“Come on,” he croons. “Boss woman seems to have a soft spot for you. Surely you could at least ask?”
Cue puppy-dog eyes. Man, he’s good at that. Problem is, I’d love to, but how do I convince Kathleen? She’s been pretty open with some of my ideas for the place. Maybe I can spin it another way.
“Leave it with me.” I wink and pick up our book from the bedside table. Our book? “Okay, now where were we?”
Sam huffs as he moves to his side, using his hand to assist the movement of his leg. “Kyle was getting himself in deeper,” he says, and sighs as he melts into the pillows.
I feel his eyes on me as I open the book and start reading.
Every now and then I glance up at Sam to check if he’s still awake. It’s as if his eyes have never moved from my face. Today, he’s as bright as a button. It’s really nice to see.
When I leave the room almost an hour later, I walk past Mrs Jones’s room and spy the Super-Gran sticker on the door below her name. Sam wants Wonder Woman, huh?
He doesn’t know it yet, but this place will soon be filled with superheroes. I’ll get Sam out of that room.
***
Sally-Anne is at her desk chatting on her mobile when I return. Does she ever work?
“How was lunch?” Kathleen asks, a slight tease in her tone.
“Um, good,” I say quietly. “Did some reading with Sam. Actually, while I think of it, do we have a lost property box?”
“We do. Why?”
“Sam’s lost his reading glasses.”
A smirk passes over her lips. “He told you that, did he?”
“Yeah.” What’s the big deal?
“Sam doesn’t have reading glasses. I think that young man is having a lend of you.”
“But why would he lie about something like that?” I scoff. Why?
“Have a think about it, love. You’re an attractive young woman. He’s a young man …”
“Oh.” Heat rushes to my face. I cough to clear my throat. He likes me? “Um, so I have an idea for an activity which I think would be really great.”
“I’m listening.”
My brain stalls. He likes me.
Focus, Jane. Superheroes.
“Jane? Where did you go, just now?” Kathleen asks.
“Sorry, I was going to be clever and articulate my pitch to you, but … okay, I’m just going to come out and ask.”
“Please. The suspense is killing me.”
“If I wear my Wonder Woman costume, Sam will come out of his room. He’ll try with the other residents. So, I’m asking you, pretty please, can we have a superhero day so I can wear my costume to work?” I grit my teeth together trying to read her face as I anticipate a big fat no.
Her brows pull tight and she scratches at her chin. “Jane, if you think you can get Sam to become less isolated, then I’m all for it.”
“Really?” I gush. “Thank you so much! I thought I’d call Penny or Josh from the council and see if they can help me round up costumes from people who came to the fundraiser. I’m sure we can get at least a dozen or so outfits, and I’d be happy to go to the two-dollar shop in town and grab a couple of masks. My expense, of course.”
“Penny and I go way back. We went to school together. I’ll give her a call myself.” Kathleen picks up her mobile and scrolls down the screen. “When do we want them by?”
No point in wasting any time. “As soon as possible.”
Kathleen nods. “I like your sense of urgency, Jane.”
***
Sam is sleeping when I go to say goodbye to him at five. As disappointed as I am that we don’t get to chat at the end of the day, it’s probably for the best. I think I’d struggle to hide my excitement about Superhero Day. I can’t let the cat out of the bag too early. The look on his face when he sees me in costume will be worth holding my tongue for.
Butch is nowhere to be found when I get home. And I know exactly why he’s hiding. It’s as if a mini tornado has ripped through my little shack. Bits of black fluff and plastic are strewn across the kitchen floor and into the lounge room. My sausage dog has made a meal out of my slippers. Lucky for him they were a cheap pair from the corner store, so not too expensive to replace. Nevertheless, I’m far from happy.
I find Butch under my bed. “I should make a meal out of you, buddy,” I say and growl, waiving my outstretched index finger at my mischievous boy. He crawls out and looks up at me with those rusty brown eyes. My heart melts. This dog is trouble; he has his own dietician, for Pete’s sake, but I love him to bits. I’d forgive him pretty much anything. Butch is family. Particularly with Mum and Dad away.
