Tender Loving Care

by Andrew Neiderman

  I was afraid to touch her clothes. I had the feeling that the moment I did so, something terrible would happen. It was a ridiculous way to behave, I know. I was acting like a child afraid of some witch’s spell. In my mind the nurse had become something supernatural. She knew the moment I walked through that door. I imagined her seated at the table with Miriam. She was aware of my presence in her room. Even now, she was looking up through the ceiling, watching me, getting ready to throw some sort of curse over me.

  I chastised myself for the silly behavior and went to my knees at the foot of her closet. There were only two pairs of shoes there: another pair of white ones to go with her uniform, and the dark blue ones she wore the night we had the so-called dinner of celebration. The white ones looked immaculate, so I picked up the dark blue and turned them over.

  The heels of each shoe had tiny punctures in them caused by wear and by moving over sidewalks and tiny pebbles. Most of these small holes were filled with rust-colored clay, the clay of my basement floor. I reacted like a man who had found his salvation. My eyes went wide with glee; I laughed with satisfaction. I held the shoes against my body, cherishing them as though they were made of gold. I would go downstairs, I thought, and slam them right on the kitchen table. The proof would be irrefutable. The nurse would be trapped.

  Just as I stood up, the door of her room opened and Mrs. Randolph entered. The sight of her was a shock because my childish fears seemed to come true—she had felt my presence in her room; she knew exactly what I was doing. Like a shoplifter who had been caught in the act, I held the shoes behind my back. She smiled when she saw me; she didn’t look at all surprised.

  “Well, returning to the scene of your crime?” she said. She closed the door softly behind her.

  “More like the scene of your crime,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “You killed that dog.”

  “Still on that. What did you expect to find in here, the rat poison? Or are you planting it? Is that what you’re hiding behind your back? Really, Michael ...”

  I brought her shoes out in front of me. She didn’t appear to realize what it meant.

  “On the contrary, you went down in my basement and found the poison.”

  “Is that right?” she said as though she were humoring me.

  “Yes, and this proves it,” I said shaking the shoes.

  “Those shoes?” Her wide smile was designed to throw me off and make me feel foolish, but I was determined.

  “Yes.” I turned them over. “See the heels. There’s clay in them, clay from my basement floor.” She stared at her shoes for a moment and then walked to the dresser. “Proof,” I said, “that you were down there. Why else would you be down there.” She began to unbutton the blouse of her uniform.

  “That’s ridiculous. There’s clay all around this house. I could have stepped in it the night I arrived.”

  “You only walked on the lawn and on the sidewalk. There’s no clay there.”

  She took off her blouse and turned toward me, smiling again. I thought her bosom looked terribly inhibited by the rather tight bra. The skin of her breasts was pink around the top of the undergarment. She dropped the blouse on the dresser.

  “My, we’re turning into a regular Sam Spade. Digging up clay.’’ She laughed at her own pun. She reached around behind her back and unclipped the bra, but she didn’t remove it. She let it linger over the top of her emancipated bosom.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to wash my hair. That’s why I wanted the herbal shampoo. What did you think?” She leaned forward and let the bra straps off her shoulders. “Was there something else you wanted from me?” she asked. Her firm breasts shuddered and then took their nearly perfectly symmetrical shape. But I would not be intimidated. I fought back, pushing the memory away. She turned her shoulder and smiled coquettishly. I hated her more because of what she stirred in me.

  “I want you out of here, that’s what I want. When Miriam sees this—”

  “Sees what?” she said, her hands on her hips, her back straight. She was like some sort of Amazon, using sex like a weapon, proud, undaunted, eager to do battle and conquer the masculine enemy. “A pair of shoes that you took down to the basement and pressed into the floor?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you did. You wanted to blame me for something you did so you took my shoes down there and put that clay on them. How would I have known the poison was in the basement? Besides, I didn’t hate the dog, you did. You were always complaining about it. Miriam knows that. Whom do you think she will believe when it comes right down to it?”

  I didn’t say anything. I stood there with my mouth open, my arms still out holding the shoes before me.

  She unzipped the skirt of her uniform and stepped out of it, smiling all the while. Then she dropped the slip. When she started toward me, I backed up almost to the window.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “What do you want?”

  “I want to wash my hair. I told you that already.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Honestly,” she said taking her robe from the closet, “you look very silly standing there with my shoes in your hands.” She put the robe on, watching me all the while. “Oh, I almost forgot. Miriam says you should get Lillian into her wheelchair. She thinks you should take her for a walk since this is your day off. I would help you, but I’ve got to wash my hair.” She started to leave.

  “I want you out of here,” I whispered. “I want you out of here,” I repeated in full voice. She opened the door and then turned back to smile. “Out of here!” I shouted. She closed the door in the middle of my scream.

  I stood there shaking with the shoes still in my hands. I looked down at them, and then I heaved them with all my might at the closet floor. They bounced against her suitcase and settled on their sides, the heels pointing back at me defiantly. I felt tremendous rage and frustration, but all I could do was charge out of her room.

