by Jean Ferris
Sunnie grabbed his cold hands. "Does this mean Bart and Bernie get the money?"
"No. Not yet. Horatio and Mousey are alive, and so am I, so it's still ours. But I don't get control of it."
"Well, who does?"
"Can we sit down?" Sandy asked. "This has been a long and horrible day, and I'm exhausted."
"Of course." She kept hold of one of his hands as they walked into the sickroom. "Where's Bentley?"
"Putting the car away. He said he'd bring dinner up. We stopped at a deli on the way home and got some food. Have you ever been to a deli?"
"Sure. Lots of times. Oh, Sandy, I keep forgetting you don't know anything about real life."
"That's why I'm incompetent. That deli was the only good thing that happened all day. The smells! The people! Salamis hanging from the ceiling and a crock full of wonderful pickles and a loaf of bread in the shape of an alligator. There was an old lady wearing a T-shirt that said NUKE THE WHALES—oh, I'm sorry, I forgot about your whales—but I never saw anything like it. There was a man who looked just like the picture of Jesus in the Bible. He was sitting on the sidewalk outside the deli. I wanted to go talk to him, but Bentley wouldn't let me. What if he really was Jesus?"
"I'm pretty sure he wasn't," Sunnie said, settling Sandy into an armchair.
"The whole ride through the city was something. The noise, and all the cars and people and buildings. How does everybody know what to do and where to go? It looked so confusing and scary. And exciting, all at the same time. But I didn't see any jungle, like you said was there. I was lucky, I guess."
Bentley came into the sickroom straining under the weight of a loaded tray. Louie hopped out of Attila's dishpan, where he had been napping, and twined himself around Bentley's ankles. Sandy picked him up and struggled to hold him until Bentley put the tray down. Then he opened a can of sardines that occupied Louie while Bentley unwrapped huge, oily, pungent packages of sandwiches.
When they were finally all settled with their food, Sunnie asked, "Now will somebody please tell me what happened?"
Sandy looked at Bentley. "You tell her."
Bentley said, "The court appointed some of Horatio's lawyers as conservators of the estate. The situation will be reviewed annually, or any time something changes. Like if Horatio wakes up. Or Sandy learns to manage things. But at least Bart and Bernie won't get their hands on the money. Oh, I wish you could have seen their faces. They were so mad. They thought they were going to make it look like Sandy had tried to do his parents in, just the way we thought they would. But we were ready for them, thanks to you, Sunnie. You'd have to be an idiot not to see that Sandy is trying to save his parents, not get rid of them."
Sunnie licked olive oil off her fingers. "Well, that's not so bad, Sandy."
"Tell her the rest," Sandy said.
"What rest?" she asked. -
"The rest is, the court decided we can't keep Horatio, Mousey, and Flossie here. The judge said that for their own safety, they should be in a place where there's a doctor available. Nothing we could say would change the judge's mind. We have a week to move them." He looked glumly into his bottle of celery tonic. "Flossie and I have spent every night since we were married under the same roof. I can't imagine what I'll do without her."
"Where are you going to move them?" Sunnie asked.
"I don't know. We have to start looking for a place. Do you know of a good place, Sunnie? One close to Eclipse, so we can see them every day?"
"They gave us a book in nursing school that lists facilities like that. Let me get it." She went into Mousey's little office and came back with a thick blue book. She flipped the pages until she came to their county, and then began running her finger down the columns. "Nope, too far ... too far ... too crummy, I know that place ... too far ... hey! What's the name of the road Eclipse is on?"
"Old Country Road," Sandy said. "Why?"
"Well, there's a convalescent home located on Old Country Road. There're an M.D. and an R.N. in residence. It's not too big—in fact it's real small. Let me see ... it's got a swimming pool—not that our patients care—but it sounds nice, and it's ... Wow, it's expensive, but what do we care? Three hot meals, recreational activities, separate wing for isolation patients. Sounds terrific."
"What's the name of this place?" Sandy asked.
"Walnut Manor."
"Walnut Manor?" Bentley asked. "That's right next door. I thought it was a funny farm, not a convalescent hospital."
