Crossing the Street

by Campbell, Molly D. ;

  I looked at Bob. I had never been anywhere in Ella’s house but the living room, hall, and kitchen.

  “Yes. My father’s room. I guess you could call it the guest room. And there is a bathroom on the first floor. It has a tub, but if Gran can’t get into it, I can give Gran sponge baths, ’cause whenever I’m sick, Gran gives them to me. So I know how to do that.”

  My knees turned to rubber. “Oh, my gosh. I didn’t think about stuff like bathing and cooking. And I have no idea of Ella’s finances—will we need to hire some sort of nurse or home care provider?”

  “NOPE.” The answer came from Bob. “Gran has been teaching me things. I can make scrambled eggs and hamburgers. I know how to use a Swiffer and a vacuum. And Gran can teach me anything else I need to learn. See, Gran says that everybody needs to learn how to take care of things. How to take care of themselves. She says it’s important for everyone to learn how to be alone. But I already know how to do that.”

  Dr. Lauren looked as awestruck as I did at this wonder-child standing in front of us, earnestly explaining the meaning of life while twirling her flowers. Lauren put an arm around those tiny, resolute shoulders. “Bob, I have complete faith in your ability. Does that answer your question, Beck?”

  “It certainly does. Plus, it sounds as if Bob will be teaching me some much-needed skills, and I have lived alone for quite a while.”

  Lauren handed me some brochures about Oakmoor. “Honestly, by the time Ella comes home, she will be able to supervise quite a bit of what goes on. She will be expected to sit up for at least four hours a day, and she will be able to stand for at least an hour. Do you by any chance have a recliner, Bob?”

  Bob scowled. “No. Gran hates those; she says they are for pot-bellied old men. But we have a very comfy easy chair.”

  “That will do. Bob, would you mind giving me a few moments to talk with Beck? I think they have chocolate chip cookies out at the nurses’ station.” Bob wandered toward the cookies, shooting me a thumbs-up before she disappeared.

  “Beck, Medicare normally covers these kinds of expenses, and most likely, Mrs. Bowers has supplementary insurance coverage as well. But it might be a good idea to have a discussion with her about finances, since you will be acting with her power of attorney. Don’t worry, you will get all that sorted. But Beck, there is one thing that I need to warn you about. Many of our patients who have pain with hip surgery can become very resistant to therapy, because, well, it hurts. And when patients give up on the therapy, they don’t recover: muscles atrophy, pain increases, and it becomes a vicious circle. It will be very important for you to look out for signs of discouragement or depression. If you feel that Ella begins to slip, I want you to call me. I will be able to set you up with a therapist.” She read the alarm in my face. “No worries. A certain number of therapy sessions are Medicare approved as well, in cases like this.”

  “Lauren, I am going to be honest with you: I love these people. But I am in over my head with all of this. I am not a blood relative of Ella’s. As you know, her son is deployed and won’t be home until after Christmas. I just don’t know how I can keep both Ella and Bob afloat all by myself.” I must have turned gray, because Lauren led me over to some chairs.

  “Sit for a minute. Take a deep breath. I can help you if you need me—just call. But I have another suggestion: Does Ella have a cell phone?”

  I almost laughed. “No. She can barely send emails. I think she goes to the library, and they help her use the computer there. But no technology at home.”

  “I talked with her grandson, Charles, after the surgery. He had called the information line at the hospital, and they took down a number that I could call, if I did so within a half hour. I just barely made the time limit! He said that although making incoming calls to him is nearly impossible, that he does have a certain number of monthly minutes at his end that he can use to call family. He said he hasn’t used them, because he has felt in the past that talking to Bob would be detrimental to her emotions. But he wants to call his grandmother and Bob now, in order to keep their spirits up until Ella recovers. I think this would be very beneficial for Ella to know that her grandson is cheering her on from . . .” she paused, “wherever he is over there.”

  “Right. Wherever he is.” I fumbled with the brochures. “Yes. I will get Ella some sort of inexpensive cell phone that she can carry around with her. God knows she won’t need a Twitter account.”

