“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Steph said. She bit her lip and took a steadying breath. She had a good idea of how Rosa was going to take the news. And it wasn’t good.
Steph followed Susan into the room. Rosa was awake but barely. Her eyes looked bleary. It had been three days of morphine, antibiotics, and glucose. She hadn’t had any solid foods.
For her part, Steph had tried to keep busy the past few days. She cooked for Gary’s wife who warmly received the casseroles, despite their both knowing her freezer was stuffed from all the other friends and neighbors.
Now the big thing in Steph’s own life was telling Rosa about the repercussions of her injury. Susan hadn’t allowed anyone other than Steph in to see Rosa, seeming to know she wasn’t ready to face the concern and pity of her friends and fellow officers.
Rosa blinked several times as if trying to get the fog out of her head. Steph considered postponing the news until Rosa was more with it. She looked over at Susan who appeared to be considering the same thing.
“It’s time,” Rosa said, ending the quandary.
“Time for what?” Steph came over and lightly brushed the hair off Rosa’s forehead.
“You think I don’t know that my legs aren’t functioning? I was shot in the back. I’m not stupid. I want to know what’s going on. I have a right.”
Susan nodded. “All right. You sustained an injury to your T-12, S-5 vertebrae. The bullet did not sever your spinal cord—but barely. You can be thankful for that.”
“Because then I’d be paralyzed from the waist down,” Rosa said. She wiggled her toes as if to remind herself she wasn’t paralyzed. “So, I’m not going to be running any marathons.”
Susan picked up her chart and pretended to study it.
“That’s not going to tell you anything you don’t already know, Susan,” Rosa said. “Tell me the truth, plain and simple.”
Susan looked up. The wrinkles in her forehead seemed to deepen. “With extensive physical therapy, you could walk again.”
“See, it’s not bad. A bump in the road,” Steph said, stroking Rosa’s arm.
Rosa swatted her hand away. “Easy for you to say. Your life is the same. You didn’t lose your career.”
“All our lives changed,” Susan said.
“Don’t,” Rosa snapped. “You know goddamn good and well that I’m going to live my life as a fuckin’ cripple.”
Steph took a step back. She had never seen Rosa like this. She’d seen her angry, sure, but not like this. Rosa looked… feral, for lack of a better word. Steph bit back her own flash of anger. She did not say, “Oh, really? My life hasn’t changed? I have ramps all over our house to remind me, built by a friend that cares so much about you that she helps me every day to keep it together. We’ve all put our lives on hold to be there for you. Our lives haven’t changed?”
Susan cocked her head. “Alienating people is not in your best interest right now. Especially your doctor and your partner,” she said.
“Get the hell out of here,” Rosa said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “Both of you. Out.”
Susan’s eyes met Steph’s. “Let’s give her some space,” Susan said.
Steph’s jaw tightened. Rosa glared at her. “Yeah, I need space. Why don’t you go walk around for awhile,” Rosa said, snidely.
Steph ran her tongue over her teeth and took a deep breath. “All right.” She walked out of the room. Susan followed and shut the door behind her.
“That went well,” Steph said.
“She’s angry. It’s understandable,” Susan said.
“Is it? She wasn’t even interested in your entire diagnosis. I don’t think she even cares. It’s like she’s given up already.”
“It’s shock. Lots of people start out that way,” Susan said. “She’ll come around. Deep down Rosa’s a fighter. She can do this.”
“But can I?” Steph thought. This time it was Steph who walked away, leaving Susan alone.
***
Rosa squeezed the morphine pump and waited for the blessed oblivion it brought. She knew she was lashing out, but couldn’t help it. The moment she’d been shot in the back, before she’d lost consciousness, she knew her whole world had upended itself. Nothing would ever be the same. She stared at the flowers that filled the room. Some of them were in their death throes. And her life was shriveling right along with them.
