I sigh to myself and put my hands into my pockets before heading back to the nurse’s station. When I turn the corner at the end of the hallway, Winston Sinclair is standing there, still as stone. I nearly walk right into him.
“How’s my mother doing this morning?” His voice is raw and cold. He pauses for a second before he adds, “It’s K’acy, isn’t it?”
I’m surprised as sin he remembered my name. “She’s quite well, Mr. Sinclair. And, yes. It’s K’acy.” He doesn’t so much as blink, let alone step out of my way. I focus on the tip of his nose, even though I’d very much like to look him in the eye. “Your son just got here. I saw him heading back to her room.”
“Is that so?”
I don’t quite know what to do because he isn’t budging. He’s just blocking the hallway with his overdressed, overconfident body.
“Yep. Well, I’ve got to run. Have a nice day, Mr. Sinclair,” I say, internally hoping he has a lousy day instead. I step to the side of the hallway and turn my body so my back is flush with the wall. Making room for him to pass seems like it might be the only thing that’ll encourage him to get out of the way.
He doesn’t return my nicety or even say goodbye. He just starts walking.
I SPEND the rest of Thursday and Friday working, and Adam spends them at his grandmother’s side. His father doesn’t bother to show up at all on Friday, and his Thursday-morning visit lasted only an hour, just like Wednesday’s. Adam will not leave his gram’s room when his father is here. He’s like a papa bear protecting his cub.
Ms. Sinclair’s become less and less lucid over the last few days. The effects of her medication change are starting to settle in, and she’s more confused than ever. She’s even gotten mildly aggressive a few times, yelling at Adam or one of the staff members for doing some small thing that annoyed her. Adam’s distress is apparent every time she lashes out. I do my best to explain to him there’s nothing unusual about her behavior. Everyone here understands it’s the medication and the Alzheimer’s talking, not his grandmother.
After work on Friday, Adam and I meet in the parking lot. The dark sedan, backed into a spot in the far corner of the lot, unsettles me with its presence yet again. As Adam and I pull out of the lot, I watch the reflection of the dark sedan in the passenger’s side mirror. Relief comes only when the car doesn’t leave its parking space.
On the drive back to my place, Adam tells me his father wants to meet with him again tonight. Apparently, the giant dickhead said he has some important things to discuss with his son.
“I hope to hell one of those things is that he’s going back to Seattle.” Adam’s words are confident, but doubt and skepticism seep through in his voice. “I really don’t want to meet him, but I kind of feel like this might be my last chance to press him for answers.” He’s still hoping his father will give him more information about who Bradley is. He was right; the whole ignorance is bliss thing is never going to work for him.
“Just be careful how hard you press. He seems like the kind of guy who might press back.”
Adam drops me at my door and promises to text me later. Then he kisses me goodbye. When our lips connect, the music in my heart is as loud as always, but something about it is different. Because this time, it’s distorted with worry.
CHAPTER 23
Robert McGee—2008
Charlie moved out of the house three weeks ago, said she got herself an apartment with two of her friends. Ever since she graduated from high school, Charlie’s been working at a hair salon, washing hair and answering the phones, and she seems to really like it. Now she wants to start taking classes to get her cosmetology license. I told her I’d pay for her schooling, not just because it’s part of my responsibility as her father, but because I think it’s something she can be good at. Something she can feel proud of. Ever since Louise left, I’ve been saving a little money every month, hoping at least one of my girls would head off to college someday. Charlie’s already been accepted at Blue Cliff, and I couldn’t be prouder of my first baby girl for getting herself on the track to success. Classes start in the fall. My Charlie finally seems happy.
It destroys me to know that’s gonna change. Because of me.
Dr. Bryson told me about the cancer last Wednesday. She said it started in my lungs, but now it’s gone to my liver. It’s why I’ve been so short of breath lately. And why the whites of my eyes are the same color as my morning piss. But the cancer’s also in my bones and my lymph nodes. She pretty much said I’m screwed, only she didn’t use those exact words. Instead, she used words like incurable and inoperable and metastasis and prognosis and palliative care. She said I’m stage four. I asked her how the hell I could be stage four when I didn’t know one, two, or three even existed. All she said was, “Cancer can be like that.”
I haven’t told either of the girls yet, and I have no idea how I’m gonna. I told Ron and the rest of the guys at the quarry just this morning, and the way this town works, everyone that’s ever crossed paths with Houma, Louisiana is gonna know by dawn tomorrow. Which means I’ve got to tell my girls tonight. The idea of hurting them pains me more than cancer ever could.
Ron promised my job would still be waiting for me when I’m done kicking cancer’s ass. I didn’t have the heart to tell him cancer isn’t the one who’s gonna get his ass kicked. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that once I’m down for the count, I’m never getting back up again. Ron’s already gone through this with his daughter, Lindsay. He doesn’t need to do it again with me. Plus, Dr. Bryson said surgery would only cause me pain, not cure anything. Medication can help manage things, if I want it to, but there’ll be no chemo. No radiation. No experimental therapies. No clinical trials. No miracles. I stopped praying for one of those nine years ago. Ain’t no use in starting again now.
