by Liza Palmer
“It’s my decision to make,” Huston says to Connie’s back.
“My heart,” Connie whimpers, her liver-spotted hand at her chest. I look back and see Dennis talking to the nurses. They are staring at Huston, John and me like we’re the monsters.
“Do you need to take a moment? Maybe we can go into the lounge and talk,” Huston says, his voice low.
“I have to be here for my husband,” Connie clucks, her eyes fixing on the nurses as she swoons. Dennis is beside himself with worry, yet no glass of water in sight. I look from Connie to the nurses. A direct line of sight. My stomach drops as I realize that she’s playing to them. This is all a show and we’re the villains with the handlebar mustaches tying the damsel in distress to the train tracks.
“Go stand in the doorway,” I whisper to John, motioning at the gossiping nurses behind us taking in the show. John doesn’t ask any questions, sneaking a glance at the nurses as he settles into the doorway. Connie’s eyes narrow as her audience’s view is obstructed.
“Dad gave me his power of attorney, it’s my decision to move him to Los Angeles where I can properly oversee his care. Just as he wanted,” Huston says, looking over at the bed. I follow his gaze. We both notice simultaneously that Dad’s awake and following this conversation closely, or as closely as he can given his condition. Dad’s face is twisted with concern, his restrained arm flailing. Huston watches Dad, torn between making a move to comfort him and standing his ground and getting him safely out of this hospital for good. Huston stands his ground.
Three minutes.
“I can’t breathe,” Connie whimpers.
“We want to make this as easy a transition as possible for everyone,” Huston eases, still trying not to make a scene.
“I’m his wife,” Connie sobs.
“I understand that you were Dad’s wife at one time.”
“At one time?” Connie snivels.
“You were separated in 2005.”
“We are the loves of each other’s lives,” Connie sobs.
“You were separated in 2005,” he repeats.
“We spend every waking moment together,” Connie insists.
“We know you live in a town house at 1375 Daly Street.”
Connie stands abruptly, teetering. Huston and I rush over to help her. Her tiny body completely surrounded by ours. Connie suddenly clutches at Huston’s arm, pulling him down toward her. It looks like she may faint.
“Are you feeling oka—” Huston starts.
Connie cuts in, in a voice only Huston, John and I hear, “Do whatever you want with Ray. I just want what’s mine.”
Stunned, we fall back, letting go of Connie.
Huston’s face drains of color as we back away. John steadies himself in the doorway. Connie takes a deep breath, gets back into character and begins to walk feebly toward the door of the hospital room… and toward her adoring audience. But she has to get through John first. Huston and I immediately go to Dad.
Two minutes.
John puts his hand gently on Connie’s tiny shoulder, appearing to assist her out the door. John the Lawyer fades into the background as John the Juvenile Delinquent steps forward. His face hard. His eyes narrowed, looking directly into Connie’s rheumy red eyes. He’s downright terrifying as he leans in and whispers, “You better watch your back, because I might just give you what’s yours.” I see her eyes dart wildly behind him as she sees the ambulance driver rolling the gurney down the hallway toward Dad’s hospital room.
“Now? You’re doing this now? You’re disgusting, Mr. Hawkes,” Dennis accuses from the nurse’s station. The nurses gasp and point. I walk past John and into the hallway to flag the ambulance driver down. We’re all focused on one thing.
Get. Dad. Out.
The ambulance driver, thank God, is a beefy young kid. He rolls the gurney into the hospital room past John.
“Denny? Denny, do something!” Connie sobs, the nurses scrambling around her.
“Can’t anyone do something?” Dennis wails, looking to the heavens and yet not entering the hospital room.
I look away from The Connie and Dennis Show and watch as Huston leans over Dad’s bed, finally taking his hand. He whispers something in Dad’s ear and I can see the tears streaming down Dad’s face. My heart tightens. John helps the ambulance driver shift all of Dad’s medical equipment around. Two nurses have braved the front lines and are helping to get Dad on the gurney. This is the hardest part. Once we get him in the ambulance, he’s in the clear. We’re in the clear.
