by Chris Fabry
“But there’s a twist in the story. Every ending means a new beginning, right?”
“You’re asking me?” Elsie said.
“Isn’t that what you believe? When God closes a door, he opens a window?”
“Listen, honey, God has closed doors and windows on my fingers. You won’t find that window-and-door thing in the Bible, though I suppose it’s generally true. He redirects us through the circumstances. I believe that. But I prefer to lean on Proverbs 3:5 and 6.” She recited it, punctuating the “trust in the Lord” and “lean not on your own understanding” parts.
“I wish I had your faith, Elsie.”
The woman cocked her head. “Now what is that supposed to mean?”
“I wish I could trust in God the way you do.”
“Fiddlesticks.”
“No, I’m serious. I believe. I just don’t know if it makes any difference. God seems awfully disinterested in my life. But your faith is real and vibrant.”
“Like I have something special, right? You don’t know how many times I hear that kind of thing and it drives me up a wall. I don’t have some pipeline to God that’s unavailable to every other human. I only have a tiny smidgen of faith—” she held out a pinkie and measured the fingernail—“but God says if you have faith as big as a grain of mustard seed, you can move mountains. Uproot trees. It’s not my faith that’s the key, or how much of it I have; it’s where I place it that matters.”
Miriam nodded. “You’re right; you’re really nothing special.”
Elsie threw her head back and laughed. “I’ve heard that, too.”
Miriam finished her toast and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “Not having access to the facility has given Devin a new idea. He’s interested in following Treha’s story. Finding out more about her. Showing her gift. At first I was dead set against it, thinking they might try to exploit her, but the more I’ve thought about it, slept on it, the more I think this might be good.”
“Treha’s story,” Elsie said vacantly, staring at the tile floor. Some light seemed to enter her face. “Now there’s a movie I’d like to see. Sometimes I wish I knew what she has been through in her life and then other times I don’t think I could handle it.”
“I know a little. The trouble is, I don’t think she knows much more than that.”
“Jim used to . . . Dr. Crenshaw would say that Treha listens to stories here and makes them her own because she can’t remember her past. She’s a memory stealer. But she doesn’t do it to be mean; she does it to fill in the gaps.”
“That’s the real reason I wanted to talk with you. Dr. Crenshaw.”
Elsie put her spoon down and stopped midchew on the oatmeal. “He’s not gone, is he? You didn’t wait until now to tell me . . . ?”
“No, no, his condition is critical, but he’s still with us.”
A look of relief flooded her. “I hadn’t wanted to ask. I thought in the hallway that you wanted me to come back here because he was gone and you were just working up to telling me.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if . . .”
Miriam put a hand on her arm. “We’ll keep praying, Elsie. Even if I don’t feel like God is listening. We’ll just keep using the little faith we have, right?”
A tear stair-stepped the woman’s wrinkled cheek. “I don’t want him to suffer. I really don’t. I know he’s old and in pain. I know he wouldn’t want to live hooked up to machines. His body’s tired and worn-out. And I know his soul is at peace. But I sure would like to tell him good-bye.”
More tears and the napkin went to the eyes. Miriam put an arm around her, thinking it might take the woman a while to recover, but Elsie took a deep breath and jabbed her spoon back in the oatmeal.
“I don’t like it cold,” she said, her mouth full.
“I don’t want to upset you with any of this.”
Elsie waved an arthritic hand. “I’ve been thinking of him every moment. Alone in that hospital. That verse going over and over in my head—the one people use to say God won’t give us more than we can handle, 1 Corinthians 10:13. They think temptation and the hard stuff of life are the same. I don’t believe that for a minute. He does give us more than we can handle. He lets us go through deeper waters so that we cling to him; that’s the whole point of having faith. If we could handle everything, there would be no reason for us to need God.”
Miriam listened. Once Elsie got on a roll, it was best to let her continue. And truth be told, she liked hearing the strength of Elsie’s faith.
“I’m not big on claiming verses. You hear people say that a lot. ‘I claimed this verse or that verse for such and such,’ as if they have God’s arm behind his back because they read something and can remember it. I’ll tell you one thing: he knows a lot better than I do what I need. And he knows the same for Jim, too. But if I were to claim a verse for him—and I’ve been praying this for him every day for the last six months—it would be from Ephesians 1, where Paul says, ‘I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given.’” She punctuated the “confident hope” with a wag of her finger. “I don’t know if he has a heart problem or a brain problem or something else, but God knows how to flood us with light and understanding. He knows all that’s wrong and what it’ll take to fix us.”
She put her head back against the chair and pushed the tray away.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, you didn’t. I get tired so easy these days. Just getting up and getting dressed makes me want to go back to bed, but then it takes so long to go to sleep. I just lay there and doze and wake up and the deep sleep feels so far away. It’s like going to a party but you have to always watch through the window; you never eat the cake or get to wear the hat. I’m not complaining—I know this comes with the territory. They say age is a state of mind. Don’t you believe it. It has very little to do with the mind in my case. It’s my hip and my joints and my bladder. Gray hair is a crown of splendor nobody wants. You can look that up in Proverbs 16, the EAV, Elsie Authorized Version.”
