Tranquility

by Laurie Gardiner

  When we got to the car, Kayla threw her arms around Tracey’s waist. “You should come to our house for dinner.” She turned to me excitedly. “Can she, Mommy?”

  Tracey began to protest, but I cut her off saying, “Of course she can. We’re making homemade pizza.”

  “I dunno….”

  “You’re coming,” I insisted.

  “Pleeeeease?” Kayla begged. She looked up at Tracey, bottom lip out, eyes wide and pleading. It was a hard face to say no to.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll come, but I’m gonna help make pizza.”

  * * *

  My phone buzzed as we sat down to eat. It was Mom. I knew something was wrong as soon as I heard her voice.

  “They think Gran’s had another stroke.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “But, what about Kayla?”

  “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Was that Nana, Mommy? Is she comin’ home for pizza?”

  “No, sweetie, Gran’s—” I swallowed hard and looked away, blinking back tears. I pulled Kayla against me and stroked the top of her head. “Gran’s having some trouble and I need to go to the hospital. I’ll call Mrs. Curtis and see if she minds watching you.”

  “I can stay with Kayla,” Tracey said.

  Kayla pulled away and bounced in her chair. “Yes, please, Mommy. It’s boring at Mrs. Curtis’s house. Please, Mommy, please?”

  “Are you sure?” I asked Tracey.

  “Absolutely. We’re gonna look at photos. Kayla can tell me all about her dad and her grandpa. And then, maybe we’ll watch a movie.”

  Kayla bobbed her head enthusiastically. “Please, Mommy, I’ll be so good, I promise.”

  “Okay, but if I’m not home by nine, I want you to get ready for bed. Deal?”

  “Deal! Thank you, Mommy.” She jumped down off her chair and came around the table to give me a quick hug before she ran into the living room, yelling, “I’m getting the pictures.”

  I managed a trembling smile for Tracey. “Thanks.”

  She put her hand on my arm comfortingly. “It’s no problem, really. This is way better than going home to an empty apartment. Go—be with your mom. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

  I nodded as I walked away, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat, and grabbed my purse and coat on the way out the door. The drive to the hospital was excruciating. My fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel at every light. I swore under my breath at every slow driver. The parking lot was packed and I drove up and down every row before finally finding a spot at the very back.

  There was a line at the parking booth. I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried not to look annoyed while two elderly women inserted four dollars worth of quarters into the machine, bickering the whole time. They were a quarter short. They dug through their purses, each blaming the other for not counting the money correctly. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a quarter and held it under their noses. They thanked me profusely, while I gritted my teeth waiting for them to finish. When they left, I pushed a five-dollar bill into the slot, grabbed my change and practically ran into the hospital.

  I panicked a little when I walked into Gran’s room in the ICU and found it empty. Was I too late? I found Mom sitting in the waiting room down the hall. Her face looked weary and drawn with worry.

  “They took her for tests,” she said in a flat voice.

  I fell into the seat beside her, still trying to catch my breath, and took her hand. “What happened to make them think she had another stroke?”

  “I’m not sure. She was having trouble breathing. The alarm on the machine went off. The nurse came in and said that the heart monitor showed abnormal readings and her oxygen level was low.”

  Mom’s hand trembled in mine. She took a deep, quavering breath before she continued. “She stopped breathing. Alarms went off, people came running in…I didn’t know what was happening. I heard someone say something about another stroke and intubating her. They made me leave. I felt so helpless.” She began to cry.

  I put my arm around her, pulled her close and comforted her as she cried into my shoulder. It was all I could do.

  Chapter 20 -Theories and Assumptions

  I LEFT THE HOSPITAL SHORTLY after nine, knowing Tracey had to work early the next morning. We still hadn’t heard anything regarding Gran’s condition, so before I left, I went to the nurse’s station. All they were able to tell me was that she’d been stabilized and was still upstairs awaiting more tests. There was nothing we could do but wait. I tried to convince Mom to come home and get some sleep, but she insisted on staying until Gran was brought back to her room so she could see her.

  Kayla was ready for bed, but still up, cuddled on the couch with Tracey, watching a movie when I got home. Thankfully, she was too tired out from her busy day to ask questions and went right to bed after Tracey left.

  I went to bed shortly after Kayla, but lay awake, tossing and turning, too upset to sleep. I was still awake when I heard Mom come home shortly after midnight. I finally fell into a fitful sleep and woke early Wednesday morning feeling as though I’d barely slept. I lay in bed for a while, hoping to drift off again, but the thoughts had already begun to turn in my head.

  I shuffled out of my bedroom in my housecoat and slippers, and headed downstairs to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Halfway down the steps, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me.

  Mom was sitting on a stool at the island, slouched over, staring into the mug she held tightly between her hands. She looked up when I came in and rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. I doubted she’d slept any better than I had.

  I pulled a mug off the shelf above the coffeemaker and filled it. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “A little.”

  “Did you get to see Gran?” I leaned back against the counter and took a sip of strong, black coffee.

  Her eyes filled at the mention of her mother. “I did.” A tear spilled over and she swiped it away in frustration. “She looked so helpless. She’s not even breathing on her own now. I hate this. I hate seeing her this way.” She pushed her mug away, laid her head on her arms on the counter, and began to sob.