And so here I am, sitting on the couch, waiting for K’acy to come home from school. She’ll be surprised to see me here because I’m always at the quarry this time of day. No more, though. I guess twenty-eight years of blasting limestone was enough. Dr. Bryson suspects I only have a couple of months, and a good portion of them will be spent in a bed. I need to get everything in order before things get bad. I need to make sure my girls are gonna be all right without me.
K’acy walks in the door at 2:43 with her backpack slung over her shoulder, wearing a skirt that’s way too short for an eighteen-year-old with legs as long as hers. It’s hard to believe my smart little girl is already a woman. She’ll be graduating from Terrebonne High in a couple months, and with any luck, I’ll be sitting in the audience cheering her on. The idea that I might not be hits me straight in the heart, making the conversation we’re about to have all the more difficult.
K’acy closes the door behind her and starts heading for the stairs, no doubt to go up and practice her bass. When she sees me sitting on the couch, she freezes and asks me what I’m doing here. I tell her we have to talk.
As I tell K’acy about the cancer, her face doesn’t change. She doesn’t look surprised or sad or angry or confused or any of the things I expected her to be. She just looks resigned. Like she already knew what was coming. Like she knew stage four was here. Because, unlike the rest of us, she already knew about one, two, and three.
When I tell her I only have a few months left, all she says is that she’d like to be with me when I tell Charlie.
CHAPTER 24
Jarrod’s text arrives at 11:04.
I kept it in my pants.
I cross my fingers and hope his much-deserved perfect life started tonight. With a woman named Grace.
I knew you could do it.
It wasn’t easy. The woman is H.O.T.
I take it the date went well?
Damn straight.
You gonna see her again? Outside of work, I mean.
I hope so.
I’m sure she hopes so, too.
Thanks, Mom.
You’re welcome, Grandpa.
A long minute passes before I get anothe
r text.
C u tomorrow. 7:30ish?
We’re playing at Bartholomew’s tomorrow night. It’ll be our last big show before The Upstage.
I’ll be there. Adam, too. I think.
Cool. How are things in Eden, BTW?
A bit tense. His father’s in from Seattle.
Nice guy?
The exact opposite.
Oh. That sucks.
Sure does. Adam’s been dealing with some family stuff. Plus, his gram isn’t doing so well.
Yeah, he mentioned that on Wednesday night. Sounds pretty much like hell.
Yep.
Good thing he’s got your shoulder to lean on.
Not sure my shoulder’s strong enough when it comes to his father.
It is. I’ve tested it myself. Strongest shoulder I know.
:)
C u tomorrow, Kace.
Later.
I’m happy for Jarrod. Really happy. I hope this Grace is everything he needs her to be.
Not long after I send my last text, I decide to go to bed, despite the fact that I haven’t heard from Adam yet. I’m worried about him, but tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and I need to get some sleep. I keep the ringer turned on, knowing it’ll wake me no matter what time his text arrives.
My last thoughts, before sleep comes, are of Ms. Sinclair and her birds. I picture the woodpeckers and goldfinches, the cardinals and chickadees, all flying around her like little living versions of Alzheimer’s, protecting her from the harsh reality of her life as they fly off with her memories. They flutter over her, carrying tiny pieces of her former self in their beaks. But they also shield her. They make her blissfully unaware of her own tragedy.
Just as I drift off to sleep, the last bird comes. It’s a mourning dove. It lands on Ms. Sinclair’s lap, nestling into her waiting hands and leaving her memories to the other birds. It looks up at her with its round, dark eyes, asking only for comfort and mercy. She smiles at the bird and then promises it everything will be okay.
I WAKE up Saturday morning to the sound of my alarm, but when I roll over to turn it off, something’s blocking my way. I open my eyes to find a shirtless Adam lying on his back, halfway between me and the alarm clock. He grins, lifts his right arm, and smacks the snooze button.
“Hey.” I’m sure he can hear my surprise as I snuggle against him and lay my head on his shoulder.
“Hey.”
“When did you get here?” I can’t see his face, but the hesitation before his answer gives me all the information I need.
“Late. Too late to wake you.” He brushes his hand against my cheek and down my neck to my shoulder. It’s gentle and sincere. “I remembered you telling Jarrod about the key taped behind the picture. Hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m not mad.” How could I be? His arm wraps around my shoulders and holds me against him.
“I know I promised to text, but I figured you were already asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. So I just came over and let myself in.” Something is wrong with his voice. It sounds like it’s been wrung out. It’s twisted and contorted. Broken.
“No worries.” I spread the fingers of my left hand against his chest, looking at the perfect alternating Vs of light and dark, and hoping the weariness in his voice isn’t telling me what I think it is. “Did everything go all right with your dad?”
He inhales and then releases the breath in a deep, long sigh, confirming my fears about last night. “I should’ve known better.” He’s silent for a few seconds, as if he’s thinking about what to say next. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever do that again.”
“Do what again?”
“Willingly talk to my father.”
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad.” He releases my shoulders and kisses me on the forehead. My hand drops off his chest. “He’s just so damn manipulative.” He doesn’t offer anything more. But I have to ask.