  Lauren laughed. “Hey, not so fast! Perhaps you should get her an iPhone. I am sure there is a Groovy Gran app. Or Bob may get totally into Minecraft. And who doesn’t love Facebook? I posted a picture of my lunch today!”

  I could picture Bob hunched over, checking her status updates. Ugh. “I’ll stick with the bare bones. Oops. No pun intended.”

  Lauren chuckled, and then her pager beeped. “Gotta go. Swing by and have a cookie, and then ask the nurses what room Ella is going to be in. They should be wheeling her out of recovery pretty soon.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “In case I don’t see you before she’s released, here is my number. Really—feel free to call if you need me.” And with a crisp salute, Lauren left. I was desolate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The first visit was necessarily brief. Bob and I sat on either side of Ella’s bed, watching her sleep, mostly. But her even breathing and pink cheeks reassured us. She woke for short periods, and smiled at us through her drug haze. The nurse informed us that she would be on a pain drip, but that they would be weaning her off the hard stuff and onto IV Tylenol throughout the next twenty-four hours.

  At one point, Ella tried to sit up. We both leapt up to prevent it, Bob exclaiming, “Gran! Gran! Don’t do that! You have a cool crank-up bed! Here, watch what happens when I push this button!”

  We read Ella her cards, and Bob posted them on the bulletin board across from her bed. Ella was cogent enough to tell me that I shouldn’t worry—she would write me a check for groceries and incidentals (cell phone!) as soon as she could. Ella pointed to the bedside table, where her pocketbook lay. I handed it over to her.

  She rummaged around in its depths, unzipping multiple compartments until she found them. A deck of business cards held together with a rubber band. She held them out to me. “Look in these. You will find a card for Ernest Wallace, my attorney, and August Roseburg, my accountant. Mr. Wallace has a pre-signed document that will give you power of attorney to pay my bills and things. I knew I might need something like this when Charles was out of the country. Call him, and he will take care of it—fill your name in. And I have plenty of money! Mr. Roseburg pays my bills for me; don’t even worry about that. If you need any money for anything, just call him; and if he needs some permission, I will give that, too. Rebecca, I thank you so much for helping me with all this!” Her rheumy eyes teared up. So did mine.

  I felt overwhelmed, but also flattered that Ella was placing so much trust in me. “Ella, don’t worry about a thing! I am going to be right here!” I gulped three times in succession.

  All in all, it was a satisfying first day. But Ella, Bob, and I were exhausted, so we left before visiting hours were over to go home and recoup.

  “She is going to be okay, right?” Bob asked, looking out the car window at a boy on a scooter racing down a side street.

  I nodded as emphatically as I could. “Absolutely. She needs to rest, and then they will get her moving as soon as possible. Dr. Lauren told me that your Gran’s rehab will be unpleasant for her—you know, moving around after surgery hurts. But she said it is very important that we encourage Ella to move and to participate fully in her therapy.”

  Bob winced when I said “hurts.” She put a hand to her mouth to bite her thumbnail, but thought better of it. “So we have to be like football coaches? Push, push, push?”

  “Exactly. Ella will need tough love. And lots of cheerleading. And guess what? Your father said that he will be
part of the team, too.” The metaphor galloping away with us, here. “You and I will pick out a cell phone tomorrow that Ella can keep with her—and your dad will call her on a regular basis to check up on both of you.”

  “You mean I will get to talk to him all the time?” Bob nearly launched out of her seat with excitement. Ok, then—TWO cell phones.

  “Not all the time—not every day. He said he has a certain amount of minutes a month that he can use to call with. Maybe once a week or so.”

  “He got those minutes specially for us? I love the marines!” She held her hands up and high-fived the air.

  I did not mention the fact that Charles had had these special minutes ever since he deployed. It would have been cruel.

  That evening, after a trip to the Bowers’ for Bob’s clothes, a few of her stuffed animals, and a trip around the house to make sure everything was secure, we returned to my apartment. I thought pizza delivery and TV would be appropriate.

  We were just finishing up our Cheeselovers’ Delite—deep dish. Bob had crammed down three slices. I had managed two and a half. Our doorbell rang.

