Truly Yours Contemporary Collection December 2014

by Joyce Livingston, Gail Sattler, Joyce Livingston

  Debbie came around behind and hoisted him up so he sat properly in his chair. “What’s the matter, Harold?”

  He looked back at her with a wild look in his eyes. “What are you doing? Don’t you know there’s a war going on? Duck down ’fore the enemy sees you.”

  Debbie calmly walked over to the nightstand and took a comb out of the drawer. “Harold, we’ve had these talks before. World War II has been over for sixty years.”

  “What? That’s impossible. I’d be an old man if the Great War ended sixty years ago.”

  Debbie bit her lip to keep from laughing. He did have a sense of humor, despite his memory lapses.

  “In fact, if the war’s been over sixty years, I’d be in my eighties at least, and I’m only twenty-four.”

  He was absolutely right. Debbie marveled at the way Harold could make rationalizations like these, even if he did say other irrational things. But to his mind, everything made perfect sense and she was the one off her rocker. Maybe a little reality check might set things straight and clear his thoughts. She wheeled him into the bathroom and to the mirror hanging low on the wall. “See, Harold? You’re not in your twenties anymore. You’re a man of wisdom.”

  He said nothing but stared. She heard a sniffle and looked down to find tears glistening on his cheeks. “Get me out of here,” he ordered. Debbie hurriedly wheeled him back into the room. He continued to sit there, staring, the tears drifting down.

  Her lower lip trembled. Regret instantly filled her. For all she knew, Harold found comfort in his youthful identity, and in an instant, she had shattered it. “I’m so sorry, Harold. I thought it would be good for you to see that you aren’t a young man anymore.”

  He only turned away from her to stare at the wall. Debbie twisted her face in dismay. What did it hurt if Harold wanted to believe he was still young? If it made him happy and made him feel as if he still had a life to live, even in his advanced years, then why not? Instead, she had ripped it all away from him.

  Debbie shook her head and retreated to the hall to find Trish standing just outside the door, a wide grin painted on her face. “Bravo! What a show. Did you really think crazy old Harold would want to see himself in the mirror?”

  Debbie began to stew. “I don’t know. I thought it was worth trying to get him to see reality.”

  “Honey, none of these people here think they’re old. They all think they’re swinging singles from way back when hoop skirts were in fashion.”

  “You’re a little off. They didn’t wear hoop skirts in the 1940s. Anyway, maybe you could clean Harold up a little more. And he could use a shave.”

  “So now you’re the high-and-mighty nurse who knows everything? Where is your advanced degree that says you can order me around? Huh?”

  Debbie blew out a sigh and hurried off to the room where the linens still sat on the unmade bed. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth about Trish’s untidy habits. Now the whole floor would know what she said and be on her case about it. Debbie shook her head. She needed to talk to Mrs. Whitaker about Trish anyway. The woman shouldn’t even be working here, considering the way she treated the residents. Not that Debbie had seen Trish do anything horrendous like the stories she had heard about abuse in these places. But the way Trish kept her charges looking so untidy or offered snide remarks, in Debbie’s eyes, was akin to maltreatment. Even so, after being here eight years, Debbie knew well what could happen if she did make waves. Trish had plenty of friends on staff who could make Debbie’s life miserable. And others before her had been chased away for littler things.

  Making the bed in rapid fashion, Debbie walked down the corridor and paused by Harold’s door. He was sitting better in his wheelchair. His clothes were neat, but he still looked listless. His eyes stared blankly from his unshaven face. Debbie glanced up the hall and, seeing no sign of Trish, ventured back inside. “Let’s get a shave, Harold. Spiff you up a little for all the girls.”

  “Huh? What for? I’m just an old geezer. Everyone tells me I’m old, that I look old, that I am old.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened, Harold. Please, can I give you a shave?” She held up the electric razor.

  He said nothing as she approached. Only when she turned on the razor did he flinch. His extremities began to quake. Fear was clearly spelled out in his eyes that grew all the more wild. “We’re gonna have to get off these boats,” he said to her. “But I see the bullets. The enemy’s already firing at us. But we gotta head for the beach anyway. There’s no turning back.”

  “Where are we headed, Harold?”

  “To Omaha, of course. We’re supposed to take Omaha Beach. Me and Sam, we’re going together. We trained together. Got on the same landing craft together. We’re both real scared, too. He’s my best friend, you know.”

  Debbie recalled the movies she had seen about that awful day at Normandy on the shores of France. She remembered thumbing through her father’s multitude of coffee-table books about World War II. But here sat a man who had witnessed, firsthand, a time period that lived in infamy. Why hadn’t she even considered it before trying to make him see the reality of living in the present day?

  “Sam got sick to his stomach,” Harold went on. “Seasickness, I guess. He used his helmet as a bucket until I told him to just lean over the side of the boat. Then we heard the bullets. He was tugging on my jacket. I said there weren’t nothing to fear, that the enemy couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.”

  “It must have been real scary,” she said, running the electric shaver around his chin. He lifted his head higher so she could shave his neck.