How did she expect Steph to handle it? She didn’t want Steph to be chained to a cripple for life. Steph’s life was as ruined as hers. Steph would have to care for her in every way while trying to keep her own world functioning. Rosa knew Steph would worry incessantly whenever she left the house. Would Steph be able to function with all that on her shoulders? Her job was even more dangerous than Rosa’s had been.
Getting shot, Gary dying, Carol and her daughter’s pain, and the distinct possibility that she might never walk again weighed heavily. Rosa wondered if she could bear it. She wondered if she even wanted to bear it.
She stared out the window. Brightly colored leaves swirled around, signaling that fall would soon end and winter, with all its new difficulties, would arrive. What would they do, put studded tires on her wheelchair? Maybe chains. She chuckled at that. Fenton didn’t usually have much snow but studded wheelchair tires couldn’t combat black ice. She’d be stuck inside all winter. A miserable shut-in watching daytime TV and talking back to the characters like they were her best friends.
“It’s nice to see you laughing,” Parker said.
Rosa hadn’t heard her come in. “I wouldn’t call it laughing. I’d call it wry humor.”
“Tell me,” Parker said. She walked over to the flowers and plucked the dead leaves.
“I was thinking about winter and how I would need studded wheelchair tires to get around.”
“We don’t get much snow,” Parker said. “But you could run over people’s toes if they pissed you off. Those studs would hurt.”
Rosa laughed for real this time. “I can already think of a few assholes who’d deserve it.”
“See, a bonus feature of your injury.” Parker crossed her arms over her chest in the manner of an authority figure. “You need to be nice to Steph.”
“What, did she send you in here to fight her battles?” Rosa asked.
“No. But I saw her on the way out. She didn’t look too good. I figured you had a go at her.”
“And how’d you figure that?”
Parker shrugged and dumped a handful of dead leaves into the trash can by the side of the bed. “It adds up. You’re a physical person. You have a physical job. And your legs have been knocked out from under you. You have a fifty-fifty chance of walking again. And even if you do, you’ll never walk the same as before. That would piss me off, too.”
Parker was the first person who hadn’t gone all Sally Sunshine on her, giving her the “you’ll walk again and everything will go back to normal” crap. How the hell could they know that? Nothing was ever certain. They all knew it. Rosa never had abided bullshit.
“Your life is currently in shambles. No use denying that,” Parker said.
Rosa had always respected, and in some ways admired, Parker’s social awkwardness. She said it point blank, called it like it was, and some people, mostly ex-girlfriends, didn’t like her for it. But right now, it was what Rosa needed.
Rosa’s eyes were getting heavy from the morphine. She could feel her mind clouding over.
“That’s the bad news. What’s the good news?” Rosa asked dreamily.
Parker said, “The good news is that I’m going to help you walk again.”
Those were the last words Rosa heard before the morphine swept her away her to la-la land.
***
After work, Amy stopped by Millie’s house. She did that most days. Millie had been so kind to her when Amy’s mother was sick. She’d lived with Millie until she’d moved in with Parker. When she pulled into the driveway, Millie’s car, The Judge, was parked next to a car Amy didn’t recognize.
It was a white Buick LeSabre with an NRA sticker on the bumper.
Amy parked on the street and walked across the yard to the porch. As usual, she lightly rapped on the door before opening it.
What she saw stopped her cold in her tracks.
“Oh. My. God,” Amy breathed.
Millie’s living room had been turned into an armory. Handguns, shotguns, rifles, and semi-automatics, were carefully laid out on every available flat surface. The room reeked of gunpowder and gun oil.
Millie and her friends, Clara, Mabel, and Edna, all women in their seventies and eighties, were perched on the edge of their seats. Standing front and center was a tall woman, wearing faded blue overalls that matched her eyes. Her silver hair was pulled tightly back and wound into a braid that hung halfway down her back. She reminded Amy of an Amazonian warrior. She was holding a rifle with a scope.
The Amazon smiled at Amy and leaned the rifle against the brick fireplace. She held out her arms. “You must be Amy,” the woman said. “I’m your Aunt Bernice, but you can call me Bernie.”