“How did you learn so much about the Bible?”
“Only one way to learn and that’s to open and read it. Ask questions. Listen to others who know it better than you do. And stay away from the people who think they have God figured out or who say they know the code. You have to come to the Bible humbly and admit you don’t know everything—that’s the key. Most people come to me with a Bible question or two they want answered. Hemingway always wants to argue; he’s cantankerous. That’s fine; let him argue. The Lovebirds never ask questions; they just live 1 Corinthians 13.”
Miriam chuckled and glanced around the room. There were framed Scripture verses and knickknacks on pressboard bookshelves. A snow globe here, a Precious Moments figurine there. It had the cluttered look of an old woman who had reached her final dwelling place and was going out with as many trinkets as she could gather. The TV was dark but the radio was tuned to a Christian station that played a soothing strings version of some old song Miriam couldn’t quite place. It sounded like sanctified elevator music.
“You live your whole life collecting things that collect dust,” Elsie said. “And then you realize you’re collecting dust too.”
“Dust will never settle on you, Elsie. Your mind goes too fast.”
She put her hand on the Bible and looked up. “You said you wanted to talk with me about Dr. Crenshaw. And Treha. I think I know what you’re going to ask, but you need to understand something. When I give my word, I don’t go back on it. Integrity is the only thing they can’t take away from you. They can tax you living or dead, but they can’t take integrity.”
“Did Dr. Crenshaw tell you something in confidence about Treha?”
She looked at her hands.
“Elsie, you were a good friend to him. I think Dr. Crenshaw knew something about Treha, didn’t he?”
Down the hallway came a quick beep, the distress signal from one
of the rooms. Instinctively Miriam rose and moved toward the door. She knew this wasn’t her job, but she couldn’t help it.
“I’ll be right back.”
CHAPTER 19
THE ONLY WAY Treha could hit the button was to let Ardeth slump to the floor, so she’d grabbed the pillows from the bed and placed them under the woman’s head. After she reached the button, she returned to Ardeth’s side. “It’s going to be okay, Mrs. Ardeth.”
“No, it’s not. I heard it snap. When I fell, I hit bone. This is the end, Tiffany.”
“It’s not the end,” Treha said sharply.
One of the nurses was the first to find them. She tried to help Treha get the woman in a comfortable position. Ms. Millstone rushed to the phone and dialed the EMTs, then seemed paralyzed by the situation.
“Treha, you need to move that bucket out of the hallway now,” the woman finally snapped.
When Treha moved, Ardeth gave a yelp of pain.
“Let’s just hold her position right there,” the nurse said. “No sudden movements.”
Millstone turned and propped the door open, then pushed the bucket out of sight down the hallway. The nurse spoke to Ardeth, assured her help was on the way, then told Treha she was doing a good job. “We’re going to make a nurse out of you yet.”
Instead of Millstone returning, Mrs. Howard came into the room and knelt to take Ardeth’s hand. She didn’t ask questions, just spoke kindly and gently, and Treha felt the woman’s response—a relaxing of the muscles.
“Her leg is shaking,” Treha said.
Mrs. Howard nodded. “Did you see her fall?”
“No. I was pushing the bucket down the hallway and I heard her crying. I found her like this.”
“My bones are so brittle,” Ardeth said.
“It’s all right, Ardeth. Help is on the way.” Then to Treha, she said, “You did a good thing. You got her help when no one else heard her.”
“But I’m not supposed to talk to anyone.”
“The only reason you talked to Ardeth was to help her. No one will have a problem with that.”
Treha felt a presence in the room before the shadow covered them. She looked behind Mrs. Howard to see Ms. Millstone looking down, hands on hips.
“Get up from there,” Millstone said.
“I think we should wait for the EMTs,” Mrs. Howard said.
“I’m not talking about Mrs. Williams; I’m talking about Ms. Langsam.”
“But she’s keeping Ardeth comfortable. There will be more pain if you move her.”
“I want you out of here now,” Millstone said.
The nurse and Mrs. Howard held Ardeth as best they could as Treha slipped from underneath her. There were sirens in the distance that were drowned by Ardeth’s cries. She reached out and Treha patted the woman’s hand.
“To my office,” Millstone said. “Go.”
Treha walked out of the room and saw the mop and bucket at the end of the hallway. “Do you want me to mop the floor in the—?”
“To my office!” Millstone shouted.
More crying and moaning from Ardeth. The ambulance pulled up to the front and the EMTs rushed through the door. Treha pointed them to Ardeth’s room and they hurried down the corridor with their equipment in tow.
Treha walked into Millstone’s office and waited, unable to sit for fear it wouldn’t be approved. From the hallway she heard murmurs of curious residents. She finally sat on the floor with her back against the wall and, as much as she could, stared at the bookshelves, the spines in perfect symmetry.
She drew her knees to herself and hugged them, breathing in the glue and new carpet. It was even stronger down here but she didn’t want to sit in the leather chair and have Ms. Millstone scold her.
