Bingoed

by Patricia Rockwell

  Essie was just finishing brushing her teeth. She had completed several other morning constitutionals and now she stood before her sink in her small bathroom staring into her mirror. It was the same face she saw every morning, but she had to remind herself sometimes that it was really her. The woman in the mirror was old—really old—with white hair and lots of wrinkles. When Essie thought of herself as Essie Cobb, she typically thought of herself as she used to be. As Essie Cobb, wife of John Cobb, banker. Or Essie Cobb, gardener.

  She never ceased to be amazed at herself for finding a new career after her husband’s death. Here she had spent her entire life as a wife and mother—noted only for her beautiful gardens. Then after John’s death she had taken a part time job with Campbell’s Nursery, the largest greenhouse in Reardon—not because she needed the money. She didn’t. But because Edgar Campbell had cajoled her into joining his business as a consultant. She had spent many wonderful years working at Campbell’s, helping customers solve their gardening problems. If there was a flower that wouldn’t bloom or a tree that was having trouble sprouting, Essie was called in. After all, she had made her own home bloom, so why not help others do the same?

  She realized as she looked in the mirror that her wrinkled, leathery skin was only partially due to old age. Much of it was from the hours and hours she had spent on her hands and knees in her garden and in the gardens of clients at Campbell’s Nursery. Probably all the skin cream in the world wouldn’t help her skin, but she didn’t care because she had earned every wrinkle on her face and she was proud of them. Oh, well! She did have a beautiful head of white curls. Enough reverie, Essie, she said to herself. She put the cap back on her tube of toothpaste.

  She decided to take a walk around the Happy Haven complex. After all, she reasoned, a little exercise wouldn’t hurt her. Zipping down her hallway with her walker, she began her walk towards the main lobby. Happy Haven’s main foyer was divided in two parts. On entering, visitors found themselves in a large room with the main desk immediately on the right. The foyer had a high ceiling and a beautiful brick fireplace centrally located. Comfortable sofas and chairs were placed strategically around the fireplace area. To the left was the entrance to the dining hall, scene of the Bingo collapse of Bob Weiderley. To the right upon entrance was a cozier family-type room complete with sofas, chairs, and several television sets. Beyond that, a small beauty shop, a mail room, and a chapel. An elevator located between the foyer and the family room took residents and guests to the second floor. On the second floor a recreational center and a small gym could be found. The residents’ rooms were located off various side hallways on both the first and second floors.

  Essie’s room was on the first floor, almost immediately off the family room to the right. Marjorie’s room was also on the first floor but on the other side of the family room. Fay and Opal were both on the second floor. Essie wasn’t exactly certain where Bob Weiderley’s room was, but she was certain that his tablemates would know. She was now on the lookout for all of them—or at least one of them. Some residents stayed in their rooms most of the time except for meals. Others liked companionship and avoided their rooms except to sleep. Essie hoped that Bob’s tablemates were of this latter variety.

  Essie wheeled her little red and black walker expertly into the family room, keeping an eye open for Rose, Hazel, or Evelyn. Several residents were seated in front of a large-screen television set, watching a news program. Essie scooted her walker slowly around the viewing area, glancing, she hoped, surreptitiously, to see if any of Bob’s three tablemates were there among the TV viewers. She regretted to note that none of the three appeared to be early morning news junkies. She continued on her expedition through the main foyer and past the fireplace. Several people were seated here. One old man was close to the fireplace, which was aglow with a warm blaze, even though it was technically spring. He was reading a newspaper. A woman was in a chair across from him. She appeared to be waiting for someone—probably a relative. No sign of Rose, Hazel, or Evelyn. Essie continued toward the dining hall. She could see through the glass wall that separated the dining hall from the rest of the complex. In the dining hall, the kitchen workers were busily preparing for the noontime meal. Several residents were seated at a table in the dining hall near the entrance, drinking coffee and chatting. They were ignored by the wait staff. Essie moved closer to the dining hall entrance, intent on checking the faces of the people at the table. Again, none of the group members appeared to be the three companions of Bob.