"It says here that they take 'the patient needing only minimal medical care. Our primary concern is the temporarily distressed patient.' What does that mean, I wonder? Plenty of times I've been temporarily distressed."
"Who cares what it means?" Bentley said. "It's perfect. Our sleepers certainly need only minimal care, and they'd be right next door. We could spend almost as much time with them as we do now."
"Don't you think we should visit, just to make sure it's as good as it sounds?" Sandy asked.
"I've been there," Bentley said. "A long time ago, just before Horatio bought this land. We wanted to be sure the patients weren't dangerous, living right next door to us. They certainly haven't been. In all the years we've lived here, we've only had one incident with a patient from there. This was when Sandy was still a toddler. I was out exercising the horses, before we got rid of them and got bicycles instead, and I was riding over by the wall. There was a kite stuck in the big walnut tree on our side of the wall, and the string went down on the other side. I heard this awful crying, so I rode right up to the wall and looked over. A man was sitting on the ground holding the kite string and bawling his head off. 'My kite, my kite,' he was crying in this little baby voice. 'I want my kite back.' And then suddenly he'd stop crying and say in a very grown-up voice, 'It's only a kite. We can get another one. Don't cry.' And then he'd start crying all over again. He looked up and saw me watching him, and he popped his thumb in his mouth. When I offered to help him get his kite back, he pulled out his thumb and said in his grown-up voice, 'Oh, could you? He'd appreciate it so much.' Then he stuck his thumb back in his mouth. I got the kite down and handed it over the wall, and he said, 'Thank you ever so much. How very kind of you. Say thank you, Boom-Boom.' Then he put his thumb back in and this sound sort of like 'thank you' came out around the thumb, and he took his kite and walked off."
"Sounds harmless enough," Sunnie said, "but I think we should go over there tomorrow. If it looks as good as it sounds, it should be perfect." Then she looked doleful. "I'll sure miss my patients. And this beautiful house. I was so lucky to have this for my first nursing assignment. I'll never forget any of you."
As Sandy helped Bentley carry the supper things downstairs he said, "Maybe ... maybe we could still keep a private duty nurse once we move Horatio and Mousey and Flossie and Attila. I mean, four more patients, that's a lot ... And Sunnie's such a wonderful nurse. And so interesting to talk to. Even Louie loves her."
Bentley looked at Sandy and remembered his own youth, when he was first courting Flossie. Living at Eclipse for so many years hadn't given him amnesia. He recalled what infatuation felt like, and he recognized it on Sandy's face.
CHAPTER 9
In the morning, they drew straws to see who got to go to Walnut Manor and who stayed home with the patients. Sandy and Sunnie drew the long straws, so Bentley got a chemistry textbook and a thermos of coffee and settled himself in the overstuffed chair in the sickroom. Sunnie changed out of her uniform while Sandy waited in the front hall.
"Hurry, Sunnie!" he called up the stairs.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she said, taking one last look at her patients. She scratched Louie behind the ears, waved to Bentley, and finished fastening the belt on her gray wool dress as she ran down the stairs.
"Oh," he said. "You look so different in clothes." He blushed. "I mean, out of your uniform. No, not like that. I mean, that's a pretty dress."
Sunnie laughed. "I know what you mean. Thank you. Shall we go?"
They put
on their coats and gloves and went down the wide front steps to the driveway, where two bicycles waited. They rode through the gates of Eclipse, and Sunnie waited while. Sandy locked them again. October chill pinked their cheeks as they pedaled the mile up Old Country Road to Walnut Manor.
Stately, leafless trees lined the curving drive to Walnut Manor. They parked their bicycles at the foot of the steps leading to the broad porch of the main building. Sunnie said, "You'd better let me do the talking. I know more about this than you do."
"Okay," Sandy said, gawking at the big building. It was handsome in an unkempt way, without the grace and tidiness of Eclipse. "It needs painting."
"Winter's the wrong time to paint," Sunnie said. "You do that in the spring or the summer, when the weather's better."