He makes a high-pitched growl and wiggles his bum.
I lean down and ruffle my fingers over the top of Butch’s head. His tail whips eagerly from side to side.
I throw my hands up in defeat. “You gonna clean this up?” I ask, knowing full well he won’t answer, or help.
When the mess is cleaned and the dog and I are fed, I settle myself at my desk in front of the laptop. Knowing full well I should be giving my attention to Brandon and Ally, I open up my browser and bring up a Google search.
I type in GBS.
Twenty-three million results are returned, starting with the question, “What is GBS?”
I read about how the cause is unknown, and how the immune system attacks itself. One site details that it can be caused from episodes of gastro, respiratory infections, or flu vaccinations. It’s not hereditary or contagious. What a shitty disease. How can medical experts attempt to cure something when they can’t even determine what causes it?
Reading each of the heartbreaking GBS survivor stories soon brings me to tears. Some articles are recounts of triumphs whereas some are tales of loss. Butch must sense my change in mood, sitting at my feet as I reach for the tissues. I let him snuggle on my lap as I read about mothers unable to care for their own children, marriages failing, family members feeling hopeless, the demands of physical therapy, and above all, the desperate search for answers.
Recovery can take weeks to years. Memory loss can be a short-term effect of GBS. The body works overtime to recuperate and learn basic motor skills again. The long-term outlook is that nine out of ten victims survive, and out of that nine out of ten, seventy-five to ninety percent recover completely. I have to take that positive out of this.
Sam is breaking free from the prison his body created for him a year ago. Whilst some cases seem life-threatening, Sam is over the worst of his.
I choke back tears when I read the stories. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him—bedridden, alone, and robbed of the life he had.
When I read about the senate inquiry into the management of young people in nursing homes in Australia, I’m shocked at the statistics. It’s hard to believe that every year, more than three hundred people under fifty are admitted to nursing homes. Once they’re in, they’re surrounded by death and the dying. They lose their skills, and what social networks they may have had diminish. I can only hope that in time, the government will develop pathways for community living. For Sam, and for all those out there in the same situation as him.
He must know that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. If he doesn’t, then it’s up to me to make sure he does.
When I can’t read any more about GBS and nursing homes, I open my manuscript. For an hour or so I write about Mount TBA and try and set the scene for the first time Brandon and Ally cross paths at the dessert van.
Words come together, but when I read back over them before calling it quits for the night, my heart sinks. I have no idea what I’m doing. The sentences seem so … basic.
What makes me think I can do this?
Chapter Eleven
Two days later, Superhero Day kicks off.
I help Mrs Cassidy slip on her Catwoman mask. Funnily, there’s been no mention of Snuggle Muffins today. I thought the mask would trigger thoughts of her feline friend, but I guess there’s no way of knowing when her memory
will come and go.
Mrs Ferguson is dressed as the Hulk—her choice was made because green is her colour. She doesn’t seem fussed at all about wearing the shirt with outlines of bulging muscles. She’s teamed it with her own federation green cropped pants and matching slippers. She’s utterly adorable.
“That colour looks fabulous on you,” I tell her as I pass through the room.
A wide smile stretches across her wrinkled face. “Why thank you, dear. You look stunning in that little number. Once upon a time, I had pins like yours. I turned heads, you know.”
“I bet you did. I guarantee men threw themselves at you.”
“Oh, yes.” She chuckles quietly. “Yes, they did.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime,” I say with a wink. Maybe I’ll get some story ideas… “So what made you decide to settle down with Keith?”
“Oh, my Keith,” she continues, sighing. “He stood out above all others. That man captured my heart like no one else.” She presses her hand to her chest and walks off, a fond smile plastered on her face.
Frederick looks dashing in a Batman costume, although his fascination with the feel of the built-in padded abs makes him look like he’s complaining of a stomach ache.