When Millstone finally arrived, she flipped on the light and glared at Treha. “Why are you in the dark? And why are you sitting down there? Get in the chair.”
Treha obeyed while Millstone took a folder from a stand on the credenza behind her.
“Is the address we have on file your current one?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we’ll send your final check.”
“But I pick it up here.”
“Ms. Langsam, you’re not employed here any longer. I told you the rules and you violated them. End of discussion. It’s all documented, very carefully.”
Treha looked at the page, upside down. “I didn’t talk with anyone. I just tried to help Mrs. Ardeth.”
The woman was busy signing things, then turned the file around. “Sign here and initial these pages. This says you understand the reasons for termination. It’s standard procedure.”
“Don’t sign anything, Treha,” someone said behind her. Treha turned to see Mrs. Howard in the door. She stepped inside and moved toward the desk. “You have no right treating her this way. She helped Ardeth. You should be giving her a medal.”
Millstone glared at Mrs. Howard, but before she could speak, the office manager appeared. A petite woman with large glasses. “Mrs. Williams’s daughter is on the phone for you, Ms. Millstone.”
She glanced at Treha before picking up the phone. “This is Jillian Millstone. Thank you for returning my call. I wanted to inform you that your mother has had an accident. A fall . . . No, she’s all right. They’re transporting her to the hospital now. . . .”
Mrs. Howard turned to Treha and whispered, “This is not fair. There’s no way she can legally terminate you for helping someone who fell. Don’t sign anything. Do you understand?”
Treha nodded. Mrs. Howard scanned the credenza behind Millstone as if she were looking for something.
Millstone hung up the phone, then picked it up again and dialed three numbers. “Mr. Davis, would you—? I’m sorry; that’s right. Mr. Drennan, would you come to my office immediately?”
“Jillian, don’t do this. Treha was helping you. She’s an asset here, not a liability.”
Millstone came around her desk and pointed at Mrs. Howard. “You are no longer welcome here. Find another place to meddle.” She picked up an envelope behind her.
“How can you be so insensitive?”
“And how can you be so hard of hearing? We don’t need you. Why don’t you understand?”
A younger security guard walked in, keys jangling, a grim look on his face. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“Escort Ms. Langsam to her locker and then out of the building.” The woman handed the envelope to Treha. “This is a restraining order. You are not to come within one hundred yards of the building after today. It’s all in there. You can read it.”
Treha took the envelope but left it sealed. She looked at Mrs. Howard, then back to Millstone. “Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. Now follow Mr. Drennan and get your things.”
The security guard stepped inside, touched the brim of his hat, and nodded. He put his thumbs in his belt and stood dutifully, glancing at Treha.
“Can I say good-bye to them?” Treha said.
Millstone shook her head.
“Just to Elsie?” Treha said flatly.
Millstone glanced at Drennan and the man took Treha’s elbow as if he had done this type of thing before, as if the movements were choreographed.
“Come with me,” he said.
Treha typed with the fingers of her free hand. She glanced at Excellence. Her head was light because of the glue and some sort of aftershave Drennan wore, or maybe it was his deodorant. A sweet and sweaty bouquet that followed him out the door as his keys jangled.
Treha glanced back at Mrs. Howard. “Would you tell them good-bye for me?”
Mrs. Howard nodded.
As she passed the front desk, there were averted eyes, inner conflict at seeing a coworker banished. Nothing to say but go back to your duties as assigned and hope it didn’t happen to you.
The contents of her locker fit neatly into a white kitchen trash bag. Treha stared at it on the floor of the empty locker. This was all the space she
needed to house her life. There were extra scrubs and a hairbrush and below were a couple photos the residents had given her in the past few months. A roll of duct tape. A pair of headphones that didn’t work.
“I’m sorry this is happening,” Drennan said.
She picked up the bag and handed him the roll of tape. Her last gift. “I don’t need this.”
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”
Treha closed the locker and walked outside, shoelaces dangling. He didn’t hold her elbow. He didn’t have to.
CHAPTER 20
MIRIAM KNEW this was not the time to have a confrontation with Millstone. Besides, she knew if she said anything, it would end with her jumping over the desk and wrestling the woman to the ground. She had heard all the tricks of counting to ten, and she had used many with some of the more belligerent residents, but turning her back and walking away was the only real coping mechanism now. She walked out the front door and the security guard pointed to the front gate, where she found Treha by the sidewalk.
“Is this one hundred yards, do you think?” the girl said.
“You’re fine. Treha, don’t let her get to you. This is not over.”
Her eyes seemed to be going full tilt now, her body swaying.
“I need to tell Elsie what happened. I’ll call her, and then we’ll leave together.”
“You can go back and see her,” Treha said.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She nodded. “Tell her I’m sorry I won’t get to talk with her anymore.”
“You’ll get to talk with her again. Trust me.”
Miriam walked briskly inside and went to Elsie’s room, halfway expecting Millstone to slap her with a restraining order too. She found Elsie still in her chair, her eyes closed. When she turned to leave, Elsie spoke.
“I was praying, not sleeping. Tell me what happened.”
Miriam told her and Elsie pursed her lips and shook her head.