I focus on the Madonna and the crucifix. They’re hanging on the bulletin board next to some of the twins’ drawings and the picture of Mom I stole from Dad’s office. Dad’s finally all settled on the gurney. I breathe deeply. Almost there.
John has been holding Dad’s feeding tube delicately throughout the exchange, careful that it doesn’t pull or tug on Dad. Dad’s face is worried, he’s staring up at Huston. Focusing on him. Focusing on the calm in the storm.
Connie’s and Dennis’ sobs and protestations fade into the background as the ambulance driver starts to wheel Dad out of the room. Connie collapses into Dennis’ arms.
“Look what you’ve done to my mother!” Dennis wails. Huston simply walks past them. His pace never falters, his focus never wavering from Dad, their hands never letting go.
I can see the gurney finally disappearing behind the closed elevator doors. I remember I have a part in The Connie and Dennis Show. I hitch my purse over my shoulder, heavy with the Madonna and Child and the crucifix. I tuck Mom’s picture and the twins’ drawings into an outside pocket of my purse and grab my Casio. I start out of the hospital room.
“We’ve left directions and contact numbers for St. Teresa Manor with Nurse Miller, along with a copy of Dad’s medical file for you,” I say, delivering my one line before they have time to respond.
I walk down the long hallway toward the elevator. It dings open and I step in. As the doors close, I catch a final shot of Connie and Dennis lurching back toward the nurse’s station in search of Nurse Miller, Dad’s medical file and directions to Dad’s new facility.
The elevator doors close.
My body convulses forward. I try to steady my breathing, steady my body. The walls close in on me as I bend forward, put my hands on my knees and close my eyes. I’ve got four short floors to get this under control.
I’m afraid this is just the beginning. We’ve seen what they’re capable of. Knowing Connie and Dennis will stop at nothing scares the shit out of me.
The elevator door dings open. I stand up straight, breathe in and walk.
Out. Out. Out.
Home.
chapter twenty
Excuse me?” I ask a woman whose all-white nun’s habit hits her about mid-calf—cocktail length. It’s like a beginner’s habit. She’s probably the nun equivalent of a Webelos to an Eagle Scout.
I made it down the 101. Two hours of urgent phone calls, status reports, hoping that Dad was doing okay on the trip down.
“Yes?” The Webelos nun turns around, her round face tightly framed by the habit.
“My dad is going to be checked in today and I was just wondering—”
“Raymond Hawkes?” the Webelos nun interrupts.
“Yes, Ray Hawkes.”
“Your family is in the sunroom. They’re waiting to meet with Sister Marjorie Pauline,” she says, walking out from the nurse’s station and into the hall.
“Am I supposed to follow you?” I ask, not knowing whether to stay or go.
“Yes, please,” the Webelos nun answers. “Are those yours?” she asks, motioning to the Madonna and Child and crucifix in my hand.
“They’re my dad’s.” She smiles and continues down the hallway.
We walk in silence down the hallway past doors and doors of sick old people. I know this is a good place, but even the most skilled nursing homes seem like haunted houses with rooms populated by the ghosts of people who once existed. If they would have had an
open room for the last five years, I would have fit right in. I try to steady my breathing and focus back on the little Webelos nun.
“Thank you,” I say, as she leads me into a large sunroom. I blink my eyes and the room comes into focus.
“Tia Gwacie!!” Emilygrae runs over, her little casts banging into my knees. I quickly set the Madonna and Child and the crucifix on a chair along with my purse.
“Hey, sweetie,” I say, looking down at her and scanning the room for the other little ones. I nod a quick hello to Evie, she’s in her usual position: curled up in a chair, reading a novel. Mateo is flipping through a giant pirate book at Evie’s feet, taking out moving parts and looking at a bit of text with a decoder lens. All very interactive. He is riveted. Leo is standing by the doors that lead outside.
“How’d it go?” Abigail asks, approaching me. I look down at Emilygrae and smooth her long, tangled hair, tucking a bit of it behind her ear. She leans into my touch.
