Patient_Crew

by Hannah Kaplan

“What do you want to talk about Kevin?”

  “You need to calm down.”

  “And you need to shut up.”

  “Calm down.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I yelled and went into the bathroom, slammed the door and started the shower. Why did Kevin have to sing that song? Why was Tim’s partner blown up? Why does it all have to be like this? I got in the shower, and let the water run over my body hoping it would somehow wash all the bad down the drain. I never wanted to leave that shower. I sounded like the baby I’d accused Kevin of being. Keep moving forward, Tim had said. I finished my shower got dressed, put on my makeup and went into the living room. Kevin was sitting on the floor with the session notebooks scattered around him.

  “I’m going over to Jim’s house and pay my respects to his family,” I said.

  “He’s your boyfriend.”

  “No, it’s just the right thing to do.”

  “I guess most of the town will be there.”

  “Probably. Polly’s lived here all her life. Everyone knows her, and most don’t like her but they know her.”

  “Everyone loves the dead.”

  “That’s it then. I’ll go over there now. I should take some food. I have a cake mix,” I said. The thought of baking caused me to cringe with disgust. Kevin laughed and went into the kitchen and started pulling out bowls and pan’s as if he owned the place.

  “I’ll have a fine—from scratch—apple crisp ready in twenty-five minutes. If anyone asks, and trust me they will just tell them it’s a family recipe.”

  I sat in the living room and watched the news. Kevin had left the sessions on the floor, and I glanced at a few sentences here and there but nothing stuck out as interesting to me. It wasn’t long before I could smell something sweet baking in the oven. “That smells good. Jim will never believe I baked it.”

  “He’s lost family he won’t be concerned with your cooking.”

  Twenty minutes later I was in the car with a steaming pan of apple crisp sitting on the back seat, and headed to town. As I pulled in the driveway and walked up the walk to the Parker house it dawned on me that I was about to be thrown into a den of vipers. There were at least seven cars parked around the house. Should be interesting, I told myself and rang the doorbell. Jim answered and stepped outside closing the door behind him.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said and pulled me in for a kiss.

  “I wanted to pay my respects,” I said. Jim, distracted, pulled away from me.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “Who?” I asked and followed his glare. A man wearing a dark suit was closing the door to a black sports car. “I don’t know, but he’s dressed like an undertaker. Probably works at the funeral home.”

  “I guess. But, why’s he taking pictures?”

  We watched as the black car pulled onto the street and slowly drove away. My body trembled, and the mumbling voices became louder and, much to my relief, quieted.

  “You’re right he’s probably with the funeral home,” Jim said and turned his attention back to me. “Before you go in you best beware all of Polly’s friends are inside. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I appreciate your attempt to protect me, but I can’t avoid them forever, and besides it’s a day of mourning. They won’t lay into me while they’re in a dead woman’s house.”

  “I guess we’re about see.”

  “I brought an apple crisp.”

  “You baked?”

  “Don’t look so shocked.”

  We walked in the front door and all talking ceased. You could’ve heard a pin drop if the floors weren’t covered wall to wall in nineteen seventies shag carpet. The living room was filled with people standing, sitting, and eating. All eyes were on me as I walked down the middle of the room and into the kitchen. Jim, snagged by an older man, was left behind. The kitchen was warm and smelled of pot roast, mashed potatoes and chocolate cake. Pilly was the first to see me.

  “Oh now aren’t you the sweet child. I swear on the good book if any of them busybodies would stop and see you for you…well I think you’re an angel in disguise. And what is this? Homemade?” she asked pointing at the apple crisp.

  “Just out of the oven,” I said. I didn’t lie it was. “It’s an apple crisp and it goes well with coffee.”

  “I can’t wait for a taste. Picky could you serve up this beautiful apple crisp little Shanna brought over.”