  “When the boys started dying, it was. They died right in front of me. One by one.” Suddenly his shoulders began to heave. The tears bubbled over. “They died. Sam died. Everyone in my company died, except me. I was on my own. I didn’t know anyone on the beach. I was all alone with bullets all around.”

  Debbie stood there, mesmerized by the story. Just then he reached out his grisly hand and took hers. His skin was dry, the veins crisscrossing the top of his hand like the streets on a road map. “Don’t ever be alone, young lady. Being alone with the enemy closing in is the worst thing in life.”

  Debbie managed to pat his hand before putting back the razor. Just as quickly, Harold lapsed into a quiet pensiveness, staring straight ahead. She looked at him, thinking of all the scenes that replayed over and over in his mind like a rerun with no end. She felt sorry for him.

  Debbie ventured to the nurses’ station to check the assignment sheet and found Trish loitering there along with two cohorts, Meg and Natasha. When they saw her, they gathered together like a flock of hens and began their clucking. Debbie refused to embrace the old fear left over from the high school days of students talking behind her back, though she was certain the nurses were doing just that.

  “So old Harold has you wrapped around his finger, eh?” Trish said with a huge smile painted on her face. The other two nurses giggled.

  “Why don’t you leave him alone? He doesn’t have long to live in this world anyway. No one here does. They have to spend the rest of their existence here, so we should make it as nice as possible for them. We’re the only real family they have.”

  “They’re not my family,” Natasha announced in disgust, staring at her set of purple polished fingernails. “I’m only in this place until I find a better job.”

  “The problem with Debbie is that she thinks these people are her pets,” Trish added.

  “Actually, Trish, it’s you who treats them like dogs,” she muttered and headed back down the hall.

  Trish followed. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  Debbie felt the heat rise in her neck even as she tried to look the other way.

  “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

  Debbie whirled. “Okay. Leave Harold alone. And don’t call hi
m names. If anything, he should be treated like a hero. A lot of men like Harold bled and died so you could stand there and say the things you do.”

  Trish hooted. “Honey, no one died for me, ’specially little old Harold who doesn’t even know what planet he’s on.”

  Jesus died for you, Debbie thought, but this was hardly the time or atmosphere to delve into her heartfelt beliefs. “People need to look more at history. See what soldiers have accomplished and the freedoms they have won for us. Our country would be a much different place without their sacrifices.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  Debbie could see this conversation was going nowhere fast. She excused herself to check on several patients, with Trish glaring at her as she hurried down the hall. Ducking inside a linen alcove, she steadied herself. Maybe Neil was right. Maybe it was time to look for another job, not only to bring in more money but also to escape people like Trish. . . .

  . . .That is, until she heard a voice shouting at some unseen German enemy invading White Pines. Down the hall she went, with a strength greater than herself. If no one else on earth needed her, Harold did and maybe Elvina, too. And that was enough to keep her feet entrenched in this place, at least for now.

  ❧

  Despite trying to turn things around and salvage the day at White Pines, Debbie left work feeling depressed about where she was going in life. She wondered if her faith was at all evident to the staff and patients. For certain, the staff disliked her. If it weren’t for the residents like Elvina and Harold and the relationships she’d fostered with them, she might be tempted to move away from this area altogether. What was keeping her here anyway? None of her family lived here. They made their home in northern Virginia where her father still negotiated the nightmare of Interstate 66 at rush hour, trucking it into Washington, D.C., every day. For herself, Debbie couldn’t stand the thought of working in some metropolitan city that extended far beyond the borders of the District of Columbia. She made a big break after two years of community college, venturing as far south as possible, back to country living with less stress—or so she thought. She took a six-month nursing assistant course at a community college, then went looking for a job. Settling here in the foothills of the Blue Ridge in the tiny hamlet of Fincastle, she found something about the area that she enjoyed. Maybe the hilly surroundings with the grand scope of the Blue Ridge spanning the distant horizon. Fincastle also had quaint homes, some dating back generations, and held its own unique niche in history as the hometown of Julia Hancock, the wife of William Clark of the famous Lewis and Clark expedition. It was a nice area. But was it enough to keep her here, especially with what she had to endure at work and beyond?

  Okay, quit throwing yourself a glorified pity party. She entered her car, thankful to have her set of wheels back—finally. The very next day after untangling the Christmas lights and sharing peach tea with Neil at her apartment, Hank’s Garage called to say the car was ready. And the price was far cheaper than what she had originally been quoted. Did Neil have a hand in me getting my car back, I wonder? The mere thought made her feel better.

  Driving to the store in Daleville to pick up a few groceries, Debbie made the decision to look on the bright side of things. God had placed her at White Pines for a reason. She felt good about being around the residents and caring for their needs, both physically and emotionally. Maybe the attacks from people like Trish were confirmations that she was doing the right thing, even if she felt beaten down by them at times.

