Hope Girl

by Wendy Dunham

  “In all reality, River, I don’t think that happened. Our imaginations can do funny things.”

  “But, Dad, I heard it.”

  “I’m sure that’s how it appeared,” he says. “Your grandmother’s been monitored around the clock, and nothing’s changed.”

  Later Aunt Elizabeth and I search Gram’s attic for her wedding dress. I don’t want to, but Aunt Elizabeth says we need to be prepared. And since Gram’s a packrat, there are a lot of boxes to look through.

  Since Gram’s attic is a crawl space, Aunt Elizabeth and I look around while on our hands and knees. “This box says photo albums,” Aunt Elizabeth says, pushing it aside. “And this one, winter clothes.”

  I reach for a medium-sized box in the farthest corner. On the side is written: Wedding Gown. I open it quietly so Aunt Elizabeth won’t hear. I push the tissue paper aside, and there it is. Although it’s old and yellowed, it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The collar’s tall and made of lace, and around its edge are pearls sewn in the shape of flowers, almost like daisies. The shoulders are silk and puffy. Tucked alongside her dress is her veil, a pair of long ivory gloves, and a silver sequined purse. I open it and find a picture of her and Gramp on their wedding day. Gramp is holding her in his arms. She’s smiling and looks so beautiful. I tuck the picture in my pocket, quietly close the box, and push it back in the corner. Gram won’t need her dress. There’s no sense telling Aunt Elizabeth I found it.

  11

  More Work to Do

  The next morning Dad knocks on my door. “Time to wake up, River. We leave for the hospital in twenty minutes.”

  I roll over and check my calendar—Friday, July eighth. I write “Say goodbye to Gram” in today’s space. Then I’m mad for writing it and scribble over the top “I won’t lose hope.”

  Aunt Elizabeth stays home with the little Whippoorwills while Dad, Uncle Henry, and I go to the hospital.

  Dr. Wing’s already at the nurses’ station with Rosa. He says, “River, I’m sorry things didn’t turn out differently. In a little while, I need to turn the machines off, so go in now and spend some time alone with her.”

  I walk in Gram’s room and see that nothing’s changed since yesterday or the day before. But that doesn’t mean it can’t.

  I slide a chair over close to Gram and sit beside her. I hold her hand and rest my head next to hers on the pillow. “Gram, you’ve only got a little while before Dr. Wing turns off your machines, so you have to start breathing on your own. I know you can do it. I’m sorry for being mean to you, and I’m sorry about your special pitcher. If it wasn’t for me, it wouldn’t have broken. And I hope you know that even though you’re not my blood relative, you’ll always be my Gram.” I kiss her on her cheek.

  Dr. Wing steps in the room and puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s time, River.”

  I wait at the nurses’ station between Dad and Uncle Henry, who wrap their arms around me so tight that I couldn’t run away if I wanted to. Rosa’s on the other side of Dad.

  Except for the sound of Gram’s machines drifting from her room, the intensive care unit is strangely quiet. Then within minutes, the noise of her machines stop.

  Silence.

  Dr. Wing walks out. “I’m very sorry.”

  I have so many feelings I don’t know what to feel. Maybe I didn’t have enough hope. Maybe I didn’t believe hard enough. And maybe Gram never heard me say I’m sorry. There’s nothing left to do. I pull away from Dad and Uncle Henry and walk down the hall to the elevators. They follow behind. Except for the sound of our footsteps, it’s silent.

  I’d better tell Aunt Elizabeth about Gram’s wedding dress.

  When I reach the end of the hall, I hear someone in the distance start coughing and sputtering like an old engine. Then I hear the sound of running footsteps and turn to look over my shoulder just in time to see Dr. Wing running into Gram’s room and shouting, “What in the world?”

  Dad, Uncle Henry, and I race back to Gram’s room where she’s sitting straight up in bed arguing with Dr. Wing. “Of course I’m alive,” she says. “Can’t an old lady die and come back to life without her doctor making such a fuss?”

  I run to the side of her bed. “Gram! You did it!”

  “Course I did, Sugar Pie. Now help me get these wires off so we can go home.”

