariska forced a smile, but her heart started pounding in her chest. The playroom sounded like the battle of Little Big Horn was raging inside.

  “Take my hand. We have to go back to the playroom. See all the toys I have?”

  The boy ogled the cart and took her hand as instructed, yet never ceasing his Indian whoop. Mariska hustled down the hall as fast the kid could follow and pushed the cart into the playroom though the ajar door.

  “Oh my—”

  The sound of screaming children bounced from every wall. One of them had found a package of construction paper and torn it into confetti. She guessed it was one of the two girls running around the room throwing the shredded paper in the air, screaming, “It’s raining rainbows! It’s raining rainbows!” Izzy jogged after them as if trying, and failing, to herd them back to the center of the room. The girls squealed with wild delight whenever the dog came close.

  Panicked, Mariska shut the door behind her and raised a hand to cover one ear.

  “What are you doing?”

  Bob looked at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  He sat in the middle of the room on a wooden chair, glaring at her. Two of the boys had tied his feet to the chair legs with a jump rope, and had moved on to secure his body with another. They paused only to tap their bunched fingers over their mouths as they whooped Indian war cries.

  “They’re wild Indians, too,” said the boy beside Mariska. He jerked his hand from hers and ran to help his fellow braves secure the prisoner.

  “I left you for ten minutes,” said Mariska. Her voice faded behind the jangling sound of a boy slamming a tambourine into the head of another. The boy being hit couldn’t stop giggling.

  “All I did was tell them they’re acting like a pack of wild Indians and they all went bonkers,” said Bob.

  “You can’t give them ideas like that.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  Mariska plucked the tambourine from the musician’s hand. He grabbed a drumstick and she snatched that as well. “Why didn’t you tell them to sit quietly?”

  Bob laughed. “Right. I’ll tell the hurricane to calm down while I’m at it.”

  Laura and a teenage girl appeared at the doorway, Laura’s eyes bulging. “What’s going on? We can hear this from the lobby.”

  Her companion began herding the running children like a border collie, Izzy looking thrilled by the assist.

  “I—” Mariska stopped, options for what to say next escaping her.

  Laura frowned. “Would you rather help us with the adults?”

  “Yes,” said Bob, standing. He nearly fell forward before one of his feet slipped from his jump rope bindings in time to kick forward and stop his downward momentum.

  “I’ll watch the kids, you go ahead,” said the teen as she squatted to untie Bob’s other foot for him. She wrangled the kids into a reading circle as Mariska and Bob left the room.

  “She’s a professional,” said Bob, impressed.

  “You’re ridiculous,” muttered Mariska.

  He held up his palms. “Me? They were talking about burning me at the stake. I thought I was a goner.”

  “You can help us in the auditorium for meal time,” said Laura.

  Bob grunted his approval. He liked food.

  Mariska’s face still felt hot with embarrassment. “That might be better. Tha
nk you, Laura. I’m sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Kids can be a handful for...” She eyed Bob. “...the inexperienced.”

  Laura led them into a large room where older residents gathered at two large, round tables. Most sat in wheelchairs tucked beneath the tables, spooning applesauce and soup into their mouths.

  “From one extreme to another,” mumbled Bob.

  Mariska elbowed him.

  Laura motioned to the tables. “Just keep an eye on them. If they need something, help them out.”

  Mariska nodded. “No problem.”

  No sooner did Laura leave the room, than Bob started picking at the trays of food displayed on a banquet table.

  Mariska frowned. “Will you please behave? That food is for them.”

  “Ooh, there’s bacon.” Bob sat on a bench to chew his snack, while Mariska made the rounds, checking in on the residents she knew might need a bit of help or encouragement.

  As she approached table two, one of the gentlemen at table one wheeled back his chair and headed for the door.

  “They don’t usually leave when they’re done...do they?” mumbled Mariska.

  Bob shrugged. “What are you asking me for?”