Amy gravitated right into Bernie’s embrace. She instantly felt comfortable. Here she was holding her mother’s younger sister, the one estranged from them all because she was gay. Even Jean, her mother’s older sister, whom she’d often confused with Amy during her sickness, had shunned this poor woman because of her sexual orientation.
Millie had told Amy that Bernie had been in Hawaii, fulfilling her late partner’s wish to have her ashes scattered in the tropical waters. Bernie had stayed in Hawaii for a while, hanging out with the beach bums, until she’d exhausted her savings and come home.
Bernie released Amy. “I just got back into town. Sorry I missed your mama’s funeral. I would’ve come, but… Mary’s probably rolling over in her grave just knowing I crossed the county line. She never knew I was living so close. Scofield isn’t but fifty miles from here. Millie wanted me to come meet up with you. And do a gun demo for these pretty ladies,” Bernie said, “while I was at it.”
“Cuz we’re going shoot those drug-toting bastards that shot up our friends,” Mabel said, standing and cocking a 12-gauge shotgun.
Amy chuckled. It was a comic picture. Mable was all of four feet ten inches tall. The shotgun was almost longer than she was tall. She was a little pit bull of a woman.
Clara snatched the gun away from her wife. “Mabel, we talked about this already. You have to practice on your Daisy air rifle before you get the real thing.”
Mabel harrumphed and glowered at Clara.
Mabel and Clara were lovers. And they couldn’t have been more opposite. Clara was tall and regal and a snazzy dresser.
Edna patted Mabel’s arm. “It’s just for practice. When the time comes, we’ll all get a gun,” Edna said.
Amy was astounded that Edna and Mabel were sitting next to each other on the couch, much less talking to each other. “I thought you all were… not the best of friends.”
“We aren’t,” Mabel said. “I still hate her.”
“And I hate her right back,” Edna said. “But we’re joined in solidarity against the forces of evil. ‘The enemies of my enemies are my friends.’ That was written in the Bible.”
Amy didn’t bother to correct her.
“And she bought me a Dead Pool costume to replace the Green Lantern one that she smeared dog shit on,” Mabel said.
“It was the least I could do,” Edna said.
“And I promised to never put dog shit on her door handles again,” Mabel said.
“Can I put that in the paper?” Amy asked.
“Sure!” Mabel said. “Just spell my name right.”
Amy could see the headline now. “Feud ends. Enemies fight common cause.” She’d better leave out the part about guns. “So, where’d you get all the guns?”
“They’re all my babies,” Bernie said. “I’m taking these ladies out to the shooting range after we finish our gun safety lesson. Did you want to tag along?”
“No, thank you. Guns scare me,” Amy said.
“No, worries, honey, I’ve got your back,” Millie said.
“Me too,” Mabel said, snatching up a pistol.
“Um… I don’t want to interrupt your lesson. I just dropped by to make sure Millie was okay,” Amy said.
Clara took the gun out of Mabel’s hand and placed it back on the coffee table next to the plate of brownies.
Amy gulped when she saw the brownies. She certainly hoped they weren’t Clara’s famous brownies. The brownies of Alice B. Toklas fame. Somehow she didn’t think marijuana and guns were a good mix.
Clara caught Amy staring at the plate. “Want a brownie?”
Amy shook her head. “Better not.”
“They’re unleaded, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Clara said. She held the plate under Amy’s nose.
Amy couldn’t resist. “Just one.” She selected a brownie and took a big bite.
Bernie sat down heavily in Millie’s rocking chair and looked at Amy. “How do you feel about the circus?”
“Me?” Amy asked.
Bernie nodded. “I haven’t seen you since you were just a li’l bit. There’s a circus coming to town this weekend. I thought you might want to go with me.”
“Um…” Amy stuttered.
Millie answered for her. “I think that’s a great idea. Why don’t we bring Delia? And Sam, the little boy Jeb and Clementine are fostering. I bet he’d like to go, too. It’d be a good distraction for the little people.”