  Uncle Henry moves closer to Gram and takes hold of her hand. “If you ask me, Mrs. Nuthatch, God clearly has more work for you to do.”

  “Precisely,” Gram says, still pulling at the wires, trying to get out of bed. “That’s why I need to get home.”

  Dr. Wing looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Now hold on, Mrs. Nuthatch. You have a head injury, a broken hip, and a broken arm. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “A head injury, a broken hip, and a broken arm?” Gram says. “Well, for Pete’s sake, is that why I feel like a one-legged turkey with a broken wing and a goose egg on her head?”

  Dr. Wing looks at Dad and Uncle Henry. “She’s clearly confused.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks,” says Gram. “Just get me a wheelchair so I can get out of here cuz I’ve got work to do.”

  Dr. Wing whispers to Dad and Uncle Henry, “She’s demonstrating classic symptoms of a head injury.”

  But I can’t keep from laughing because Gram’s finally acting like herself.

  Gram finally settles down so Dr. Wing can talk with her. “Mrs. Nuthatch, what just happened is extremely unusual. I’ve never seen anyone survive after their life support’s been shut off. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Go ahead but be quick about it cuz I’ve got work to do.”

  Dr. Wing finds his pen and paper. “Mrs. Nuthatch, can you tell me what year it is?”

  “For heaven’s sake, of course I can. It’s 1983.”

  “And who is president?”

  “Ronald Reagan,” she says, giving Dr. Wing one of her looks. “Now can I go? I’ve got work to do.”

  “Mrs. Nuthatch,” he says, “tell me what work you’re referring to.”

  “Well, I don’t know the specifics yet, but you heard Henry. God has more work for me—and it ain’t getting done while I’m laying here!”

  Dr. Wing doesn’t let Gram go home, but he does transfer her to the rehabilitation unit to start therapy. But Gram’s not the only one going to rehab. Rosa’s taken such a liking to Gram that Dr. Wing offered her a new position as head nurse on that unit.

  12

  Tower of Pisa

  By Saturday morning Rosa’s already started her new position, and Gram’s settled in her new room.

  Dad drops me off outside the hospital at eleven o’clock, and I find Gram’s room. The door’s open, so I peek in. She must have a roommate because there are two beds. The one near the door has a lady sleeping in it. Gram’s on the other side of the room sitting by a window, where the sun covers her like a quilt.

  I tiptoe past the sleeping lady and find that Gram’s sleeping too. And she’s snoring. I tap her on the shoulder and whisper, “Gram.”

  She doesn’t wake but takes a deep breath (snoring the whole length of it) and then breathes out through her nose, whistling like a songbird.

  “Gram,” I whisper, “it’s River.”

  Her eyes open halfway. “Well, if it ain’t my Sugar Pie.”

  I give her a smooch. “How are you, Gram?”

  “Tuckered out,” she says. “I just finished therapy.”

  “Looks like you have a roommate this time.”

  “Her name’s Myrtle, and she’s got as much personality as a loaf of pumpernickel bread.”

  “Not so loud, Gram. She’ll hear.”

  “Fiddlesticks. She’s as deaf as a doornail without her hearing aids, which she refuses to wear. Why she won’t wear them is beyond me.”

  Before I can defend poor Myrtle, Rosa walks in. “Good morning, River. Is your Dad here too?”

  “No, he’s headed back to Kentucky.”

  For some r
eason Rosa looks like she just lost her best friend.

  Gram reaches for my hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sugar Pie. Here I thought he’d stay and be part of your life.”

  “Don’t worry, Gram. He’ll be back.”

  Gram lets out a sigh. “Thank heavens!”

  Then all of a sudden, Rosa starts singing as if she were the happiest person in the world. She’s certainly acting strange.

  Gram scrunches her eyebrows and looks at me over the top of her glasses. “You aren’t staying home alone, are you?”

  I shake my head. “I’m staying with the Whippoorwills. There is one problem, though. Since Dad’s gone, I’m not sure how much I can visit. Uncle Henry and Aunt Elizabeth are so busy that I might not have a ride. But I could walk if I had to.”

