by Deb Caletti
My mother quizzed us one last time about the plan, which Lillian had agreed to with a nod and tears in her eyes when Peach and Anna Bee had last visited. Finally we loaded into the Lincoln, with Mrs. Wong and Anna Bee in Mrs. Wong’s Mercedes behind us. We waved goodbye to Joe Davis. Sydney and her mom drove up the street just then and yelled “Good luck!” through their rolled-down windows.
Even though Miz June stepped on the gas too hard and we all lurched forward as violently as those crash test dummies in the commercials, I had never felt so happy. It was like a party in my heart.
The Golden Years Rest Home was not officially in Nine Mile Falls, but sat on the boundary marker of it and the neighboring town, as if neither wanted to claim it. As those kinds of places go, it really wasn’t that bad—hunched, drooling people weren’t abandoned in Pine-Sol-smelling halls, like the one place we went to with my seventh-grade choir class. This one had art by the residents up on the walls and a large, attentive staff, which was exactly what our biggest challenge was going to be. That and the fact that Lillian’s daughters were there twice a day, as Peach had already found out when she had visited.
Still, the Golden Years was a place we all wanted to forget about, the way we draw a line in our brain between us and things terrible or unjust. The rooms’ residents with the small gray heads drooped in sleep while the television blared, were not people who once worried about a math test or first learned to drive or hated mustard or fell madly in love. They were void bodies. I guess we were all hoping that if we ignored old age it might go away, the same way my mom turns up the radio whenever her car starts making bad noises.
Stealing Lillian was Mrs. Wong’s show, and for the first time in the group’s history, she met them on time. In fact, she was the first to arrive. She’d even drawn us a map of the place. First floor, reception. Second floor, library, recreation, and dining. Third floor, living quarters. Our two major Points of Challenge, as she’d labeled them on the page, were the main reception desk as you walked in, and the nurses’ station in the middle of Lillian’s floor. We’d divvied up the one receptionist and the three nurses we’d have to get past. It would have been easy if we could have just taken Lillian for a long, long walk, but that wasn’t possible; the staff required a relative to sign her out and a nurse chaperone to take the resident out to the yard. The Golden Years people were lawsuit-paranoid—obviously imagining reckless relatives going for a stroll and forgetting to bring Grandma’s oxygen stand. The only way of escaping was going to be with a mad dash after all of the nurses had been diverted.
Our plan was this: first, Peach and I would arrive to visit Lillian, get her ready, and stuff her things in a bag. After we were in, Harold would arrive. His job was to go to the room of the nearly comatose (and therefore silent) Mr. Fiorio. A few minutes later, Mrs. Wong would enter with the Playboys, Grandfather Wong’s payment in exchange for his performance. Grandfather Wong was excited about the plan, so much so that Mrs. Wong had to bribe him with a can of Almond Roca to make sure he didn’t spill the beans ahead of time.
After five minutes, Grandfather Wong would begin making a commotion. This would busy at least two of the nurses, Mrs. Wong assured us. Enter Harold. He was to call the third nurse, claiming an emergency in Mr. Fiorio’s room. Finally, Mom would arrive in the front, asking the receptionist for information about Golden Years for her mother (who was long dead). She was to do everything she could to get the receptionist to the back room, where the copy machine was, and away from the exit. Miz June was to man the getaway car, and Anna Bee was to keep a lookout for Delores and Nadine in the front parking lot. Chip Jr. would run to help load Lillian’s things in the trunk, and act as extra lookout. All of this had to be done as quickly as possible, for although we knew that Delores and Nadine visited daily, we didn’t know when they might appear.
“Okay, snap to it,” Mrs. Wong said, knocking on the glass of our car window when we reached the parking lot of the rest home. I barely had my seat belt off yet. Anna Bee stood behind Mrs. Wong and peered over her shoulder. I hoped no one was watching us. We already looked pretty suspicious, if you asked me. Anna Bee was rubbing her hands together like a bank robber.
“Good luck, Queens,” Miz June said. Too loudly.
“Let’s go kick butt,” Harold whooped and spun his fist around in circles.
We were doomed.