  The man pumped his wheels and made it to the door before Mariska could decide what to do.

  “Go get him,” she said, pointing as the man disappeared into the hall.

  Bob put a hand on his chest. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I have to stay here with—”

  “Geronimo!”

  One of the men at table two stood and threw a dinner roll at table one. The residents under siege demanded he sit down, but he snatched a handful of food from his tray and tossed it after the roll. One of the women at table one screamed as a glop of mashed potatoes struck the back of her head.

  “You stop that right now.” Mariska shook a finger at Geronimo. “Bob, help.”

  Bob took one look at the food fight, and bolted for the door. “I have to catch the runner.”

  He hustled out of the room and Mariska found herself alone and under attack as a sugar packet flew by her head.

  Coward.

  Another man at table two tried to wrestle a roll out of his neighbor’s hand. She moved to help as someone at table one retaliated, launching a carton of milk in Geronimo’s direction.

  Instinctively, Mariska batted the carton out of the air and it exploded to the ground beside her, spraying her legs with white liquid.

  “Stop it! No!” Mariska snatched the roll from the new player and he sat down, apparently chastised. Seeing her head swivel to his direction, Geronimo tried to shuffle away, waving what looked like a ham sandwich.

  Hot on Geronimo’s heels, Mariska spotted movement in the hall. She snapped her attention there, frightened Laura had arrived to witness her fail a second time.

  The man who’d escaped in his wheelchair sped by in the same direction he’d originally headed. Mariska realized he must have made a full circle of the facility.

  A moment later Bob jogged after him, puffing and calling, “Sir! Sir!”

  Mariska dropped a hand on Geronimo’s shoulder. “You can’t throw food, sir. Please get back in your seat.”

  Geronimo, his back curled like a question mark, threw much better than he ran. He seemed exhausted after his six-yard foot race, and allowed himself to be led back to his table as the others jeered him from their seats.

  By the time Mariska had Geronimo settled, Bob appeared, pushing the runaway wheelchair racer ahead of him. The racer couldn’t stop grinning. He held both hands in the air above his head and the diners cheered for him, clapping as if his next stop would be the Olympic gold medal platform.

  Laura and another woman trailed in behind Bob, looking cross.

  Mariska hung her head.

  Crap.

  Milk dripped down her leg. She scanned the room and spotted Izzy moving from one food splatter to the next, licking the floors and walls clean.

  At least she’ll help cover up the worst of our failings.

  “How about naptime?” Laura asked, her tone a mixture of anger and sarcasm. “Could you handle naptime?”

  “That sounds more like my speed,” said Bob, tucking the racer into his spot at the table.

  Mariska gathered up her disappointed dog and started their walk of shame to a new assignment, a dimly lit area where residents in hospital beds had been moved to the center of room, away from the windows. Outside, the early edge of the hurricane raged.

  Laura motioned to two single beds on wheels in the corner. “You can sleep here. I’ll have your bag brought in.”

  “Wait, what?” asked Bob as Laura strode from the room.

  Mariska glared at him. “See what you’ve done? Failures don’t get rooms. They’ve downgraded us. We could have watched the kids and then gone to sleep in our own room.”

  Bob sighed and sat on one of the single beds. “This seems like the perfect assignment though. Look at them, all asleep—”

  “I need to pee,” said a voice from the group.

  At the sound of the voice, Izzy barked, and several of the other nappers’ eyes popped open.

  A woman sat up and Mariska moved to help her to the bathroom. As she led her away from the group, she heard Izzy bark again. She turned to see another woman shuffling toward a water cooler.

  “She’s thirsty,” explained Bob.

  “Well help her.”

  He shrugged. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”

  “The dog woke me up,” said another woman from her bed.

  Mariska pointed to her for Bob. “Sing her a lullaby.”

  Bob scowled. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Mariska helped Pee-pee Woman go to the bathroom before leading her back to her spot. She stopped next at the bedside of the woman who couldn’t sleep and was now sitting straight up in bed.