  Rosa looks at me. “If you don’t mind staying for my eight-hour shift, I’ll pick you up on my way to work and bring you home after. Come to think of it,” she says, “you could volunteer on the unit if you’d like. We always need volunteers.”

  I’m so excited I feel like I could burst. “When can I start?”

  “Monday morning, seven o’clock sharp. In fact,” she says, “if we measure you now, your uniform might be ready then.”

  “I get a uniform?”

  Rosa nods. “Being a volunteer’s important.”

  Gram clears her throat. “And what am I, chopped liver? Don’t I get a uniform?”

  Rosa laughs. “Mrs. Nuthatch, you’re a resident, not a volunteer.”

  “Now, wait a minute!” Gram shouts. “This isn’t my residence, so I’m not a resident!” Gram’s so upset that she stands up from her wheelchair, and when she does, a loud beeping noise sounds. That just makes Gram shout louder, “And I’ll have you know I’m just visiting for a few days, but then I’m going home!”

  Rosa places her hand on Gram’s shoulder and gently guides her back down. The beeping stops.

  “What was that noise?” I say.

  “It’s the safety cushion your grandmother’s sitting on,” Rosa explains. “It’s not safe for her to stand by herself yet, so an alarm goes off if she tries. We don’t want her falling.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks,” Gram says. “This beep-bopping cushion under my behind is ridiculous!”

  “Gram, please follow the rules. You don’t want to fall and break your hip again.”

  “Nonsense, Sugar Pie. I’ve got so many screws and pins in my hip that it wouldn’t break if you took a sledge hammer to it.”

  “You could break your other hip, Gram, so please be careful.”

  “Oh, all right.” Gram looks at Rosa. “Just don’t call me a resident. I’m a visitor.”

  “Mrs. Nuthatch,” Rosa says kindly, “there’s no need to be upset. We refer to all patients as residents—it’s meant to feel more personable.”

  “Well, just the same,” Gram sputters, “I’ll be home before you know it.”

  Rosa takes her hand. “Mrs. Nuthatch, I’ll be honest. Most residents require months of therapy before they return home. Some even decide to live at The Eagle’s Nest, our assisted living unit down the hall.”

  “Not me,” says Gram. “I’m not living in no eagle’s nest.”

  Rosa smiles and lets go of Gram’s hand. “I’ll be right back” she says. “I’ll get the tape measure so I can order River’s uniform.”

  Once she’s back, Rosa says, “Okay, River, turn to face your grandmother.” As Rosa stretches the tape measure across the back of my shoulders, she says, “Please stand straight. I need an accurate measurement.”

  “She’s right, Sugar Pie. There’s nothing more uncomfortable than clothing too big or too small. A turtle’s shell needs to fit just right.”

  “I get it, Gram, but I am standing straight.”

  Gram shakes her head. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re leaning. You’ve got one shoulder going north and the other, south.”

  “Gram, I can’t stand any straighter!”

  “It’s okay, River,” says Rosa. “You’re doing fine. A medium top should fit. Now I’ll measure for your pants.” She measures my right leg. “Thirty-six inches.” Then she measures my left. “Thirty-four and a half. Wait a minute,” she says, fiddling with the tape measure. “Let’s redo that.” She measures again. “That was right.”

  Now Gram’s yelling, “Sugar Pie, keep your feet flat on the floor. Nurse Rosa needs you cooperating!”

  “I’m trying, Gram. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Cuz you got one hip higher than the other, and if I know my anatomy, the hip bone connects to the leg bone, and them legs bones oughta be equal in length.”

  “Mrs. Nuthatch, I don’t think River’s doing anything wrong.”

  Finally someone believes me.

  Gram lets out a humph, “Well, if River ain’t making herself stand like the leaning tower of Pisa, who is?”

  Rosa says, “River, bend over and touch your toes.”

  I touch them without arguing (that’s more than Gram would do).

  Rosa says, “Now I’ll run my finger along your spine.” She starts at the top and works her way down. “Okay, River, stand up.”

  Gram looks at Rosa. “What is going on?”

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think River has scoliosis.”

  I learned about that in health class, so I know what it is. But Gram doesn’t. “Scoli what?” she says.