Peach and I walked up to the automatic doors. I was ridiculously nervous. My stomach was dancing to some music I didn’t like. I could feel rings of sweat growing under my armpits. I was glad for the drifts of clouds that periodically covered the sun—I needed any help I could get to lower my body temperature.
“You’re my granddaughter,” Peach said. I looked over at her. She looked as if she’d dressed up for the occasion of stealing Lillian—her lipstick was a bright pink and she was wearing a sweater with glamorous beads along the collar that she obviously hadn’t worn in a while. It had those little hanger bumps on her shoulders.
The doors shushed open and suctioned closed behind us. Peach looked straight ahead. I felt like I could get a serious case of nervous giggles. Peach was so serious and walking at such a clip that I flashed on the image of her crossing the floor to the “Mission: Impossible” theme. I wanted to burst out laughing. I wanted a bathroom. Maybe I’d judged my mom and the bathroom-nerve thing too harshly.
Peach gave a wave to the receptionist. “My granddaughter,” she said to her. Maybe she should have made me hold a sign. But the receptionist just smiled and went back to whatever she was studying on her desk, probably a People magazine.
We went up two floors in the elevator. The ride took about five years. Peach gave us each a mint from her purse, which I could hear clicking against her teeth as she rolled it in her mouth. That clicking made me want to scream.
We passed the nurses’ desk. “We’re here to see Lillian,” Peach said. “This is my . . .” She was just about to let loose with the granddaughter thing when one of the nurses said, “Oh, hi, Ruby.”
“Friend,” Peach said. “My friend, Ruby.”
“Hi, Mrs. Connors,” I said. Her daughter, Justine, had been in my class during elementary school. In the fifth grade I went to a sleepover at her house, where I stayed awake all night because I worried I might snore or do something else embarrassing when I was asleep. Justine was one of those people who were friendly to you when none of her friends were around.
“How’s your summer been?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Ruby was kind enough to offer to drive me to see my good friend Lillian. My car is having trouble,” Peach said.
“How nice of you,” Mrs. Connors said.
“Broke down in the street, which gave me a real fright, and I don’t want to take that chance again,” Peach said.
“My brother is a car mechanic,” Mrs. Connors said. I could read Peach’s mind. Figures. “If you’d like his number.” Mrs. Connors reached for a pad of paper.
“Oh, that’s all right. My nephew offered to have a look. It’s at his place now.” Peach was gaining new relatives by the minute. “Well, we ought not keep Lillian waiting.” Peach’s smile looked like it was ready to crack and slide down her face. I could hear footsteps coming down the hall. That was sure to be Harold, heading for Mr. Fiorio’s room. He was early.
“She’s in good spirits today,” Mrs. Connors said.
Again, I read Peach’s mind. I’ll bet. At least that was what I was thinking. Past the desk, Peach took a pinch of her sweater near the chest and waved it in and out. “Whew,” she said. “You had to go and know someone. Do you think she suspected anything?”
“Nah,” I said. Here’s what I’ve noticed—a guilty conscience is like a pimple. We think people see it way worse than they do.
“I hope we don’t have trouble with Lillian’s roommate.” Peach knocked on the door.
“Lillian has a roommate?’
“Come in,” the roommate said.
“Helen,” Peach said. “Didn�
�t I mention her? Deaf as a doorknob. Hi, Helen,” Peach said loudly.
“More people for Lillian. No one ever comes to see me. This place is like Grand Central Station,” Helen said. She lay in bed in a flowered housecoat. Her face was dominated by a huge pair of glasses. It was all you noticed. Her ears may have been suffering, but her eyes were getting military-size help. By her bed was a picture of a cat in a frame. I wondered if she’d had to leave him, a beloved friend, behind somewhere. Lillian was upright at the edge of her bed. She gave us a wide smile. I don’t think I’d ever seen her smile before—it was as if she’d suddenly inhabited her body again. Her eyes even twinkled. You could see that she was once beautiful. You could picture her dancing. You could picture her writing poetry, arranging flowers in a vase. She made a fist with her good hand, held it near her chest. An excited heart, she seemed to say. Happiness.