  Bob jumped up and ran to answer. It was a gift from above. There stood Gail and my mother. Not usually a pair. Gail held a bottle of wine and a bouquet of daisies. Mom had a grocery sack. Mom leaned towards me and whispered, “We want to help.”

  “Hello! Are you Bob? We have heard so much about you!” Bob stepped aside with a tentative smile. “I’m Claire, Beck’s mother, and of course, you know Gail. We’re bringing some supplies.” She smiled her lovely movie-star smile.

  My mom bustled into the kitchen. “I heard that Bob likes Popsicles, so I got two boxes. That should last you for a while, right, Bob?” Bob’s smile grew more expansive.

  Gail followed, putting the Chardonnay in the fridge, and artfully arranging the daisies in a water glass. She had some major staging skills—between them, Mom and Gail could make any old dump look like something out of Architectural Digest. Mom unloaded a box of Cheerios, a half-gallon of milk, a bunch of bananas, a loaf of bread, and a jar of Nutella. “This ought to tide you over for breakfast and lunch.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief and hugged them both.

  Gail turned to Bob. “I see you’ve had dinner. But I could use some dessert. How about a round of Popsicles for everybody?”

  “Yay!” Bob pranced around the kitchen.

  We took our Popsicles onto the back stoop, where the air was just cooling, and a breeze rustled the leaves in the honeysuckle.

  The Popsicles were particularly drippy, but we didn’t care. Bob skipped around the yard, licking her pop and running her hand along the fence.

  “Have you taken some time off work? Are you going to be in charge of things across the street?” Loaded question. Mom, I am sure, thought that this was not totally my responsibility. Well, I didn’t either, but of course, there was nobody else.

  “I have no choice.” I looked around and put my finger over my lips. “Little pitchers and big ears..” I moved closer to them and continued softly, “Ella and Bob need me. And we all know that I can make it just fine on my royalty money. I can easily afford to take a Starbucks sabbatical.”

  Gail put her Popsicle stick on the step and licked her fingers. This was out of character for one so pristine. “I get it. This is a very humanitarian thing you’re doing. But you need some help—first off, you are a horrible cook.”

  “I take umbrage at that remark!” I wanted to punch her arm, but my hands were also sticky, and Gail was wearing something flowy and of course, silky.

  Mom chimed in, “Gail and I were discussing this on the way over. Tomorrow, we are going to canvas the neighbors with a meal rotation sign-up sheet. I know all the neighbors must love Ella and Bob. I am sure they would be happy to help out. This will save you a lot of headaches.”

  “AND STOMACHACHES!” Bob flourished her Popsicle stick.

  Mom wasn’t finished. “What about the yard? Who will take care of that?”

  Bob answered that one. “Gran has a yard man who mows and stuff. I know how to set up the sprinkler.”

  “Well, if you think of anything else, we can help out. She won’t need a home nurse?”

  “The doctor said no. Ella will be ambulatory. I will be taking her to rehab every week; I’m not sure if it’s more than once. The Dr. said she will be in rehab for six weeks. Guys, this is a good thing. I have started a new book, and this will give me time to work on it.”

  Gail smirked. “Frannie Does Framington?”

  “Nope. This isn’t my usual. I’m writing a novel. About friendship. That is all I will say. So this time-out will be perfect for me, for Bob, and for Ella.” I sounded much more confident of this than I felt.

  “It’s getting late. I’m sure it is past Bob’s bedtime! What time do you normally go to bed, now that school has started?” Mom ran a hand through Bob’s curls.

  “I stayed up until ten during the summer, but Gran said I have to go to bed by nine now. I am awful tired tonight.”

  We stood to go up. Gail picked up all the Popsicle sticks and walked over to the trashcan by the garage, lifted the lid, and dropped them in. Then she cocked her head.

  “I could swear I just heard a cat meow.”

  We looked all around the yard, but found nothing.