  Rosa explains. “It’s pronounced scō-lē-ō-sis. It means curvature of the spine and can cause hips and shoulders to become uneven.”

  “What can we do about it?” says Gram. “We can’t have my Sugar Pie leaning every which way.”

  “She needs to see an orthopedist.”

  Gram shakes her head. “A what?”

  Rosa repeats, “An or-thō-pē-dist. A doctor who treats problems with bones and muscles.”

  Okay, not only do I have a crooked back, but I also think I’ve become invisible. “Hello? Since it’s my spine you’re talking about, would you mind including me in the conversation?”

  Rosa puts her hand on my shoulder (the one that apparently points north). “I’m sorry, River. I didn’t intentionally leave you out.”

  “I know what scoliosis is,” I say. “I learned about it in health class last April. Our school nurse checked everyone’s back. Mine was fine.”

  “Good,” says Rosa. “Since that was only three months ago, hopefully your curve isn’t too serious.”

  “Even so, Sugar Pie, we gotta call your dad.”

  “He said call only if there’s an emergency.”

  Gram looks over the rim of her glasses. “This is close enough.”

  “I have his number,” says Rosa. “If you’d like, I’ll call him.”

  “Good,” says Gram. “Cuz I’d get those medical words like scolipedist and ortho-osis all mixed up.”

  I look at Rosa. “Why do you have my dad’s number?”

  Her face turns pink, then bright red. “Well,” she says almost stuttering, “it’s in your grandmother’s medical chart.”

  I guess that makes sense.

  Not only did Rosa call Dad, but she also made an appointment for me to see an orthopedist on Monday. And since Dad won’t be back from Kentucky yet, Rosa’s taking me.

  13

  Orange Piece of Paper

  On Sunday after church, Uncle Henry takes me and all the Whippoorwills to see Gram. When we’re almost there, he looks in his rearview mirror at all the little Whippoorwills. “Please be on your best behavior—that means using respectful voices and good manners.”

  When we arrive, Uncle Henry tells the receptionist we’re visiting Gram.

  The receptionist checks the clock. “The residents are at Sunday dinner, but it’s just starting. You’re welcome to purchase tickets and enjoy a meal with her.”

  “What’s being served?” Aunt Elizabeth asks.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Uncle Henry looks at Aunt Elizabeth. “Meatballs?” Then he turns to the receptionist,
“We’ll purchase nine tickets, but hold the meatballs.”

  The receptionist looks confused. “What’s the sense in having spaghetti and meatballs without the meatballs?”

  “Trust me,” says Uncle Henry, “it makes good sense.”

  We continue to the dining hall, where a waitress leads us through a maze of tables, wheelchairs, and walkers until we reach a table big enough for all of us. Then she hurries to Gram’s table and wheels her over to ours.

  “Mrs. Nuthatch,” says Uncle Henry, “isn’t that Myrtle you were sitting with? Maybe she’d like to join us.”

  “She couldn’t give a hoot,” says Gram. “Without those hearing aids, she can’t hear for beans. And no matter what I say, she refuses to put those gol-blasted things in her ears. I can’t get her to talk, or smile, and God forbid I’d get her laughing.” Gram shakes her head. “I give up!”

  I take Gram’s hand. “But Gram, you never give up. Maybe you should try again.”

  Gram scrunches her nose. “Well, all right, Sugar Pie. Would you ask her so I don’t have to maneuver back through that maze?”

  I make my way to Myrtle. When I touch her shoulder, all she does is look up. Then I wave at her, and she smiles. I point toward our big table and motion for her to join us. All of a sudden, she stands up, grabs her plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and shuffles across the dining room in her pink, fuzzy slippers.

  Uncle Henry has a chair ready for her right across from Forrest. When Forrest waves at her, Myrtle grins so big I’m afraid Gram will jump out of her wheelchair and set her alarm off. But she doesn’t. She just shakes her head and says, “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”

  After the waitress gives us each a plate of spaghetti, she puts four loaves of bread, two pitchers of milk, a stack of cups, a mound of silverware, and a handful of straws and napkins in the middle of the table and then walks away (had she any idea what kind of chaos this would cause, I think she’d have done things differently).