"We paint at Eclipse when things need painting," Sandy told her. He pointed up to the third floor. "There's a broken window up there."
"I'm sure they'll get around to fixing it," Sunnie said. "You mustn't let your reluctance to move our sleepers prejudice you against a good place. Give it a chance, Sandy."
"You're right," he said contritely. "I'll try."
"That's the right attitude," she said, and patted his arm. She started up the steps, while he stood transfixed by the way his arm tingled where she had touched him.
"Come on," Sunnie said over her shoulder.
Sandy hurried up the steps and through the heavy door into the main hall.
Inside it was absolutely silent. The hardwood floors gleamed softly, and the aroma of lemon oil and coffee and cigarette smoke floated in the air. There were two closed doors on either side of the hall, and beyond them the hall opened into a big square area with a staircase rising from it on the left. Straight across the square area a set of double doors opened into a dining room with windows all across the back looking out to the pool. Opposite the staircase was another set of double doors, which were closed.
Sandy looked at Sunnie. "Nice and quiet," he whispered encouragingly.
Sunnie nodded and went to the door labeled OFFICE. She opened it, peered in, and motioned for Sandy to follow. Behind a counter was a typewriter on a desk and another closed door. From behind the door came the muffled sounds of people talking. Only an occasional word was intelligible. They heard "bacon" and "laundry"- and something that sounded like "cat molester."
Sunnie rang the bell on the counter. At its sound, the voices behind the door ceased. There was a long pause, and then the door flew open as if it had been kicked. A figure in a flowered shift over gray sweatpants burst out. She wore high-top basketball shoes and a white nurse's cap, and a cigarette with a long ash hung from the corner of her mouth. She carried a screwdriver.
"Yeah?" she said.
"We want to talk to somebody about your facility," Sunnie said. "Are you in charge?"
The woman snorted and then yelled over her shoulder, "Hey, Doc! Some people to see you." Turning back to Sandy and Sunnie, she said, "Good luck keeping him awake." Then she hit the swinging half door at the end of the counter with her fist, rushed through it and out the office door.
From the inner office came a short man in an old-fashioned gray suit and round, wire-rimmed glasses. He blinked, smoothed his fringe of white hair, and asked hesitantly, "What can I do to help you?"
"We'd like a tour of Walnut Manor," Sunnie said.
"Really?" the man asked. "It's been years since I've given a tour, but sure, I can do that, I guess. How come you're interested in Walnut Manor?"
"We're looking for a good convalescent hospital for some members of our family."
"Some?" the man asked. "There's more than one?"
"Three," Sunnie said, deliberately neglecting to mention Attila. This would be hard enough to explain without bringing in a chicken.
"Three!" the man said, brightening considerably. "Well. I'm Dr. Waldemar, the director, and we definitely have room for three more." He came around the counter to shake hands with them. He gave them each a brochure and fee schedule.
"Who was that woman?" Sandy asked, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.
"Oh, that's Opal, our nurse. But please, don't let appearances deceive you; she's highly competent. Living out here in the country, we've both gotten a little out of touch with current fashions. I believe that the quality of the heart that lies beneath the clothes is more important than the clothes themselves."
"Nobody could argue with that," Sandy said.
"I must tell you," Dr. Waldemar said, "that our patient count has been dwindling for some time. For one thing, we're so far from town that it's difficult for families to come visit. And for another, insurance companies don't pay for our services the way they used to, so we can keep only those patients who can personally afford our care. We've had to close off one wing to keep costs down, and we no longer, heat the pool. But I assure you," he added hastily, "our guests get the finest care."
"Could we see some of the guests?" Sunnie asked.
"Certainly. They should be in the library now. After breakfast they're supposed to straighten their rooms, and then they spend most of the rest of the day in the library. We keep the fire going, and it's quite cozy."
They crossed the wide central hall to the library's double doors, which Dr. Waldemar opened. The library was a large, elegantly proportioned room, with a coffered ceiling and two walls of bookshelves rising all the way to it. At the far end of the room, French doors opened out onto a stone porch. In the center of the remaining wall, a fireplace blazed away cheerfully.