  “Lullaby, and good night...” Mariska held the woman’s frail hand and she slid down her pillow to close her eyes.

  Izzy barked and Mariska spotted another woman getting out of bed.

  “Izzy tells us when one of them gets up,” said Bob, petting the dog’s head.

  Mariska huffed. “She also wakes up two more.”

  “I can’t sleep,” said another woman from the other side of the room.

  The room’s overhead lights flipped on and Laura appeared with a crowd of nurses and patients in wheelchairs behind her.

  “Time for the next group,” she said.

  Bob’s expression contorted into what looked like horror. “How many groups are there?”

  Laura handed him their bag. “They’ll circulate in and out all day and then you’ll spend the night with the last group.”

  Bob squinted at Mariska.

  “This was a great idea.”

  “I have to pee,” said a voice on the other side of the room.

  Izzy barked.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “On the upside, we finally have some time to ourselves,” said Declan, standing in front of his sliding patio doors, watching the storm pick up speed. His hair and clothes were damp from setting up their security perimeter. He felt safer now that he’d finished. What the tripwires wouldn’t stop, maybe the storm would. By the time he’d come inside, the winds had increased to the point he felt as if he were being sandblasted away.

  Charlotte slipped her arms around his waist. “We have everything we need; food, water, flashlights, a serial killer stalking us...”

  “I’ll hear her coming a mile away,” said Declan.

  “Famous last words.”

  He turned and pulled her toward him. “With the storm outside, it’s kind of romantic.”

  She grinned. “It is. And Jamie probably won’t come during the hurricane—”

  The front door opened, slamming against the wall behind it, sending Declan’s heart into his throat. He lunged for the gun he’d left in its holster on the living room table. Charlotte twirled out of his arms to avoid being knocked over.


  “Happy hurricane!”

  The figure in the doorway held his arms in the air.

  Seamus.

  His uncle and a woman Declan didn’t recognize stood at the doorway, both looking as if they’d crawled out of a well.

  Declan dropped his gun to his side, tucking it from view behind his leg, but not before Seamus spotted it.

  “Is that how we greet people now?” his uncle asked, his Irish accent unusually thick.

  Declan tucked the gun into the back of his shorts. “What are you doing here?”

  Seamus shook his hair like a dog. “Hurricane party cancelled on account of exploding toilets.”

  The tall woman at his side waved. “Hi.”

  “Are you going to introduce us?” asked Charlotte.

  Seamus closed the door behind him. “Aye, this is Snookie. Snookie, this is Charlotte and my nephew Declan.”

  “Hello,” said Snookie, trying to shake the water off her own hair without sending it flying all over Declan’s house the way Seamus had.

  When Snookie looked away, Declan sent a pointed glare in his uncle’s direction he hoped said, who is this woman?

  Seamus caught his meaning. “Snookie came to the Hurricane Party and she’s got nowhere to stay.”

  “You make me sound homeless,” said Snookie giggling.

  Seamus elbowed her. “Ah, you don’t want to ride out the storm in a hotel when you could be here with us and plenty of food. If I know Declan we’re set for a week here.”

  Declan’s mood darkened. “You’re staying here?”

  Seamus shrugged. “I have to, Boyo. I told you. My toilet broke.”

  “Don’t you have toilets in the bar downstairs?”

  “Sure, but the place is a mess.” Seamus walked into the house, leaving a brown trail of mud in his wake.

  “Could you not walk around in your muddy, toilet water shoes?”

  Seamus kicked his loafers towards the coat closet. “Don’t worry, we’ll be as quiet as church mice.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, holding it up for Snookie to see.

  “Beer?”

  She slipped off her own shoes. “Sure.”

  Seamus popped the top and handed it to her before holding up another in Declan’s direction. “Beer?”

  Declan curled a finger, beckoning his uncle to him. “Could I talk to you for a second?”