  Picky, busy with washing dishes, jumped to her orders. The sisters each had their own special duty in the house. Pilly was the cook and domestic engineer. Picky was a nurse and because of her education was the head over all that must be thought out or decided upon. Polly was in charge of information. Albee used to say, “Tell a graph—tell a phone—tell a Polly, all the same thing.”

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Picky said sharply and took the apple crisp.

  Jima rounded the corner into the kitchen and only slowed when Pilly grabbed her arm. “Shanna! I knew you wouldn’t leave me here in this mentholated blue-headed pasture of grief alone. I can’t get my friends to come within a block.” She pulled away from Pilly and led me into her bedroom shutting the door behind us. We sat on her bed across from each other.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Sure I guess, it’s sad and all and I’ll miss her. She was old and bitter so I think she’ll be happier elsewhere,” she said.

  “You know if you need to talk or anything, I’m here for you anytime.”

  “I know you are. We’re best friends just like you and my mother were,” she laid her head on my chest and began to cry. I didn’t know what to say. I was not the comforting type of person by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t (and still don’t) have a sympathetic bone in my body. My philosophy has always been; pick yourself up, dust off your knees and get on with it. But, this was different—I owed Vicky. I was as much to blame as her rapist.

  “It’s ok to be sad. It’s hard to lose someone you love.” I wished there was something after this life and that Vicky was present in that something watching me with her Jima. Our Jima. I wanted her to know I’d move heaven and earth for this child. This wasn’t the first and far from the last time I would envy the one who had died. “I’ll never leave you,” I said holding Jima’s face in my hands. “I promise.” And suddenly as if all cried out she sat up and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her top.

  “They’ve been going on and on about you and the farmhouse. Miss Edwards mostly but it’s like a pack of possessed chickens. They said you had those Mexicans build it. Then, they said you cast a spell and brought it back to life and your Momma’s rotted body is stashed inside. Most of the old ones are in shock and won’t even talk about it because of the curse. It’s just awful, awful and terrible, the things they say.”

  “Oh my God,” I was appalled. “They didn’t really say that about her body did they?”

  “Well maybe not that part, Aunt Picky says I’m good with embellishments. But, I say what’s cake without icing? They did say they thought you made a deal with the devil and that’s why your crops are so green. Your healthy plants have gotten them all in a tizzy.”

  “Let them tizzy. I really don’t care what they think and I’ll cry about it when I cash my check after harvest,” I said, and thought twice. “That’s not a nice thing to say. You shouldn’t talk that way and I shouldn’t either. It makes us no different from them. We will rise above it all, we will not become the things we despise.”

  “Yes Miss Shanna.” She rolled on the bed laughing and then jumped off and went under the frame to retrieve a box. “I want to show you something and get your advice. First, you have to swear an oath that you won’t tell anyone the secret I’m about to reveal. I need your most awesome promise. The sisters will hang me upside down by my toes if they catch wind of this.” Jima held the box lid closed while waiting for my oath.

  “How bad is it? I can’t promise without knowing what it is.”

  “It’s not about me, but it is about someo
ne we all know,” she said and opened the box. “I have to show you. You’re the only one that can help me. Everyone else would just yell at me. We’re allies on the same side. I got no other choice.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  She slowly opened the box and took out a book covered in newspaper. “I read this book of prophecy, and there’s one about Helen, I mean Mrs. Garner.” She thumbed through the pages, landed on one and started reading. “Only once in a blue moon just as you turn to leave, the sick hell swells from desired life.” She closed the book and looked at me with dramatic seriousness. My heart sank, you too Jima? “When I was leaving for school last Tuesday, the day of the blue moon. I picked up this very book. I was going to take it to school because I promised Becky she could read it. But, I dropped it and it fell open to this very page. I read it and in that instant I heard her barfing in the back yard. I mean she was hurling chunks big time so I looked. She was spewing something awful but then, when she stood up I saw like a vision or something. I swear her belly was swollen bigger than if she’d swallowed four whole watermelons—whole! Then the sun hit her and I could see through her dress. I swear on everything holy I saw a baby in her belly.”