A pale, potato-shaped man sat on a couch in front of a televised exercise program twitching his arms and shoulders in a pallid imitation of what the instructor on the screen was doing. Another pale, potato-shaped man sat next to him doing nothing.
At a table in the middle of the room, four men were playing cards. One of the men wore a yachting cap; one had a full, white, Santa Claus beard; and one had his thumb in his mouth. Everything about the fourth man could be characterized as "average"; the police would never have been able to identify him from a description of all his average attributes.
A thin young man was lying on a wheeled platform resting next to one of the bookcases, and another young man, who looked to be about seventeen and to weigh close to three hundred pounds, stood at the French doors looking out onto the empty flower beds.
"We're down to eight now," Dr. Waldemar said. "And most of them have been here for a long, long time. I don't know why they're all men. Maybe families are more willing to take care of their distressed female relatives at home. Maybe females don't get as distressed. I just don't know."
As Dr. Waldemar, Sunnie, and Sandy stood inside the door talking, all the men at the card table put down their cards and looked at them.
"We have some visitors today," Dr. Waldemar said. "We'll be on our best behavior, won't we?"
The man with the beard and the man with the yachting cap gave almost identical scowls and picked up their cards.
The average-looking man at the card table said, "'You can observe a lot just by watching.' Yogi Berra."
Sunnie glanced at Dr. Waldemar.
"That's Everett. He always speaks in quotations. He doesn't see any reason to speak in his own words because he thinks somebody else has already said it better than he can."
"'I quote others only the better to express myself.' Michel de Montaigne," Everett said.
"Michel de Montaigne. 1533 to 1592," Sandy said.
Sunnie stared at him. So did Dr. Waldemar and Everett. Then Everett jumped up, ran to Sandy, and embraced him. He drew back and regarded Sandy sternly. "'Beware of false knowledge,'" he said, "'it is more dangerous than ignorance.' George Bernard Shaw."
"It's not false," Sandy said, a little indignantly. "My family and I read a lot of Montaigne when I was growing up. Montaigne said something I've been thinking about a lot lately."
"What's that?" Dr. Waldemar asked.
"He said 'What do I know?'" Sandy replied.
Everett embraced Sandy again, with t
ears in his eyes. "'One's friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human.' George Santayana."
"Sorry," Sandy said. "I don't know anything about George Santayana."
When Everett had gone back to the card table, Dr. Waldemar led Sunnie and Sandy out into the hall and closed the doors behind them.
"What's wrong with all those people?" Sandy asked.
"Nothing serious, most of them. Just bothersome to their families, really. You heard Everett. All those quotes were driving his wife crazy. And he gets overexcited by anybody else who knows a quote, the way he did with you. The one with the thumb in his mouth, Boom-Boom, now he's an interesting case. He's a split personality, one part grown-up, and the other part still a little child. Switches back and forth all the time. The man with the white beard, that's Whitney Hamilton Atherton Moreland III. Maybe you've heard of him. He's one of the richest men in the country, but he was getting so forgetful, he couldn't run his business anymore. He's so irascible, none of his family would take him in. He's been here for eight or nine years. Let's see. The one with the yachting cap, that's L. Barlow Van Dyke, another rich man. But hard to get along with, too. In fact, the last time he spoke to anybody was the day his family brought him here, about the same time Mr. Moreland arrived. Hasn't said a word since. But he can scowl volumes. The fat boy, Graham, is just too depressed about being fat to go to school anymore. He couldn't take the teasing. His parents won't let him come home until he slims down and cheers up, but he hasn't lost an ounce or smiled since he's been here."
"What about the boy lying down?"
"That's Eddy, our most serious case. One day he just lay down—said he was tired—and he's never gotten up again. Hasn't spoken again, either. He's not much trouble, but I do feel sorry for him, wasting his youth like that. His parents haven't been to see him in ages. The two on the couch, Virgil and Lyle, are bachelor brothers. They just aren't suited for modern life, I think. They're afraid of everything. When it got to the point where they were afraid to leave their house—they lived together—their married sisters shipped them here, where the only life they experience is on TV."