Joy Argento - Carrie and Hope

by Joy Argento

  Acknowledgements

  Special Thanks to:

  Leah

  Barbara

  Jenny

  Stephanie

  Lisa

  Susan

  Jessica

  Kate

  Sue

  and Jane

  Extra special thanks to Leah Zicari for letting me use her song lyrics as the poems in this book. Check her music out iTunes, Amazon, www.cdbaby.com and www.youtube.com.

  Carrie and Hope

  Joy Argento

  Ride the Rainbow Books

  www.RideTheRainbowBooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events are purely coincidental.

  Books are not transferable. It is an infringement on the copyright to sell, share or give away this work without written permission from the author.

  “Carrie and Hope” Copyright © 2011 by Joy Argento

  “Safe Hands” Copyright ©2004 Leah Zicari, used by permission

  “Run” Copyright ©2003 Leah Zicari, used by permission

  “Saint Jude” Copyright ©2006 Leah Zicari, used by permission

  Chapter 1

  “So what do you think, Gram?” Carrie asked. She squeezed a little more moisturizing lotion out of the small white tube and rubbed her hands together to warm it. The rich smell of spicy vanilla filled the room, displacing the smell of disinfectant in the air.

  Carrie picked up her grandmother’s hand and gently worked the lotion into the old woman’s skin. Eleanor Brice’s hand looked all of its seventy-four years. Blue veins were visible through the thin skin, speckled with brown age spots. Her face, however, belied her age. She could have easily passed for a woman ten years younger.

  Sunlight poured through two large windows and fell gracefully onto pastel green walls. Carrie, still dressed in the dark blue Dockers and long sleeve pale pink shirt that she wore to work, sat in one of the two chairs in the room next to the hospital bed. The other chair sat against the far wall. The sparsely furnished room included two small tables, one on each side of the headboard.

  “I am only telling this to you, Gram,” Carrie continued. She leaned forward a little in her chair, and lowered her voice. “I’m sure everyone else would think it’s premature, but I think it might help. I am not sure how to handle this. Maybe talking to other people about it would help. I don’t know what else to do or where else to go to help me figure this out.” Carrie began working on her grandmother’s other hand in the same way with a fresh dab of lotion.

  “I know what you are thinking. You think I can just talk to Mom about this. Right? Well, just between you and me”, Carrie lowered her voice again until it was just above a whisper. “I think Mom is in major denial.” Carrie placed the old woman’s hand down gently on the bed. “Talking to her doesn’t work. I think she is feeling just as lost about this as I am, but she won’t admit it.”

  “How is our favorite resident?” the nurse asked Carrie as she entered the room. “How are you doing today, Mrs. Brice?” She addressed the older woman directly, as she pulled her blanket down on the bed a little and folded it over.

  “She’s doing the same,” Carrie said to the nurse. “I was just putting some lotion on her hands. She always likes to keep her hands soft. And we were having a nice little chat.”

  The nurse smiled at Carrie. “You are such a good granddaughter. Visiting your grandmother so often. I’m sure she appreciates it.”

  “So how are you today, Marge?” Carrie asked the nurse. They had talked on several other occasions when Carrie visited her grandmother.

  “Very busy. Planning my daughter’s wedding. She doesn’t want to listen to any of my ideas and all we seem to do it butt heads.” Marge shook her head. Her short red hair swept back and forth. “Kids. What are you going to do with them?”

  “How old is she?” Carrie asked politely.

  “Thirty-two. This is her third wedding.” Marge said as she pushed black-rimmed glasses farther up on her nose.

  Carrie brought her attention back to her grandmother. “Do you think she hears anything that I’m saying to her?” Carrie had asked this question before. She asked the doctor when her grandmother was first brought into the hospital, and she repeated it to several of the staff members at the nursing home after her grandmother was moved there.

  Her grandmother had been a healthy, active senior citizen just three months ago, living in her own apartment in Hill Manor Senior Apartments. She still did her own cooking and cleaning, rarely needing help with anything. A slip and fall in her bathroom caused the coma that stilled her life, a feeding tube the only thing standing between life and death.

  Carrie had been at her grandmother’s bedside every day after work and every weekend in the first few weeks after the accident. Now, she tried to come at least every other day. It was begining to wear on her and make her feel much older than her thirty-four years.

  The nurse patted Carrie’s hand. “I would like to think that she hears and understands every word you say. But I really don’t know, Miss Martin.”

  “Please call me Carrie.”

  “Carrie,” the nurse repeated. “Anything I can get for you? Would you like a cup of coffee? We have a fresh pot at the nurses’ station.” She fussed a little more with the blankets.

  Carrie shook her head. Her dark blond hair moved gently over her shoulders as she did. It hung down longer than she normally wore it. She just hadn’t bothered to take the time to get it cut since her grandmother’s accident. “No, thank you. I’m all set,” she said to the nurse.