“And the big people, too,” Bernie said. “Maybe your new woman could come. I’d love to meet this Parker.”
“Sure, okay, I’ll ask her.”
“I want to come,” Mabel said. “The circus sounds like a hoot.”
“No circus for you,” Clara said. “Remember what happened to the last clown you saw?”
Mabel’s face scrunched up, resembling an angry little fist.
“She’s the only person I know who’s ever issued a restraining order against a clown,” Clara said.
“I’ve never heard this story,” Bernie said.
Clara said, “Mabel walked behind the big tent after the show…”
“I didn’t want to get squished in the crowd, so I was taking a shortcut to the parking lot,” Mabel explained.
Clara continued, “She goes behind the tent and and sees this clown…”
Mabel interrupts, “I thought it was a balloon he was twisting into funny shapes. How was I supposed to know that was his penis?”
Amy’s mouth dropped open.
Mabel shrugged. “Lesson learned. Never accept a balloon from a strange clown.”
***
“The circus?” Parker asked.
“Yes,” Amy said, as she chopped up a particularly pungent onion. They were in their kitchen preparing dinner. They were having roasted potatoes with onions and carrots wrapped in tinfoil and cooked outside on the grill with hamburgers. They cooked everything on the grill because neither one of them were good in the kitchen. Amy had tried a couple of times, but it was like she had a cooking curse set upon her. When she lived in New York City she ate out all the time. Most people there did. She didn’t even know anyone who cooked.
“What are we going to do in the winter when we can’t grill?” Amy asked.
“Who says you can’t grill in the winter?”
“What about bad weather?” Amy asked, gazing out the big picture window at the lake. She and Parker lived in a house that sat right on the lake. It was a beautifully crafted home, filled with soft glowing wood, comfortable furniture, records, movies, and books. A tiny slice of heaven. Amy loved it.
“We’ll have soup.”
“We don’t know how to make soup,” Amy countered.
“We’ll have canned soup.”
Amy quickly brushed away a sudden flood of tears. Parker looked alarmed. “We don’t have to have soup. We could get one of those crock pot things and make chili. And I’ll go to the circus. No problem. I love circuses.”
<
br /> “Parker, it’s the onion. I’m not really crying.”
“Oh. I don’t have to get a crock pot and make chili?”
“No, but I’d love it if you’d go to the circus with me. My Aunt Bernie really wants to meet you.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Do you really like the circus?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been,” Parker said. She scooped up the diced onion and tossed it over the red potatoes she’d cut into wedges.
“Think of it as a cultural experience,” Amy said. She watched as Parker sprinkled salt and pepper on the potatoes. “You know, we can kind of cook.”
“Remember to tell Steph that next time she gives us crap.”
They worked in silence for a moment.
“Gary’s funeral is tomorrow,” Amy said.
“I know. Rosa was upset when she found out she couldn’t go.”
“That’s got to be hard,” Amy said. She picked up the platter with the hamburger patties. Parker had fashioned the patties into squares. Amy had no idea why. It was just Parker. There were a lot things different about Parker and Amy loved her for it. Parker was definitely one of a kind.
Chapter Five
At the hospital the next morning, Steph watched closely as Susan explained what had to be done while the nurse performed the necessary tasks. It would be Steph’s responsibility when Rosa was released to change the bandages and monitor the drainage from the wound for any signs of infection.
“Okay, Rosa, I’ll be back in the afternoon for rounds. I’ll check on you then,” Susan said.
“Are you going to Gary’s funeral?” Steph asked.
Susan pursed her lips. “I’ll try to make the reception.” Her stern look said, “I thought we agreed not to talk about this in front of Rosa.”
Rosa groaned as they turned her over. “I wish I could go. But I understand why I can’t,” Rosa said in a too-pleasant tone.
“I’m glad you feel that way. I know how important this funeral is to you. Your fellow officers will stand in your place,” Susan said. “I’ll be back later.” She left the room without looking at or saying goodbye to Steph.
Straight from the Heart Page 6