  Moving away from the dining hall, Essie decided to stop at the mail boxes, located directly across from the dining hall entrance on a wall that separated it from the foyer. Leaning on her walker, she bent over to the lowest row and peeked into box number C103, the same as her room number. As usual, her box was empty. She seldom received any mail. Sometimes, Happy Haven put flyers in the mail boxes to announce various activities, but no such flyer was there today. Essie rose with difficulty from her kneeling position to find herself facing one of the three people for whom she was searching.

  “Hazel,” she exclaimed, tentatively. “Are you Hazel Brubaker?”

  “Yes,” responded the tall woman, bent precariously over her walker, as she had also been checking her mailbox. Essie was resigned to using her walker because of the osteoarthritis in her back, but she reveled in the fact that she could move it with relative speed. Hazel Brubaker seemed to be having trouble merely making the walker move forward a few inches. “I’m Hazel.”

  “You share a table with Bob Weiderley, don’t you?” Essie asked.

  “Yes,” replied Hazel Brubaker. “Yes. I do.” Her hands shook almost imperceptibly and her lower lip started to tremble.

  “I’m so sorry about Bob,” continued Essie in a soft voice, moving closer to Hazel. “He’s such a friendly person. I played canasta with him several times.”

  “Yes,” agreed Hazel, obviously struggling to control her shaking hands by gripping the handles of her walker to the point where Essie noted her knuckles were becoming white.

  “Have you heard how he’s doing?”

  “He’s at Fairview,” responded Hazel. “He’s in a coma.” She looked down at her hands.

  “Yes,” said Essie, placing a hand on the woman’s clenched fingers. “I had heard. Do they know what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hazel, still staring at her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I knew what happened.”

  “Me too,” agreed Essie. “I always thought Bob was so athletic—so healthy.”

  “He is. I mean, I thought he was.”

  “Have you spoken to anyone? Does anyone know how he’s doing?” asked Essie, continuing to press the woman’s hand.

  “Rose is supposed to go see him today. Her daughter promised to take her.”

  “That’s nice,” said Essie, smiling. “Rose is part of your table, right?”

  “Yes,” said Hazel. “She was—is—close to Bob.”

  “Oh, I see.” Essie didn’t see, but Hazel said this last as if Essie should know. “Do you think she’s at the hospital now?”

  “I don’t know,” responded Hazel, and then with a blank look, she guided her walker around and started moving away.

  “Goodbye, Hazel,” called out Essie. “My best wishes for Bob’s speedy recovery.”

  Hazel continued pushing her walker slowly through the main foyer and into the family room where she disappeared from Essie’s sight.

  How strange, thought Essie. That woman seemed terribly upset, but she didn’t seem to know very much about Bob Weiderley. One would think that she’d want to talk about someone whom she seemed to care about that much. She had acquired one clue, however. Rose was evidently close to Bob—and she was probably at this very moment visiting him in the hospital. Now, Essie simply needed to determine when Rose would be returning and ambush her—that is, wait for her return.

  “Essie, what are you doing out here by the mailboxes? Are you planning to accost the mailman?”


  Essie turned abruptly to discover Sue Barber, the Social Director standing behind her.

  “Good morning, Miss Barber,” she greeted the attractive young woman. “I was checking my mailbox.”

  “You’re a bit early, you know,” noted Sue. “Or, you’re quite late!”

  Essie laughed with the attractive blonde. She liked Sue Barber, not only for her sense of humor which she brought to bear in many of the activities she planned for the residents, but also in her casual, friendly manner. “Ted usually gets here around one o’clock!”

  “I know, Miss Barber,” said Essie. “I just thought you might have put a flyer in the boxes about that upcoming trip to the botanical gardens.” Nice save, Essie, she thought to herself.

  “Oh, the botanical gardens!” exclaimed Sue. “Now I remember! You’re the gardener. I believe one of your tablemates told me you’re some sort of plant expert.”

  “I have grown a flower or two in my day,” agreed Essie, modestly.

  “Then you’ll love the botanical gardens,” gushed Sue. “You should sign up for the field trip next week! It will be a blast!”

  “I’m sure it will be,” said Essie, “A blast! I’ll just go do that right now, Miss Barber.” She gave her walker a circular push and pivoted around the social director, heading off in the direction of the main desk where she knew she would find the sign-up sheet for the field trip to the botanical gardens, which she would absolutely not sign. She avoided field trips because they made her feel claustrophobic and she liked the freedom to move around where she wanted when she wanted. Like right now.