  Carrie appreciated the kind and accommodating staff at the Sunnyside Nursing Home. She knew that her grandmother was in good hands. Marge nodded and quietly slipped out of the room, softly closing the door behind her. Carrie was once again alone with her grandmother.

  She leaned over and brushed a stray piece of gray hair from her grandmother’s forehead. “So where was I? Oh yeah, I found a group that meets tomorrow night. It’s pretty close by here in fact. I know most people would think that joining a grief support group would be a stupid idea, but Gram I miss you and I feel like even though you are here and still breathing,” Carrie brushed a tear as it escaped from her green eyes and rolled down her cheek. “Well, I just feel like I’ve lost you and I miss you. I don’t know what else to do. So I’m going to go to this group and see if it helps to talk to other people. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Carrie reached over and picked up the gossip magazine that lay on the table by her grandmother’s bed. She flipped through it trying to find an article that she thought her grandmother would like. She finally settled on an article about George Clooney and began to read it out loud to her.

  “Did you like that story, Gram?” she asked when she finished reading. “I know you have a little crush on George. What is it that you always said about him? Oh yeah. ‘He’s a really good looking fella.’ Remember saying that Gram?”

  Carrie laughed at the memory. She had a lot of memories of her grandmother. She spent the first seventeen years of her life living next door to her. Carrie loved her mom and they got along like most mothers and daughters. Sometimes they got along fine and other times they…well, other times they didn’t get along fine. They went through a particularly rough time in their relationship when Carrie was in her teens. But no matter how she was getting along with her mother, Carrie loved going next door and visiting her grandmother. Her grandmother was special. She loved nothing better than spending the day with her “Grammy” as she called her when she was little.

  Grammy’s house always felt warm and inviting. The smell of something baking filled the air. Gram was free with her hugs and always had t
ime for Carrie. If she showed up at Grammy’s house while Grammy was making pies, she would stop long enough to break off a piece of dough and hand it to Carrie along with her very own little rolling pin that she kept in the kitchen drawer. Carrie would work that piece of dough until it was smooth and flat and round. Grammy helped her crimp the edges around the miniature size pie pan and cut off the extra crust that hung over the edge. Together they would fill the pies with fresh fruit and sugar and put them in the oven. Carrie always got to turn the dial on the old white timer and set it on the table while the pies baked.

  Carrie had considered her grandmother to be more than a grandmother. She was a second mother and her best friend. Her grandpa had died suddenly when Carrie was fourteen. It was a very rough time for her grandmother, but Carrie spent even more time with her to help out in any way she could. It brought them even closer together.

  Carrie could talk to her grandmother about anything, school, friends, her hopes and her dreams. Her grandmother in return, told her stories about what it was like when she was a child and what it was like growing up in the “olden days” before every house had indoor plumbing or electricity.

  Now Carrie was doing all of the talking, and she hoped that at least her grandmother was listening.

  Chapter 2

  Carried leaned back against the wall across from the door. The drab, gray hallway reminded her of a basement. The dim light from a single light bulb did nothing to change that impression. She looked at the door and read the room number again. Yes. Room seventeen, the room for the grief support group. Now that she was here she wasn’t sure that she wanted to go in. The people in that room had all lost loved ones and she hadn’t. Her grandmother was still alive. Did she have a right to be here? Was her grief premature? Was she dismissing her grandmother as dead before she really was? She stood up straight, lifting her back from the wall. She smoothed down her V-neck light blue pull over shirt. It wasn’t fancy, but it was dressier than the tee shirts she often wore when she wasn’t working. Carrie looked once again at the number on the door as if it would tell her what to do. It didn’t.

  She was still standing there when a woman rounded the corner and almost ran right into her.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” the woman said as she stopped a step short of Carrie. The woman was a couple of inches taller than Carrie’s five-foot, five height. She had dark brown hair with a little bit of a wave to it. It hung a couple of inches below her shoulder. Carrie guessed her to be about the same age, maybe a little bit older. Carrie’s attention was immediately drawn to the amber brown eyes of the woman that stood before her. They were ringed in a much darker brown with flecks of gold. She wore just a hint of make up. Her soft features were accentuated by a summer tan that still lingered despite the fact that it was nearly fall.

  Carrie took a sideways step. “No, it was my fault,” she said to the attractive stranger. The dark green floral print blouse and black dress pants that she wore gave her an understated elegant look.

  The woman continued to look at Carrie. She hesitated before speaking. “Are you here for the grief support group?” She raised her eyebrows slightly with the question, making those brown eyes seem even bigger and brighter, even with the bad lighting in the hallway.

  Carrie cleared her throat. “Um, well, good question. I am still deciding if I want to go in.”

  The woman ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down with a bit of anxiety. The dark brown waves fell back into place as the fingers released them. “I am not sure I want to go in either to tell you the truth. But I promised someone I would. So if it would help, we can sit together.” A bit of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  Carrie sensed her nervousness. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go in. I made it this far, I may as well go all the way.”