My gambling friend Mr Thompson couldn’t wait to put on the Spiderman mask, although Paige said that getting the shirt on was an epic challenge because he was more interested in undressing than dressing. Whilst it might’ve been a battle, I haven’t seen him smile this much since I started work here.
Mr Blandford, aka Captain America, is asleep in his chair, snoring and holding his plastic shield to his chest like a lifesaver as the original Superman movie streams from the TV in the corner. For an old fella, he looks kind of cute.
I head back to reception and touch up my lip gloss.
“This morning has been perfect, Jane,” Kathleen says as I apply a coat of Cherry Red. It’s not Friday, but I feel like wearing it today. “It’s been great to see everyone so spirited. I haven’t experienced this kind of jovial atmosphere at the home in quite some time.”
Her kind words fill me with pride. There’s just one more thing that needs to happen to make this day truly perfect. “Thanks, Kathleen. I appreciate you giving me a bit of free rein. Let’s just see if it pays off with Sam.”
The switchboard lights up.
“Speaking of,” Kathleen says, pointing at the switch which has just lit up. Room ten.
My heart pounds as I pick up the handset. “Jane speaking,” I chirp, knowing full well who it is.
“Hey,” Sam says with a throaty chuckle.
“Hey,” I mimic.
“Hey, again,” he says, a playfulness to his tone.
“What can I do for you, Mr Marshall?”
“No need for formalities, Janie. What’s all the fuss about out there today?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I ask in a high-pitched tone.
“Someone in red just went past, hummed the Spiderman theme, and covered my door in silly string. It’s really loud out in the hall.”
“Maybe you should come out of your room.”
“I’ll come out if you come visit me first.”
Winning! “I’ll be there shortly.”
“All I have is time. I’ll be waiting.”
“See you soon.”
I tidy up my paperwork and grab a walkie-talkie from the holder.
“Fingers crossed,” Kathleen says as I walk past, crossing her fingers on one hand.
A moment later, I knock on Sam’s door, which is wide open for a change. I step farther into the room to find him already sitting in his wheelchair.
“Oh my god,” he says though a hearty chuckle.
I slip the rope behind his head, draping it around his shoulders, careful not to hurt him. “No one can resist the golden lasso. It binds all who are encircled and compels them to tell the truth!” I say, quoting Wonder Woman herself.
“If that’s the case, then the truth is, I’m pretty damn hot for that outfit,” he says, catching me off guard.
“Oh,” I stutter as a sudden rush of blood prickles at my cheeks. “Okay.”
“I’m guessing by that mad blush that you’re not used to compliments.”
“Um, no not really.” The last loser I dated was far too concerned about his own appearance to notice mine.
“Well, that’s a real shame.” He shakes his head. “Do me a favour?” he asks, handing me a mobile phone.
“Sure.”
“Take a photo of me and Wonder Woman? I’m a big fan.”
“Of course. Anything for a fan.” I set the camera onto selfie mode and crouch down beside Sam. “Okay, say stinky blue cheese,” I say, moving the phone to capture us both.
Sam chuckles as I take a few shots. “Couldn’t just say cheese, huh?”
“Everyone expects that. Besides, I love blue cheese.” I hand him his phone, which he slips into a pocket in the side of his chair. “Are you ready to head out to the dining room now?”
“Sure.”
I walk out in the hallway, Sam close behind me in his chair until we reach the dining hall.
“Here comes trouble,” Frederick grumbles and takes off his black mask.
I raise a brow at him and cross my arms beneath my chest. “Now, now, Frederick. Be nice, or I’ll take you off the list for the next cooking class.”
He gasps and clutches at his chest. “You wouldn’t, doll?”
I drop my hands and hook them onto my hips for full effect. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”
When he frowns I flash him a sly smile. I’d hate for him to think that I’d take that away from him. Sometimes it’s hard to know who you can joke with around here.