“We got him out. That’s all that matters,” I say, meeting Abigail’s gaze, not wanting to go into it now. Maybe never wanting to go into it.
Abigail listens absently. “Good… good…”
“Grace? It’s been a while.” Manny approaches me. I reach out to shake his hand, but he envelops me in a huge bear hug. I pat at his back, but can’t make my body relax. I pull away and smile awkwardly. He smiles back and walks over next to Abigail. Emilygrae shifts over and starts hugging her father’s legs. He rests his hand on the top of her head as she gazes up at him. Manny’s freshly pressed polo shirt is tucked neatly into his equally pressed dress pants. He’s started to lose his hair, but he otherwise looks just as I remember him.
“How far behind were they?” Leo asks, waiting at the door, biting his fingernails.
“Not far,” I answer, walking over to him. I pull his hand out of his mouth and smile. Leo softens.
“Have you gone home yet?”
“Do I look like I’ve gone home yet?” I smile, motioning to the same outfit I’ve been wearing for going on what feels like three months.
Leo looks out the automatic door, his mouth forcing back a smile.
“What?” I ask.
“Well…”
“What?” I ask.
“While we were making keys.”
“We?”
“Abigail told me to,” Leo blurts.
“Told you to what?”
“We copied your house key, too,” Leo confesses.
“Why?”
“Yours, Huston’s. Mine… even John’s.”
“How?” I ask.
“You know how kids love to play with real keys.” Leo laughs, eyeing the sticky-fingered twins.
“Why, though?” I press.
“Abigail has a surprise for you,” Leo whispers.
“For me?”
“The other keys were just a cover.”
“Why?” I ask again.
“She hired movers to deliver your old piano to surprise you, for when you got home,” Leo whispers. I look from Leo to Abigail.
“My old piano?” I gasp.
Leo beams. “That old upright Mom and Dad found.”
“She’s had it this whole time?” I ask, having to look away and out the automatic doors.
“When we cleaned out Mom’s house, she thought you might want it someday. When you came back,” Leo says, biting his nails again.
“How did she know… I would…”
“Come back?” Leo finishes. I nod. “She just did, I guess.”
“They’ll come through that door,” Abigail announces, pointing at where Leo and I are standing. I give her a ridiculously out-of-proportion smile. She immediately looks confused and sits back down next to Evie. Manny lifts Emilygrae up and bounces her around. Her giggles fill the room. I hold firm near Leo and we watch the door. She knew I’d come back.
We wait. The minutes pass.
“There… there they are!” Leo shouts, his arm shooting out. Pointing. He presses the button that opens the automatic doors to the pathway just outside.
Dad made it.
We all stand and watch as the same beefy ambulance driver pushes Dad in on the gurney. Dad is propped up and has a bright yellow blanket over him. His hospital gown is listing slightly off his left shoulder as he comes up the pathway. Huston and John follow behind the gurney, looking like Secret Service men, talking quietly, making sure the final step is successful. Dad turns the last corner and enters the sunroom.
“Daaaaadddddd!” we all say, waving and smiling. Dad’s eyes set on one face after another. He raises his now unrestrained arm high in the air, smiling crookedly. The ambulance driver stops right in the middle of all of us. We converge on Dad, offering pats, smiles, waves, caresses… whatever we feel we can do to let him know that he’s safe. We did it. We got him out.
His idea worked.
“Hey,” John says, sliding his arm around my waist. Abigail notices instantly. So does Evie. Abigail beams at us. Evie’s face turns bright red.
“Hey,” I say, leaning into him.
“Okay… let’s get your dad set up in his new digs,” the ambulance driver says, wheeling Dad out of the sunroom and into the hall. Dad beams at all of us as he’s wheeled down the hall. We watch him go.
The entire room breathes a sigh of relief.
“We did it,” Huston sighs, his body tense, yet somehow relaxed. Leo bounds up to Huston and hugs him. Huston immediately starts to comfort him.
“You did so great,” I say, smiling at Huston.
“You… man, that was… They surpassed even my expectations,” Huston admits, with his arm around Leo’s shoulder. Leo wipes at his eyes and looks over at me, making “I’m okay” faces.