  Out in the hall, I heard the water running in the bathroom. Lillian’s door was wide open, and the wheelchair had been pushed into full view. I held my left hand out, palm up, toward it and slid along the far wall until I reached the top of the stairway.

  “Michael?” Miriam called from down in the kitchen.

  “No,” I whispered. I thought I saw the wheel of the chair move a few inches out of the doorway. The illusion chased me down the stairs.

  “Michael? Is that you?”

  “I’ll be back!” I screamed, and I ran out of the house. I had to get out; I felt as though I were choking in there. Once down the porch steps, I moved first toward the car and then toward the road. I was in a confused frenzy. I really didn’t know what to do or where to go. Without any real thought, I started down the road, babbling to myself and walking as quickly as I could.

  It wasn’t until I saw Max Gilbert’s house come into view that I slowed down. The possibility of meeting someone brought me back to full awareness. I stopped and stared into the woods. There was movement in the bushes, and a white-tailed deer appeared. When it saw me, it froze. It stood so still I could understand how hunters might walk right past one without realizing it. Its large sad eyes studied me with considerable interest. After a while I was unnerved by it so I raised my arm quickly and the deer turned and jumped over a bush. It glided into the woods and became one with the foliage.

  Just after I turned to start back to my house, I heard the truck behind me. I knew the sound of that old pickup’s engine, so I wasn’t surprised when I next heard the brakes squeak and turned to see Max Gilbert leaning out the window.

  For me Max Gilbert had always been the ideal neighbor. He liked to keep to himself. He was usually a man of few words, satisfied with a simple, “Hello, how are you?” or a quick wave. I estimated him to be a man in his early seventies now. He wasn’t really a contemporary of my father’s, but they were cut of the same mold. He grew corn and raised chickens. At one time he had nearly fift
een thousand chickens on his farm. There weren’t more than a couple of dozen chickens there now, producing eggs for him and his wife. He still raised corn and sold it to the groceries in the nearby towns.

  I always had the feeling that he didn’t like me much. I think he distrusted me because I didn’t like farmwork. My father once told me that Max Gilbert thought I was adopted. I don’t know if Max ever really said that. I think my father was just trying to make a point.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No, just taking a walk. Nice day,” I said. “Saw a deer over there just now,” I added and pointed. It was a stupid thing to say to him. He must have seen hundreds of deer that way. It made me sound like some kind of tourist. He grunted, but he didn’t pull away.

  “Glad to see you got some life back into your house,” he said. “My missus says it’s a good thing; good way to cure deep pain.”

  “What are you talking about, the nurse?” I couldn’t believe that somehow, from a distance, she had charmed him too.

  “Nurse? No. Don’t mean to pry, but what’dja do, adopt?”

  “Adopt? Adopt what?”

  “That little girl.”

  “What little girl?” He looked at me in a most peculiar way and shifted into first. I heard the gears grind. “The one I saw in the upstairs window. None of my business,” he said when I didn’t respond, “but we wish you luck.” He started away.

  “Wait,” I said. “Wait.” He didn’t hear me or didn’t want to continue the conversation.

  I felt awfully cold all of a sudden. The sun was beating down on me and I felt so cold. I embraced myself. I was actually shivering. His truck disappeared around a turn and I was alone again. I looked for the deer, but there was nothing. The woods seemed so desolate and dark. It was so quiet. I could barely hear the sound of Max Gilbert’s truck as it continued down the road. His words lingered around me. I started to hear them again, first from the right; then from the left. They were behind me, above me, everywhere: “That little girl.”

  “That little girl.”

  “That little girl.”

  I was running now, running back to the house, running as hard and as fast as I could. What was this about? What was Gilbert saying? Only the nurse knew. I was sure, only the nurse had the answers. Max Gilbert’s words stayed with me; they chased me up the road. I spun around once, just before I got home.

  “What little girl?” I screamed. “Lillian’s dead. She’s dead.” Oh God, I thought, Lillian’s dead.

  I felt myself grow nauseated. A sharp pain in my left side crumpled me to my knees. I held myself and dry heaved at the side of the road. It exhausted me, and I sat on the macadam for a while. The sun-warmed pavement felt good. It helped me end my shivering so I was able to get up and continue on. When I reached the house, I saw Miriam sitting on the porch. The way she was staring ahead led me to believe she was in a daze. She didn’t appear to notice my approach. I stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at her.

  “What’s wrong now?” She didn’t respond. She blinked and wiped a tear from under her right eye. “Miriam?” She turned to me slowly. When she saw me, her face changed to a look of disdain.

  “Mrs. Randolph had to tell Lillian about her dog. I thought you were going to do it.”

  “She was sleeping when I went up there,” I said. With every lie I told, my grip on reality slipped. The last six months had been a mad high-wire balancing act. When Mrs. Randolph came, I thought I would become steadier; but instead, I had fallen. Now I hung by my fingers. I could feel the wire tearing through my flesh. I dangled hopelessly. “I didn’t want to wake her to give her bad news.”

  “She kept calling for her dog so Mrs. Randolph had to tell her.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, it’s true. Lillian took it very badly. Mrs. Randolph says it’s a setback, a definite setback.”

  “Miriam,” I began, but she raised her voice.