“I thought you were nice,” Fred says and clicks his tongue.
“I am nice, so you should be too,” I say in a softer voice.
I turn around and spy Sam hanging back in the doorway.
“Sam, why don’t you sit over here? Frederick can tell you about his flying days. He used to be a stunt pilot.”
Interest flashes across Sam’s face and he gives me a slight nod. After a wave of my hand, he moves in closer.
“Okay?” I ask him as I stand.
He scrunches up his nose and turns his upper body towards me. “Smells like bleach in here,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, it does,” I say. “So, you’re good?”
“Yup,” he says, and turns to face Frederick.
Mr Blandford looks on with interest from a nearby chair. I give him a smile and he returns the gesture, smoothing his hand over his shiny bald head. As nice as he seems, I’m not going to introduce Sam to the undertaker on one of his rare outings to the dining hall. Talk of dead bodies would likely send Sam wheeling at full speed in the other direction. And I wouldn’t blame him one bit.
“Wanna hear a crazy story, trouble?” Fred asks. Sam wheels his chair closer to him.
I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving them to talk amongst themselves.
When I come back ten minutes later, the two men are in intense conversation. Sam is listening intently—his focus is fully on Frederick who is animated, moving his hands, as if signalling an aircraft doing a loop-the-loop. I hang back behind the piano, eavesdropping for a moment.
“Luckily, I made it out alive,” Frederick says.
Sam chuckles. “Bloody lucky, mate.”
“What were you doing with your life before you got here, son?” Frederick asks.
Sam turns his hands over in his lap, the simple movement seemingly difficult for him. “Singing, playing guitar. Was offered a deal with a record label. Then everything turned to shit ... sorry, turned to crap. Had a long time in hospital before I landed here.”
Sam is a singer?
“Crikey. Call me an old coot, but that’s some bad luck.”
“You’re an old coot,” Sam says. The corner of his mouth tugs into a half-hearted smirk.
Frederick laughs out loud and shakes his head. “That’s what my
wife used to say.”
I swallow down the giant lump in my throat as I’m jolted back to the first time Sam and I met and how he sang on his way out of the home with the sheriff.
I need to learn more about Sam. To do that, I’m going to have to spend more time with him.
Chapter Twelve
In my lunch hour the next day, I find myself in Sam’s room. Discovering more about him yesterday certainly piqued my interest. The thing is, I don’t want to hear stuff about him in conversation with someone else. I want Sam to talk to me.
Sam is propped up in bed with pillows tucked behind him, the covers pushed down to his waist. From the look of his crumpled white T-shirt and unruly hair I’m guessing he hasn’t strayed far from bed all day. Eyes glazed, he stares at the blue book he’s caressing on his lap. Has he been waiting for me?
“Keen for some more?” I ask, leaning my shoulder in the doorway.
“We talking about the book or you?” he says with a waggle of his brown eyebrows.
I chuckle to myself as I stalk into the room. “Both.” He smiles. As I walk farther inside, a hit of subtle earthy cologne teases at my nostrils. Did he put some on just before I arrived?
“Then the answer is hell yes and yes.”
Gulp. I set down my water bottle on his bedside table, slide over a chair, and get comfortable.
“Did you eat?” I ask, noting the absence of any dishes.
“Cannelloni. Wasn’t bad, actually. You?”
“I scoffed down some tuna and crackers earlier, but I could really go a dirty burger.”
Sam’s head hits the pillow behind him with a thud. “A dirty burger?”
“From Grease Monkeys. Have you been there?”
“Nope. I like the sound of it, though.”
“It’s their signature burger and has everything you could ever want between two bits of bread. A thick chargrilled beef patty, deep-fried onions, lettuce, tomato, beetroot, swiss cheese, goopy mayo, ketchup, jalapeños, and, if that wasn’t enough, a fried egg and crispy bacon on a giant soft damper bun. It’s frickin’ huge.”
“Hmm, sounds incredible. Why do they call it dirty?”
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