“This place is perfect, peaceful, kind of,” I say to Abigail.
“Thanks… Leo actually found it,” Abigail says, motioning to Leo.
“Internet,” Leo admits.
“Finally, something you won’t get thrown in lockup for.” Huston laughs, pulling Leo close.
I lean against the wall just outside Dad’s room, still holding on to John. Abigail’s already noticed. Dad’s safe, that’s all that matters.
I scan the hallway. A bunch of old ladies in wheelchairs have begun moving down the hallway—like an even creepier version of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. One minute there was only the one old lady dressed in all red, now there’s like ten of them. They’re all shuffling around in their wheelchairs, using their feet to zip and zoom in and out of traffic. They finally settle in just below the statue of the Virgin Mary. A destination spot, I take it.
I’m taking in the birds on the wire when a nun all decked out in a brown-and-white habit turns the corner in one of those electric mobility scooters. Red. She’s speeding along at quite a clip as she approaches our little hallway grouping.
“You must be the Hawkes clan,” the nun announces, screeching to a halt mere centimeters from Abigail.
“We’re Ray Hawkes’ kids,” Abigail announces, extending her hand to the nun, whose round face is tightly framed in the brown habit.
“Sister Marjorie Pauline, I’m the one who signs your dad into St. Teresa—the welcoming committee,” she responds. For a nun, Sister Marjorie Pauline seems a tad rough around the edges. I like her immediately. Sister Marjorie Pauline scoots past Abigail and heads down the hallway, toward Huston.
“Huston Hawkes. Thank you so much for making room for us,” Huston starts, holding out his hand.
“Heard you had a rough time of it up there, Huston,” Sister Marjorie Pauline jolts to a stop right in front of him. Her speech is kind of blue-collar, like she could be taking your breakfast order at the local greasy spoon. Calling you “hon.”
“We did,” Huston answers. The rest of the family is craning to hear the conversation.
“Well, you’re here now. Your dad’s here now. Safe,” Sister Marjorie Pauline says, staring him down. I can see his jaw clenching, his eyes focusing anywhere but at the little nun. Sister Marjorie Pauline brea
ks eye contact, zooms her little red scooter forward and takes his hand. Huston looks horrified.
“Thank you,” Huston answers, never looking at her.
“This has been weighing on you.” Sister Marjorie Pauline keeps hold of Huston’s hand.
“It’s been weighing on all of us.”
Sister Marjorie Pauline brings her other hand across and takes both of his hands. His eyes dart around as he becomes more and more panicked.
I don’t want her to tell him the worst is over, because it isn’t. I don’t want her to tell him he can relax now, because he can’t.
Sister Marjorie Pauline holds Huston’s hands for several more seconds. I realize she’s saying a prayer for him: the atheist. He bows his head and closes his eyes.
“Amen,” Sister Marjorie Pauline finally says, letting Huston’s hands go. He opens his eyes and looks around awkwardly, clearing his throat and looking at his watch.
“He’s all ready,” a Webelos nun tells Abigail as she finally exits Dad’s room.
Sister Marjorie Pauline reverses her little red scooter, almost mowing down one, if not both, of the twins. They loooooove it.
We all stream into Dad’s room.
He looks exhausted, but rested, somehow. He acknowledges each one of us as we fall in around the hospital bed. Countless tubes still crawl around his body, the numbers on the monitors continue to dance. I see the kids cling to their parents, not knowing what to make of all this. They were banished to the waiting room while we were in Ojai, so this is the first time they’ve been able to visit him. I imagine it’s a pretty scary sight for them.
Sister Marjorie Pauline scoots in behind John and Manny, parking just behind the privacy curtain. She carefully stands, grabs her cane in the little rear basket of her scooter and walks the few steps over to Dad’s bedside. We all watch as she approaches him.
“So, you finally made it, Ray,” Sister Marjorie Pauline barks over the metal safety bar, coming right up close to Dad’s face.
His entire face lights up. In a way I’ve never seen. I look at Leo and mouth, “Great place.” He nods back with a look of huge relief.