“Oh, Lillian. I am thrilled for you,” Peach said. I wanted to cry. Lillian’s little slippers with the elastic all around the top made my heart feel as if it might break. I was also filled with surging energy. We had to make this happen for her. We had to get her out of there.
Peach looked at her watch. “Oh, dear, we’re almost late. Going to the doctor,” Peach said to Helen.
“I’ve never liked Walter. Bad breath,” Helen said. “Why my sister married him, I’ll never know.”
“Doctor,” Peach shouted. “Ruby, get the wheelchair. We’ve got to hurry. Grandfather Wong will be erupting at any minute.”
“Doctor,” Helen said. “She doesn’t need a doctor. She’s the picture of health. Look at me. My foot’s been swollen for three days.” She plucked one foot out of the covers and held it up. I was worried her housecoat was going to slide too far up and I was going to see more than I wanted to. Her foot did look kind of swollen. “No one will listen to me.”
“That’s because she talks without stopping,” Peach said. Lillian gave a patient nod. You got that right, she seemed to say.
I’d already checked the closet, but no wheelchair. I looked in the adjacent bathroom and under the bed.
“Come on, Ruby, get on with it,” Peach said.
“I think we’ve got a problem,” I said.
“We can’t have a problem. We don’t have time for a problem.”
I looked behind the door, any space big enough. “Do you have a wheelchair?” I asked Helen.
“No one is allowed to leave without the nurse. She brings it,” Helen said. It made her feel good to know the rules, you could tell. Her voice was sitting up straight.
“Shit,” Peach said.
“Don’t panic,” I said. I felt like panicking.
“Find one!” Peach said. She had her back to Helen. She was stuffing a few of Lillian’s things in her bag.
“What are you doing over there?” Helen said. She narrowed her eyes. Those glasses were like two telescopes.
“Do something, Ruby! We can’t get her out of here without a wheelchair!”
“Don’t worry.” Something people say when they are worried as hell. “I’ll go look in another room.”
“Just hurry.”
I peered out in the hall. I could hear Mrs. Wong talking to the nurses.
He’s been very excitable today.
And then Mrs. Wong: Oh dear. One of Grandfather’s bad days. She clucked her tongue in concern.
He keeps saying someone’s getting kidnapped.
Shit, shit!
Last week it was the F.B.I. Mrs Wong said. She was good at this. Well, no Almond Roca for Grandfather Wong.
Wheelchair. I sped into a neighboring room, two owllike faces giving me surprised looks. The room was identical to Lillian’s except for a few personal items. There would be no wheelchair here, either. I knew there were some behind the nurses’ station, but that would be way, way too dangerous. Supply closet? I crept down the hall. Please, I begged. Please, just a little bit of luck.
Mrs. Wong stopped talking. I heard her heels clip down the hall and the nurses start to talk about her behind her back.
I wish I had a chunk of her change.
Car salesmen wear less jewelry, Mrs. Connors said.
I was filled with anger. I would have defended Mrs. Wong if I could right then. Mrs. Wong had guts. Mrs. Wong had spirit. It struck me how much I cared about her, about all of them.
And then there it was. The wheelchair, thank God. Sitting and facing the bed of a man in a plaid robe with matching plaid slippers, two rooms down from the owl faces. The man wore a sweater over his robe, as if preparing to go outside. Unfortunately, he’d have to wait a little.
I took hold of the handles of the wheelchair.
“You’re new,” he said sweetly.
“Got to borrow this for a minute,” I said.
“Hey!” he said to my back as I peered down the hallway and headed out with the chair.
“Emergency,” I said. “Heart attack.”
I raced down the hall with the chair. The squeak of the wheels on linoleum sounded loud and furious, Revenge of the Wheelchair in Surround-Sound volume. I was really starting to sweat now. My heart was going a thousand miles an hour.
“I am not a communist, God damn it!”
Grandfather Wong’s first shout.
“First they steal from me and then they say I am a communist!” I heard a crash, breaking glass. Grandfather Wong was doing a great job, but oh, God, we were supposed to have Lillian ready to fly out of there by now. I zipped into the room, just as I saw a flash of white pass the hallway. Nurse number one, check.