  ▷◁

  Dr. Lauren hit the nail directly on the head. Ella wasn’t doing well with rehab. The transitions went well, and she seemed happy to be at Oakmoor, but by the second day, she had lost her appetite. Despite the cookies that Marva Davis sent, along with a card that Hallie drew, covered with polka dots. Despite a phone call from Charles. Despite the flowers and the classical music station playing softly in the background. Ella was resolutely miserable. The therapists recommended that her stay be extended for at least two more weeks. After that, it would get dicey.

  “Ella, the physical therapist told the nurses that you wouldn’t get up out of your wheelchair in your afternoon therapy session. You know how important this is. If you don’t cooperate, you may never be able to walk again. This therapy is critical.”

  Ella grimaced. “This cookie tastes bitter. Everything tastes bitter.” She dropped the cookie on her tray and closed her eyes. “I am very tired. I just need to rest, right now, Rebecca. Can you come back later?” I put the cookie back in the tin on Ella’s tray along with the others. The card on the lid said TO ELLA WITH GET WELL WISHES FROM THE DAVISES.

  “What do you want me to tell Bob when she comes home from school? That you have just given up?”

  Ella’s fingers waved me away. She didn’t answer. “Ella, the longer you refuse to cooperate, the longer you will have to stay here.”

  I wasn’t sure if she heard me. “Ella.”

  She groaned and slowly turned her face away from me. Her hair was mussed, exposing large patches of pale, waxy scalp. This despondent, unkempt and defiant wraith was not the Ella I knew. “It doesn’t matter to me where I am. Leave me be for now. Just leave me.”

  They smiled encouragingly at the nurses’ station as I passed, but somehow, those smiles seemed rote. They probably smiled like that at all the families. I felt like screaming in the elevator, but I figured that it might alarm the little lady with her hospital gown on backwards, who patted me on the arm and wished me a “happy birthday.”

  When I got back to Ella’s (I had decided that it made much more sense to spend most of my time at Ella’s with Bob until Ella came home), I took the little yellow business card that Lauren had given me out of my pocket and studied it. I didn’t want to send Ella to yet another doctor, not just yet. I wanted to give her a chance to rally on her own. I wondered how I would react if I had eighty-four-year-old bones, and one with a pin in it. Old people ache all the time in good circumstances, so I felt that Ella was probably justified in her despondency. She would perk up, wouldn’t she?

  I turned the c
ard over in my hand, thinking about how just a few months before, I had been all by myself over there across the way, thinking I was very content, thank you, with my cat and my keyboard. But right now, despite being exhausted with responsibility for both Ella and Bob, I felt very good about being able to help them. Plus, I had the beginnings of a new novel that I knew I would be proud of. A book about friendship and faith, and how one small child changed everything for all the people she encountered. All because of one funny little kiddo. Huh.

  My cell beeped me out of my reverie. I hoped it wasn’t Oakmoor calling me back in.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, honey. Are you in the middle of something?” Her voice was just a slight bit off.

  “Hi, Mom. Not at all. Just waiting for Bob to get home from school. What’s up?”

  There was a long pause, during which I heard her sigh. Twice. Never a good sign.

  “Mom?”

  “Your sister is a mess. She needs help. Alexander has developed colic, and he cries all night long, every single night. Diana says you can set your watch by it.”

  I felt sorry for the little guy, but I didn’t get the reason for Mom’s dejection. “Isn’t colic sort of normal? He’ll get over it. Doesn’t colic go away on its own?”

  Another huge sigh at her end. “Beck. Diana needs help. Bryan has to sleep at night in order to go to work. He can’t, with all the screaming. So Diana is coming home.”

  My God. The enormity of this sank in. “Wait. What do you mean, coming HOME? She lives in Chicago!” My heart was pounding and my tongue suddenly dehydrated and stuck to the insides of my cheeks.

  “She is coming here to stay until either Alexander gets over this or Diana gets stronger. I told her we would be willing to help her with him. But honey, I work, too. I have to get a good night’s sleep. So I told her that maybe she could stay at your apartment, since you are mainly across the street now. I said you could pop over there in the evenings to give her a break. You know, you could stay with the baby for a while, and Diana could stay with Bob, so that she could get some sleep. You could spell each other off. And I would come over some nights to stay with him, too. And of course, Bryan will come on weekends.”