  “Lillian doesn’t want to get up; she doesn’t want to go in her wheelchair. She’s just lying there staring up at the ceiling, doing what she did before Mrs. Randolph first arrived.”

  I moved to the foot of the porch steps.

  “It’s not true. None of that is true. Mrs. Randolph is making it up. Believe me, Miriam.”

  “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “Because she killed the dog.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know why you would say such a thing.” She turned away from me.

  “It does make sense,” I responded eagerly. I had a surge of energy and determination. Mrs. Randolph had given me an opportunity, and I had to drive it home. I started up the steps. “Listen, listen. She killed the dog just so she could tell you that Lillian suffered a setback. Don’t you see? This makes her stay here more important. She wants to be more and more important to us so we will be completely dependent on her.” She looked at me again.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said, but there was just a twinkle of credulity in her eyes. I was encouraged.

  “Miriam, I wouldn’t kill that dog. You know I never have killed anything. Did I ever go hunting with my father’s friends during deer season? Have I ever used the rifles? They’re rusting away in the attic. Didn’t I post all our land to prohibit hunting after Pop died?”

  “Mrs. Randolph says you’re becoming unreasonably jealous because Lillian is so fond of her. She says you deliberately messed up at the bank so that you could be around here more.”

  “That couldn’t be true. You don’t believe any of that now, do you?”

  “Lillian is so upset,” she said ignoring the question. “She won’t even sit up in bed. Mrs. Randolph says if we don’t get her out of her depression, we might have to take her to a hospital. I don’t want to ever go back to the hospital,” she added, her lips trembling, her eyes widening with fear.

  “There will be no hospital. Believe me, Miriam, no hospital.”

  “Because I couldn’t stand that,” she said. She started to cry.

  “Miriam.” I went to her and took her hand. “Try to listen to me. Try to understand what I’m saying. Mrs. Randolph is not a nice person. She’s doing terrible things to us. She’s—”

  “Miriam,“ Mrs. Randolph called from Lillian’s window above the porch. I stepped further in under the roof. “Are you out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lillian says she’ll have the tea and toast now.”

  “Oh, good,” Miriam said, obviously grateful for little things. She stood up, taking her hand out of mine.

  “Miriam,” I whispered, “don’t listen to her.”

  “She says you should come up by yourself. She doesn’t want to see her father just yet. She says he told her the dog was no good and he was going to get rid of it.”

  “I never—”

  Miriam turned to me, her eyes filled with such fire. I had never seen her so blazed with anger. It made me step back. I shook my head, but she didn’t change her expression.

  “No, it’s a lie.”

  “Are you coming up?” Mrs. Randolph asked.

  “Yes, right away,” Miriam said. “Michael, how could you?”

  “I didn’t. I swear it. Mrs. Randolph is making it up.”

  Miriam shook her head and went into the house. I stepped off the porch quickly and looked up at the window of Lillian’s room. The curtain had been drawn, but I thought the nurse was peering out at me through the narrow slit.

  “Liar!” I screamed. There was no response. I felt sure she was laughing at me.

  I don’t know why, but I went around the back again to look at the doghouse. It was as if I wanted continuous proof that all this was really happening. I was a man sinking deeper and deeper into quicksand. Every movement I made hastened the descent rather than inhibited it. I was at a loss for the right action. Whatever I did contributed to my own demise.

  Like a man with a head wound, I wandered about in dizzy circles. Every direction was frightening. I started and stopped; hesitated and
started again. I began mumbling, speaking incoherent half-sentences. I shook my fist at the sky, sobbed, and cursed. Finally, I decided to go into the house to get a drink. Whiskey was the only thing holding a promise of relief. I was able to make a decision and move forward.

  They were both upstairs now. I took a bottle and a tumbler and went into the living room. Sitting in my favorite chair, I consumed one drink after another. It warmed and steadied me. I was able to sit back and close my eyes. I almost fell asleep, but Mrs. Randolph surprised and interrupted me. She was standing before me in her aseptic white uniform, her hair glistening from the wash and blow dry. Her face was as immaculate as usual, her skin nearly transparent. For a moment all I could do was stare at the tiny blue veins that ran along her temples. If I could dig my fingers into her skin and tear them out ...

  “That won’t solve your problem,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The booze.” Her tone of voice changed and became as reasonable as Dr. Turner’s. “Why don’t you tell Miriam that you killed the dog? Tell her you’re sorry. You made a mistake. You’ll get another dog. It would mean a great deal to her.”

  “I didn’t kill the dog. You killed it.”

  “The dog is dead and Lillian is terribly upset. You’ve got to do something.”

  “You’re vicious and evil.” Her face changed; her eyes became small again.

  “And you’re pathetic. Don’t you think I know why you hate me so much and why you want Miriam to remain as she is, half catatonic?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” She took a step closer, and I thought she grew right before my eyes. Her body loomed above me. She towered threateningly. “Tell me about the accident,” she said. I shook my head. “Tell me the details.”

  “No. Leave me alone.”

  “It’ll be good for you to talk about it. You’ll cleanse yourself and you won’t think these mad thoughts.”