“Did he tell you anything else about Bradley?”
“No. And he told me if I bring it up again, he’ll change his mind and take Gram back to Seattle.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. And that, my dear, pretty much sums up the entire night.” His voice is still broken. And now I know why.
“I’m sorry, Adam.” I kiss his chest, and he runs the tips of his fingers down my spine, causing a ripple of notes to burst through my skin.
“Me, too.” We’re both quiet for a few minutes before the alarm sounds again, shocking us back into reality. “You’d better get ready for work,” he says. “Gram will get upset if you’re late, you know.” A little lightness has seeped back into his voice.
“She isn’t the only one. Mr. Rauch doesn’t like anyone else to touch his colostomy bag, let alone empty it.” I sit up and start to climb out of bed, suddenly conscious of the old T-shirt I slept in, not knowing Adam would be in my bed this morning.
“Lucky you.”
He thinks I’m joking, but I’m not.
“I am lucky. Really. Because I adore that man, colostomy bag and all.” I stand up and shrug. Adam’s head tilts to the side. He eyes me with intense curiosity.
“Your patients are the lucky ones, K’acy McGee. Them and me.”
I don’t agree or disagree with him. I just smile, walk into the bathroom, and close the door behind me.
THANKFULLY, the rest of Saturday is a beautiful day, with lots of sunshine and no sign of Winston Sinclair. By the time I finish filling out the shift change report at the end of the day, I’m more than ready to crank out some funk with Jarrod, Marquis, Bryson, and the rest of Crackerjack Townhouse. After grabbing a quick dinner together, Adam drives me to Bartholomew’s.
It’s an amazing night. Full of everything that makes the world perfect: loud music, an incredible audience, epic ass shaking, and my lone swooner. And for the first time ever, when the show’s over, Jarrod doesn’t leave with a blonde. Or a brunette. Or a redhead. He leaves alone, with only the clothes on his back. I know he and Grace have only had one date, but I think it’s already helping him understand how much he deserves happiness. I think it’s given him a small taste of the hope he’s been looking for.
After the stage is torn down and the equipment is loaded into Calvin’s van, Adam takes me home. I can’t help but notice the black car is suspiciously absent from both the street in front of Bartholomew’s and the street in front of my apartment building. Its absence, however, doesn’t bring me the comfort I was hoping it would. It doesn’t make me feel better; it just makes me feel a different kind of nervous.
Eventually, though, I find myself falling asleep in Adam’s arms, thinking again of his grandmother and her birds. Only tonight, he’s there, too. Standing next to her wheelchair, holding her hand.
I LEAVE Adam in my apartment, asleep in my bed, and walk out into the sunshine. The Sunday-morning quiet is familiar and comforting. As usual, it’s only me and the driver on the 61A. I walk into Pine Manor to find many of the patients are already sitting in the lobby, fully dressed and waiting for their Sunday-morning company to arrive. Or for Pastor Glickson’s service to start.
Sondra’s here, too, setting the brake on Mr. Ledbetter’s wheelchair. After a brief hello, to her, as well as to some of the patients, I head back to the nurses’ station to drop off my bag and read the report from last night. But before I get there, Susan Campbell, our Director of Nursing, meets me in the hallway and asks me to come into her office. Instead of greeting me with her usual warm smile, Susan’s mouth is a straight line. Her gaze barely connects with mine, and there’s no small talk, no friendly banter. She doesn’t say another word as we walk into her office. She closes the door behind us, and I take a seat in the chair across from her desk.
Something is wrong.
My mouth goes dry. Susan sits in her desk chair and her lips start moving; they’re telling me something, but my ears don’t want to hear. My brain rejects the words as soon as it registers them. A flush of sadness envelops me as more words come tumb
ling out of her mouth. Wrong words. Hurtful words. Words I never thought I’d hear. I swallow back my tears, wanting more than anything for this conversation to be a mistake. For Susan to have the wrong person.
Her hands are clasped together, resting on the desk. Her body is tilted forward, as if she’s leaning into me to make sure I’m hearing what she’s saying. Her final three words are I’m so sorry. I hear them. And I also feel them.
I’ve worked here for six years, and until this very moment, Susan has never had a single negative thing to say about me. She’s only ever given me glowing evaluations. She knows me as well as anyone else here. And yet, she has to follow company policy. Her hands are tied.
She told me she can’t share details, but someone has filed a complaint. They said I mistreated a patient. They said I’m not fit to take care of the people I love. I’m sick inside because everything this person said about me is everything I am not. I know it. And Susan does, too. It’s why she said she’s sorry.
I’m not allowed to say goodbye. Not to Mrs. Thompson or Mr. Reizenstein or Mr. Rauch. Not even to Sondra or Marie or Dr. Kopsey. I have to walk straight out the door, and I can’t come back until the investigation is over and my name has been cleared. If it’s cleared at all.
As I leave the building, the possibility of never being able to set foot in Pine Manor again saddles my soul with its crushing weight, breaking my heart and filling my eyes with tears.
Losing them to death is always hard, but this… Losing them to this would be far crueler than death could ever be.
The more you care for them, the harder it becomes.
The Sound of Light Page 15