  “Who?”

  “Helen, Mrs. Garner, Bradley’s wife for Christ’s sake. Everyone calls her Hells Bells because she’s so mean, and everyone knows she’s so mean because she never got the baby she prayed for—the desired life,” she pointed at the phrase in the book. “I heard Aunt Picky saying that she has a tumor in her belly and tomorrow they’re going to remove it but it’s not a tumor. It’s a baby. I know it is because I saw it right out that window right there. You have to stop them.”

  “Jima be rational. You can’t expect me to tell Bradley and Helen they’re going to have a baby because you read it in that book. I can’t do that.”

  “We have to do something. We can’t let them kill that baby. Patient Crew said it would happen and that means it will happen.”

  “Where did you get that book?”

  “Sweetwater but what does that matter?”

  “How do you know about that book? You shouldn’t be reading this stuff not at your age.”

  “Who doesn’t know about Patient: Crew and what does age have to do with anything? What does any of it matter now? We have to do something and if you won’t, then I’ll have to. I could talk to Aunt Picky, but she won’t believe me, that is not until they take that baby out and kill it.” Jima was pleading. She got up and put the book inside the box and slid it under the bed. “I’ll tell them myself right now.”

  I almost fell off the bed grabbing for her arm. “Don’t you dare go out there and make a scene not today. I’ll talk to Bradley.”

  Picky, with a scowl across her face, opened the door. “You need to be out there with the family,” she said to Jima. “You aren’t getting any points holding up in a kid's room,” she said to me.

  “Yes ma’am,” Jima and I said in unison. I walked into the living room with Jima and saw Helen standing next to her mother, Bertha Hopper. I figured it was as good a place as any to start.

  “Hi Helen. It’s nice to see you again,” I said and extended a hand. Helen shook my hand and then gave me a forced and quick hug. “I hear you’re going in for surgery tomorrow. I hope all goes well for you.”

  “Thank you Shanna. It’s nothing really just a little fibroid tumor. Doc says it’s nothing to worry over.”

  “Doc’s getting old and his equipment is even older. Do you think you should get a second opinion?”

  “I believe Doc’s still sharp minded. He’s a good man, and we trust him. It’s not something you or anyone, should worry about.” The room quieted. Every ear was straining to hear our conversation.

  “Did Doc give you a pregnancy test?”

  Helen nervously laughed. “I’m not pregnant Shanna. Now that’s enough of that. Mother,” she spoke loudly to Bertha who looked as though she was next in line to be mourned. “You remember Shanna Green she’s come home after ten years.” Helen hadn’t lost her touch in all those years. She had wittingly and with a loud voice alerted her mother to my presence.

  “Who?” Bertha said loudly. “Speak up if you want to be heard child stop being so cowardly.” She gave me a rigid look and her eyes grew wide. “Get thee behind me Satan. That’s Ruth Ann Green. The bowels of hell have spit out Jezebel herself. That’s what kilt Polly. Don’t look at her or you’ll be in the grave right next to her.”

  “Mother please,” Helen pleaded but it was bit late as everyone in the room had already heard. “It’s not Ruth Ann it’s her daughter Shanna.”

  “Even worse the witch’s bastard child. What’s she doing here? Polly wouldn’t like this, not one iota.”

  “I’ll just step outside,” I said. “Let her calm down a bit.”

  Helen had succeeded. Walking through that room felt like swimming in pea soup. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Every eye was forced downward and away from mine. I felt a wave of relief shower the room as I closed the door behind me. I stood on the porch for a second to catch my breath and saw Bradley sitting in his truck waiting for his wife to finish her Christian duty. I thought about what Jima was asking me to do. She had no understanding of the situation she had created. However innocent her request seemed it would start a shit storm. I was well aware of the implications and even more determined to continue. I walked over to Bradley’s truck. He stared straight ahead and acted as if he hadn’t seen me as he began to raise the door window.