  Debbie hadn’t been cruising the store aisle more than fifteen minutes when she heard a familiar male voice whistling an old-time Christmas carol. Neil stood in the aisle with his own shopping basket in hand that held a can of shortbread cookies, a package of mints, and a bag of lozenges. She couldn’t help but laugh, first at the idea of running into him in the same aisle of a huge grocery store, and second at the items he had chosen.

  “Hi, Neil. Great start to the dinner you have planned,” she teased.

  He spun around. “Debbie, hi! So you like my choices, do you?”

  “It’s certainly unique.”

  He acknowledged his basket. “I plan to start off the evening fare with an appetizer of mints. Nothing like a sugar high to get you off on the right footing. Then a main course of shortbread cookies. And for dessert, assorted throat lozenges to cool the palate.”

  Debbie laughed long and loud, a freeing kind of laugh where the frustrations of life took flight in a hurry. “Mine isn’t much better,” she acknowledged, looking down at the contents of her basket—chocolate-covered ice cream bars, hot cocoa mix, and a stick of deodorant.

  “I see chocolate. Is someone having another bad day?”

  His observation sent tears springing to her eyes.

  His voice softened. “Is your back still hurting you? I think you’d better have a doctor take a look at it. My sister once hurt her back and never got it checked. It bothers her even still. Sometimes she’s in bed for a few days. She can’t lift anything over twenty pounds.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Debbie rested the basket on a display of canned fruit. “What can I say? Life these days is definitely making me want to mix up a batch of lemonade. In fact, I’d better go get some.”

  “Put your stuff back,” he ordered. “Time for that second round of hot chocolate I promised you.”

  She gazed at him. A smirk played on his lips, offset by the seriousness in his eyes.

  “Guess I should. The ice cream bars aren’t going to make it home anyway. But you can still buy your exotic dinner for that special someone.”

  He laughed. “Meet you in the front of the store.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at the same table they had occupied the week before, with two cups of chocolate before them. When Neil got to the punch line of a joke he’d heard at work, Debbie laughed and blew on the steam before taking a sip. She had to admit this encounter was much better than the first. Especially since Neil appeared sensitive to her woes and expressed a desire to help. She delved into the shortened version of the day’s struggles, including Harold’s battle with Normandy versus the twenty-first century and the callous mistake she’d made in showing him his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  “There’s nothing wrong with trying to point an elderly gentleman to reality,” he said.

  “But you should have seen the reactions of my fellow coworkers. They thought it was some joke, like it’s a scream to poke fun at an older man.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I can tell you for a fact that most of them don’t even know what planet they’re on. They don’t want to be working there, and it shows. And for sure, they don’t care about the residents the way you do.”

  “How do you know I care?”

  He leaned over the table. “Is that a trick question? I can hear it in your voice. You’re concerned you might have upset this Harold fellow by showing him his image in the mirror. And then your interest in his past. Seems to me, these days, no one wants to know about another’s past, present, or future.”

  She took another sip. “Okay. So what about your past, present, and future?”

  He hesitated at first. “Well, let’s just say my past is better left right where it is. My present, I will have to wait for Christmas to see. Probably socks and underwear. And only God really knows the future, if we are patient enough to wait and find out.”

  Again a funny smirk spread across his face, this time accompanied by a twinkle in his eyes. So this Neil did have a bit of humor about him. But Debbie sensed there were other things left unspoken, as well. She had to admit, his comment about the past stirred up her curiosity to know more. But she wouldn’t pry. She would wait.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “I grew up in northern Virginia in the fast lane. Or rather the HOV lane. My present would be a cruise to Alaska. And my future is like
yours. Whatever God wants.” She bowed her head then, feeling the warmth in her cheeks, even as he stared at her. She could sense a bond already forming. It amazed her. And here she thought she wasn’t cut out for love. Maybe God was trying to show her otherwise. “Anyway, I’ll get through this time somehow. He’s been faithful to help me every day.”

  “That’s right. And you are meant right now to work at White Pines, even if it gets a little tough. Just keep doing what you’re supposed to do and don’t worry about everyone else. We’re told to take care of our neighbor. ‘Love one another,’ as the Bible says. And I hate to say it, but that includes those who treat us like junk sometimes, such as your coworkers, for example.”

  “Easier said than done,” she mumbled, thinking of Trish.

  “It’s happened to me. I had a coworker of the higher-ups give me extra caseloads because he didn’t like me, or so I thought. I sat there and wondered if maybe he had a falling-out with someone at home. A bad family life. Disappointment. If you can put the person in a different light, it helps.”

  “You need to come to work with me and be my conscience. Like Jiminy Cricket in Pinocchio. You can even wear a top hat and a red umbrella to go along with your black coat.”

  Neil laughed. “Debbie, I think you already have things figured out. Just hang tough. Take each day, one at a time. It’s all any of us can do, you know.”

  As long as her days were filled with him, washed down with cups of hot chocolate, she had no doubt they would be good days. She left the shop feeling renewed. Sure, life’s troubles were still there in one form or another, but at least they seemed smaller. Even insignificant. And that was a welcome change.