  “Mommy, why’s Nana crying?” Kayla stood in the doorway, looking tousled and sleepy. Her tiny face was crumpled with worry.

  Mom sat up, startled by the sound of Kayla’s voice. She swiped a tissue from the box beside her and hurriedly mopped up the tears.

  I held out my hand to Kayla. She walked hesitantly toward me and put her hand in mine. I crouched down in front of her. “Gran had another stroke last night, sweetie. She’s very sick now and that makes Nana sad.”

  “Is Gran gonna die?”

  Mom made a choking sound and covered her face.

  I cupped Kayla’s chin in my hand and managed a shaky smile. “We don’t know, Kayla. We have to go to the hospital today and talk to the doctor.” I gave her a hug and sent her upstairs to get dressed.

  * * *

  I left Kayla with Mrs. Curtis an hour later, promising her I’d be back soon. Mom was at the hospital when I got there, sitting in her usual spot beside Gran’s bed, staring blankly at the magazine on her lap. She jumped a little when I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I went to the other side of the bed and picked up Gran’s hand. It felt cold and lifeless. She was perfectly still and unresponsive when I gently squeezed her hand. There were tubes and machines everywhere. The room was deathly quiet save the soft “whoosh, whoosh” of the ventilator.

  It reminded me of Palliative Care, where it was so quiet it was eerie. The walls there were too white and sterile. The residents were mainly bedridden or confined to wheelchairs, so the halls were empty and every sound seemed to echo. The staff spoke in low tones and walked quietly as to not disturb those who were sleeping or in pain. Even the visitors were somber and quiet. It was a place devoid of joy. A place where people went to
die.

  Working there hadn’t been without its rewards. I’d taken pride in knowing I was helping people live their final days with as much comfort and dignity as possible. For some, I was the only person they’d seen all day other than the nurses who often came and went like ghosts with barely a word spoken. But I’d become too attached to the residents and watching them die had brought back too many memories of my dad’s death. I’d left work every day feeling torn up inside and emotionally exhausted.

  It was exactly how Mom looked now. “Did you see the doctor this morning?” I asked.

  “I did. He said the tests showed she had another stroke. She’s still on the ventilator.” She waved her hand toward the machine. “He said the stroke weakened the muscles used for breathing. He’s so vague. He won’t say how long he thinks she’ll need the machine, or when she might wake up. It’s so frustrating.”

  I just nodded and listened. Mom was either in denial, or didn’t understand how bad the situation was. I knew from my experience in Palliative that Gran was unlikely to recover. She’d had two strokes within two weeks, remained unresponsive, and was now unable to breathe on her own. Unless a miracle happened, or Gran gave in and let go, Mom would have some tough choices to make in the weeks ahead.

  * * *

  I went back to work on Thursday. I’d contacted Amelia’s mom the night before. She worked part-time, but had taken the week off to be home with Amelia. When I explained the situation to her, she insisted my mom drop Kayla off in the morning to spend the day.

  It was hard to get back into the swing of the work routine after having three days off. I’d missed my residents, though, and their antics helped distract me from worrying about Gran.

  Rose had lost much of her independence because of the cast on her arm. She couldn’t dress herself or cut her own food. She even needed my help to use the toilet because she was unable to pull her pants up or down. It was time consuming for me and frustrating for Rose. She was sullen and sulky during our morning routine.

  I found Mrs. W shuffling about the main hall before breakfast and took her into the dining room. I assumed the dirty looks Sheila sent my way were because I’d taken Mrs. W to my table, but I soon felt the cold, condemning stares of other co-workers. Someone must have told Sheila, and everyone else, about my accusations. I tried not to care, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was back in grade school where tattletales were either picked on or shunned.

  Rose struggled until Edie stepped in to help. Georgia followed suit. They fawned over her as though she were an injured child. They pushed her chair in for her, unfolded her napkin and fixed her tea the way she liked. Rose thrived on the attention and by the time breakfast was over, her mood had greatly improved.

  Later, when I gathered my residents and directed them to the dining room for lunch, I looked for Mrs. W in her usual spot in the main hall. She wasn’t there, or in the lounge. I walked into the dining room with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sure enough, she was across the room with Sheila.

  Sheila sat back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest and stared at me. I wanted so badly to slap the smug smirk off her face. I kept my face carefully composed, turned my back on her, and sat between Beth and Mrs. Sellers.

  The mellow sounds of Frank Sinatra wafted from the overhead speakers. The soft background music seemed to relax the residents. It was played at every meal, but I’d become so used to it, I barely noticed anymore.

  Sam hummed along while he chewed. He’d been in a good mood all morning, humming and whistling everywhere he went. I watched him reach across to Lily’s plate and snatch a French fry. I waited for Lily to scold him, but she was distracted with trying to keep her burger together while she took a bite. Sam had eaten all of his fries, but had barely touched the chicken burger and coleslaw. He took another fry and dipped it in the dollop of ketchup on Lily’s plate before popping it in his mouth.