  The woman held open the door and gestured for Carrie to go in first. Carrie nodded her thanks and crossed the threshold. Several people were standing around a room that was as dimly lit as the hallway had been. Carrie wondered if this was done purposely to try to give the room a somber feel. If so, it was working. In the center of the room sat twelve metal folding chairs arranged in a loose circle. A long table with a cheap, yellow plastic tablecloth sat against the wall on the right hand side. It held several plates of cookies, cheese and crackers, and other goodies. A coffee maker with a full pot of coffee sat next to the food.

  A tall man with a thick, dark mustache and thin, greasy, black hair watched the two women walk into the room. Tufts of curly black hair peeked out of the top of his tight-fitting faded old Yankee tee shirt. His eyes traveled up the length of each woman in turn, pausing on their breasts before briefly looking at their faces. Carrie was sure she saw him wink at her. She turned to her companion to see if she noticed his strange and rude behavior. She hadn’t. Her attention was on the plates of sugar cookies on the table.

  A well dress middle-aged man entered the room through a second doorway in the back. There was a cheerful air about him despite the lack of a smile on his face. He carried a stack of paper napkins and a box of Kleenex with him. He placed the napkins on the table near the coffee maker and held the box of tissues in his hand as he turned and surveyed the people in the room before speaking.

  “Hello, can I get everyone’s attention please? Everyone.” The room grew quiet as the group turned towards the speaker. “All right. I think everyone is here now,” he said. “If you would each like to take a chair we can get started.”

  The people slowly made their way to the circle of chairs. Carrie sat down next to the woman she had met at the door. She ran her hands over her jeans as if she were wiping off sweaty palms. It was a nervous habit that she had picked up despite the fact that her hands were dry. She looked around at the small group seated there. The doubts crept back in. She wasn’t sure this was where she belonged. The feeling that she was betraying her grandmother overwhelmed her. Her eyes filled with tears and she fought the urge to cry.

  The group leader spoke again. “I would like to welcome everyone here tonight.” He passed the box of Kleenex around the circle. Carrie pulled out several of the thin sheets and wiped her eyes. “I think we’ll get started here by going around the group and introducing ourselves and saying a little bit about why we are here. You can say what ever you are comfortable with. We’ll get into more in-depth discussions the next time we meet. But for now, let’s just get to know each other a little. I’ll start.” All eyes were on the man as he told the group his name was Eric. He decided to start this group after finding help with his own grieving process after losing his wife only four years into their marriage in a car accident, thirteen years ago. This was his fourth time leading a support group like this one. When he finished his story he asked the young woman on his left to introduce herself.

  Each person in turn took the floor and told their stories of sadness and the loss that brought them here. Each story was filled with emotion and pain, until the man with the thick mustache and greasy hair took the floor.

  “Hello, everyone.” He smiled showing a mouth full of nicotine-yellowed teeth. “My name is Mike and my wife died four months ago and I have decided that it is time to get over my grief and get out into the world again. I’m tired of being alone when I have so much to offer. So, I figured I got to get over this grief thing if I am going to find the next Miss Right.”

  Is this guy for real? Carrie thought. She looked around the circle as he continued to talk. A few people looked a little shocked by what he had said but most looked like they were too absorbed in their own thoughts to notice. He went on and on about putting himself back into circulation. He sounded more like a bad ad for a dating service than someone that was missing his spouse. After several minutes of his rambling, the group leader cut him off.

  “Thanks, Mike,” Eric said. “I think we’ll stop here and take a fifteen-minute break. We’ll finish up the introductions after that. Please feel free to help yourself to the snacks and coffee on the table.” He stood up and hea
ded directly to the coffee.

  Carrie leaned forward in her chair and rested her chin on her hands with her elbows on her thighs. The threat of tears had stopped, but she was still feeling out of place. She closed her eyes and took a deep breathe as the rest of the group, including the friendly stranger from the hallway, got up from their chairs and headed towards the food. The sound of a chair scraping the floor next to her, made her open her eyes and look at the person who sat down in the chair next to her.

  She looked into Mike’s beady eyes. His hair looked even greasier up close. “Hey,” Mike said. Carrie saw the wink again. “I just wanted you to know that I noticed you and I’m a good listener if you want to talk about your grief or yourself or anything. I’m really good at umm, listening. If you get my drift.”

  Carrie couldn’t believe her ears. “No, thank you.” She shook her head.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m just offering my services to help in your time of need.” he flashed her a grin that made her stomach lurch.

  “Services?” she grimaced, sorry that she asked as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  “Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.”

  Carrie wasn’t rude by nature but didn’t see a way out of this but to be blunt. “Well, I’m not interested.”

  “Oh come on, baby, we could be good together. I just know it.” Carrie couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy.

  “Really. Not. Interested.” Carrie said a little more harshly than she intended. Mike got up without another word. Carrie watched him strut over to the woman she had talked to outside the door. She watched the animated conversation. The woman took a step backwards away from him but he moved forward each time she stepped back. Unbelievable. Carrie thought. I should go over and rescue her.