“Jesus, what took you so long?” Peach said. “Grandfather Wong is going at it.”
“You try finding a wheelchair in this place.”
“Only nurses are allowed to move us,” Helen said.
“I got permission,” I said.
Lillian clutched her purse to her as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there.
“Something fishy is going on here,” Helen said.
“Get your hands off me! I am a citizen!” Grandfather Wong shouted down the hall. I heard a solid thump, another crash.
“Olivia!” a nurse shouted. “Quick!”
Nurse number two.
“Heave ho,” Peach said. We pulled Lillian up. She was helping all she could. We set her down a little roughly in the chair. Our aim wasn’t the greatest either—one thin butt cheek was tilted up the side of the chair.
“I’m calling the nurse,” Helen said. “You two are trouble and you can’t tell me different.”
I acted on instinct. I ran to Helen’s bed. “Look,” I said, taking her hand and leaning down next to her ear. “We’re getting Lillian out of this place to be with the man she loves.” Helen’s eyes got big behind the glasses. Big as Poe’s would be in the pictures Chip Jr. just took of him. “You can be part of helping her escape.” It was a gamble based on my feeling that people who most stringently adhered to rules were the ones who most enjoyed the secret thought of breaking them.
Helen shut up. She looked pleased. “I once ran an illegal gambling organization,” Helen said.
For a moment, that stopped me in my tracks. You just never thought that people with crocheted Kleenex box covers could be crooks, or great successes, for that matter. Think about it next time you see someone old, wheeling around in his motorized scooter with an American flag on a pole on the back. He could have been a jewel thief. Or a concert pianist. “I’ll come back to visit you,” I said.
“If they ever let you back in,” Peach said. She sounded a little jealous. I was supposed to be her granddaughter, after all.
“Let’s go,” I said. I ran up the hall, checked to see if the nurses’ station was clear. From the entrance of the hall, I waved my okay. Poor Lillian still had one butt cheek up. Mr. Wong was still crashing around in his room. More glass breaking.
“Calm down, Mr. Wong! Get Elaine,” one of the nurses shouted.
“She’s in another room.”
“Get her!”
Grandfather Wong was overdoing
it a bit. That’s all we needed, for the nurse in Mr. Fiorio’s room to come wandering out right then. I held up my hand in a stop position. Peach froze the wheelchair mid-hall. Mrs. Wong knew what to do, though. “Quiet down a bit,” she cooed. “It’s all right.” I could picture her squeezing her nails into Grandfather Wong’s arm, stepping her heel onto his foot as a message. There was sudden quiet. Probably Grandfather Wong was in too much pain to talk.
We waited a few beats. No one emerged. I waved Peach forward again.
Just then Mrs. Connors emerged from Mr. Fiorio’s room. Shit! I waved my hands madly at Peach. Go back! Peach looked struck and frozen with fear. Where could she go? Mrs. Connors was heading for her desk. If she passed the hallway, she’d be certain to see Lillian. Down the hall, Helen’s head popped out of her room. She wanted to watch. I waved madly at her too. Back inside!
I leaned against the wall, trying to look casual. My heart was going crazy. I felt like I was trying to conduct an orchestra of lunatics. I leaned against that wall as if it was just something I did all the time. Why anyone would be leaning across the wall looking casual right there was something I hadn’t figured out quite yet. I heard a huge skidding squeak of wheelchair tires behind me. If Mrs. Connors hadn’t heard that, it’d be a miracle.
“Wow,” I said loudly. “Whew.” I scraped the toe of my tennis shoe hard against the floor, trying to replicate the sound.
Thankfully, Mrs. Connors’ ears hadn’t moved on yet from Grandfather Wong’s squawking. “All that commotion!” Mrs. Connors said. She looked at me there, leaning against the wall. “You’ve probably never heard anything like it before. We get it here on occasion. Feel free to eavesdrop.”
She crossed the hall to her desk. I could only hope that behind me, Lillian and Peach had made it out of sight. Please, I prayed. I couldn’t tell if Mrs. Connors was being cruel or kind with her remark. “I was looking for a soda machine,” I said stupidly. Yep, hysterical outbursts in rest homes always gave me an unquenchable thirst.