  I reminded Mrs. Sellers to eat and turned her plate so she could reach the fries. Beth tried to get up from the table. I turned to her and put my hand on her arm. “Where are you going, Beth?”

  “I have to go see Mother. She needs me.”

  “She’s fine, Aunt Helen’s looking after her. Do you want ketchup with your fries?”

  Beth settled back into her chair and nodded. I placed the ketchup bottle, upside down, into her hands. “Here, squeeze some onto your plate beside the fries.”

  I watched Sam out of the corner of my eye. He continued to steal Lily’s fries. Finally, she put her burger down and looked at him. She smiled through a mouthful of food, picked up half her fries and put them on his plate. Sam leaned over and gave her a big, loud kiss on the cheek. Lily blushed and giggled.

  I shook my head in disbelief and smiled fondly at Sam. If it had been anyone but him, including Beth, they’d have been thoroughly chastised. I had no doubt he’d been charming the ladies since long before I was born and they still loved him.

  Mrs. Sellers coughed. I placed her water beside her hand and instructed her to drink. I heard a familiar nasal whine behind me.

  “No, don’t spit your food out. Eat nicely, hon.” Sheila’s voice was syrupy sweet.

  It made me shudder and I resisted the urge to turn and look.

  “Oh dear, are we not hungry today?”

  Another loud voice filled the room. “Who in the good Lord’s name is she talking to?”

  I glanced back at Georgia.

  She watched Sheila with a scowl on her face. “She’s a full-grown woman, you know, not a child.”

  Sheila didn’t respond.

  Georgia went back to eating, but continued to mumble to herself. “Lord Almighty, people have no respect. That’s no way to speak to a grown woman.”

  Edie patted Georgia’s hand and murmured her agreement.

  I turned back to the table with a satisfied smile, and met Carol’s stare. She was sitting at the next table over with her new resident, a quiet, timid man who’d taken John’s place. She looked away as soon as our eyes met, but not before I saw the flash of guilt that crossed her face.

  I went to the staff room after lunch to take my break. I filled my water bottle from the cooler, took my yogurt out of the fridge and sat down at the table with a magazine. I was lounging in my chair, flipping through the magazine, thoroughly enjoying my strawberry yogurt, when the door opened a few minutes later.

  Sheila walked in.

  I sat up in my chair and put my yogurt on the table. I’d lost my appetite. I picked up the magazine. It shook visibly in my hands. I quickly dropped it onto my lap, stared at it blankly and willed myself to breathe.

  Sheila sauntered to the fridge, took out a cola, cracked it open and leaned a hip casually against the counter. She didn’t even look at me when she spoke, but stared at the can in her hand, “I heard you accused me of leaving those marks on Mrs. W’s neck.”

  I looked up quickly. “I never said—”

  She slammed the can onto the counter, crossed the room, slapped her hands down on the table and leaned across in front of me until her face was inches from mine. “Carol told me exactly what you said. You think you can come in here and tell us how things should be? I’ve been here thirty years. Thirty years! Since the place opened. No one tells me how to do my job, especially some twenty-something kid who’s been here for what—six months?”

  She laughed, straightened up and paced in front of me. “You have no idea. None. You know who did that to Mrs. W? John. I saw him the day before, getting angry at her because she went after him with her chair.”

  I shifted in my seat. John wouldn’t have gone near Mrs. W. He was afraid of her because she fought back. He had only ever picked on residents he knew he could easily bully. Just like Sheila, I thought. I kept my mouth shut. Arguing with her was useless, and I’d only end up saying something that would get me in trouble.

  For some reason my silence seemed to anger her more. She bent over in front of me again and put her finger in my face. “You need to learn to min
d your own damn business. I could get you fired like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Believe me, you don’t wanna mess—”

  The door opened behind Sheila and she straightened up quickly. It was Abby. She looked from me to Sheila, then went to the water cooler and poured herself a drink.

  Sheila gave me one last look before she ambled across the room and flopped down on the couch. She picked up a magazine from the pile on the coffee table and flipped through it as though nothing had happened.

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, placed my magazine on the table and went to the sink to wash my spoon. No one said a word, but I could feel their eyes on my back as I dried the spoon and put it away. I went back to the table and picked up the half empty yogurt container.

  Abby stood silently by the water cooler. I looked directly into her eyes. She stared at me impassively for a moment before she looked away.

  I tossed my yogurt container in the recycle bin without a word, yanked the door open and hurried down the hall to the staff bathroom. I closed the door, locked it, turned and stared at my pale face in the mirror as I took a deep shaky breath. “Now what?” I asked my reflection.

  I did my paperwork early that afternoon and left work at two-thirty sharp. I wasn’t in the mood to see or speak to anyone.

  My phone went off as I crossed the parking lot. I pulled it out of my coat pocket. Tracey had sent me a text asking where I was.

  In the parking lot, I answered.

  Wait 4 me

  I threw my purse inside the car, leaned against it, and played with my keys impatiently while I waited. I barely noticed the warmth of the March sun on my face or the robin singing in a nearby tree. The scene with Sheila played over again in my mind as I thought of all the things I wished I had said.

  The sound of approaching footsteps broke through my thoughts and I looked up to see Tracey hurrying toward me.