  “Give me a second, please Bradley?” I asked, and he begrudgingly lowered the window.

  “What is it you want woman? I already got my name being dragged through the mud for selling you that seed for twice the price. They all think I’m consorting. You ain’t nothing but trouble,” he said.

  “It’s about Helen.”

  “What about Helen?” he scowled. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t a young man, but he wasn’t old either (at least not old enough to have the shakes). I frightened him; this was not something I enjoyed.

  “You need to make sure they give her a pregnancy test. Make sure she’s not pregnant.”

  “That’s it?” he laughed. “Hell’s not pregnant and Doc Williams said if we don’t get that tumor out of her,” he was frustrated. “Don’t you think we’ve already done tests on her? What business is this of yours?”

  “If you let the doctor operate on her, he’ll be removing your baby.”

  “You’re the spitting image of your Momma,” he said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “The fruit don’t rot far from the tree. Your Momma cursed my uncle and it took his life. I am not my uncle so you go on now and get out of here witch. I can’t figure out why the hell you came back in the first place. Can’t you see you’re not welcome here?”

  “Shut the fuck up and listen to me you stupid hick. There’s a baby in there. Get a sonogram and you will be able to see it. What have you got to lose? If I’m wrong you can tell your buddies and have a good laugh at my expense and at the same time let Helen be the horse’s mouth of the latest gossip. But, if you let them operate—mark my words Bradley Garner, you’ll be burying your unborn child.” I turned to leave, and Jim was standing behind me.

  “See what you’ve gotten yourself involved with boy,” Bradley said. “Is this what you want for your own daughter?”

  I walked around Jim and got in my car. He followed and got in the passenger side. “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I was just trying to help. I think they should at least know for sure that’s all,” I said.

  “Sounded to me like you knew for sure,” Jim said. “How do you know those things?”

  “I need to go. I have to go do something.”

  “Ok, you go do something but soon, real soon, we need to talk,” he said. I hate those words—we need to talk—they always make my stomach hurt. I distinctly remember every time someone has said those words to me, and it was never good.

&nb
sp; My stomach was churning, and I felt sick as I tried to recall the words I had spoken with Bradley. I wondered how much Jim had heard. He looked shocked. My best guess was he’d heard it all. I drove home at a snail's pace and was certain Kevin would greet me with a big grin and a plate of food. I wasn’t hungry and wasn’t ready for more human interactions. I missed the long boring days with Marla in Dallas. We’d talk about everything from eternal existence to the best brownie recipe. She had collections of works by all the great authors: Virginia Woolf, Shakespeare, Tolstoy and Hemingway. She liked a well-worn soldier type of story. I could never get into Hemingway, but he was Marla’s favorite. When I finally made my way home Kevin was sitting on the floor against a wall. Momma’s journals were strewn around him along with two dirty dinner plates and a couple of soda cans. His eyes were red and puffy, he had been crying.

  “Its all here—everything—right here,” Kevin said. “Most of this was written twenty years before any of it happened. This one book here could have saved hundreds of thousands of lives,” he held up the notebook and waved it at me.

  I ripped it from his hands, and picked up the other books, shoving his leg aside to get the ones underneath and then put them back in the box. I could feel my blood getting hot as I stood over him with raging anger. “Who in the hell do you think you are? Who gave you permission to read these? This is my personal property. You had no right to read them.”

  “Do you realize your mother predicted 9/11, the Sri Lanka tsunami, the earthquake in Haiti, and all the market crashes for the last ten years? And that’s after reading two notebooks. Do you know how many lives would have been saved if we had these writings at the time she wrote them?”

  “Do you know how many doctors she had to see and the medications they forced her to take? Do you have any idea how people tortured her and her family? It ruined her life. The voices took her life they took everything away from her.”

  “Those voices didn’t take her life. This town may have but not the voices.”

  “May have? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I suggest you mind your own business. This stuff, these diaries they’re mine. You are not allowed.”