  As she reached the main desk, she glanced over her shoulder to see Sue Barber continuing to smile sweetly in her direction. Essie stopped at the main desk and grabbed a pencil and a clipboard. Glancing at the top of the clipboard, she saw the heading which said “Free Colonoscopies.” Quickly she faked signing her name on the sign-up sheet with a flourish. Then glancing towards Sue Barber at the mailboxes, she returned her sweet smile and headed off through the family room towards the elevator.

  As she rode the elevator to the second floor, she contemplated the reaction she had gleaned from Hazel Brubaker. She’d seemed very upset which could be merely because she was very upset. Her tablemate was seriously ill—in a coma. She imagined she would be very upset if Opal or Marjorie or Fay were hospitalized, particularly if one of them were in a coma. It probably wasn’t unusual that Hazel Brubaker was as upset as she seemed, Essie reasoned. She had discovered that another of Bob’s tablemates—Rose Lane—was actually visiting him at the hospital. She was certain she would recognize Rose, probably in the company of her daughter—when she returned from the hospital. All she had to do was wait somewhere inconspicuous where she could observe people entering the main door and then she would accost this Rose Lane and ask her about Bob and his condition.

  When she arrived at the second floor, she rolled her walker to a comfy sofa that rimmed the railing around the second floor lobby. From this position, she would be able to see Rose Lane when she returned from the hospital. Of course, Essie realized, once she saw her, it would take her a while to get back down to the first floor on the elevator again. Rose might get to her room before Essie had a chance to talk to her. Oh, well. It was just a chance she’d have to take. If she remained downstairs, Sue Barber was liable to chat her up again about the botanical gardens field trip—especially when she discovered that Essie had not actually signed up for the trip as she promised. Essie placed her walker at the edge of the sofa and slid herself down into the soft cushions of the couch. This sofa was endlessly better than the thinly padded rubber seat on her walker where she typically sat when she had to wait for long periods of time. She could even fall asleep here—just like Fay did. Oh, my. Contain yourself, Essie, she thought. Pay attention and watch for Rose’s entrance.

  As she focused her eagle eyes on the main entrance doors, numerous people entered and exited. Some were residents or their relatives. Some were delivery men. Some medical support people or staff of Happy Haven and various others. Eventually, a short woman with short bluish gray locks and a voluminous bosom entered, leaning on a carved mahogany cane, helped along by a younger blonde woman who looked almost like her double, with a short pixie-cut haircut. Rose Lane. And daughter.

  Essie clutched the handle of her walker and extracted herself from the sofa with great difficulty. Quickly as she could, she headed to the elevator and pressed the button. The machine arrived almost instantly and she entered the compartment and rode down to the first floor. As she exited the elevator on the ground level, she rolled as fast as she could through the foyer, looking for Rose Lane and her daughter. She glimpsed them heading down the first floor side hallway between the mailboxes and the dining hall. She zipped towards them.

  “Rose!” she called out. “Rose!” The lady turned at the sound of her name, along with her daughter. Essie moved toward the mother-daughter couple. “Rose, hello. I’m Essie Cobb. I was speaking to Hazel and she suggested I talk to you.”

  “Oh, my!” said Rose, smiling at her daughter and then looking back to Essie. “Hello, Essie. I know you. This is my daughter Dora.” There were greetings all around.

  “I understand you’ve been visiting Bob,” said Essie.

  “Yes,” confirmed Rose. “We just returned.”

  “How is he doing? We’re all so concerned about him.”

  “I know,” said Rose. “Everyone here is worried. Bob is a favorite here.”

  “Such a sweet man,” interjected Dora, the daughter.

  “He’s still in a coma, but the doctors are hopeful.”

  “They think he’ll recover?”

  “I hope so. Although they did say that the longer he remains in the coma the worse things look.” She glanced quickly at her daughter. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I sat with him and held his hand. I tried to cheer him up but I don’t know if he heard me or not.”

  “I just don’t understand why he collapsed in the first place,” said Essie. “I always thought of Bob as a really sturdy fellow. You know, so athletic. He was always doing aerobic exercises.”

  “I know,” agreed Rose. “He did sit-ups and push-ups regularly. He prided himself on taking really good care of himself.”

  “Maybe it was stress,” offered Essie.

  “Stress?” said Rose, her small nose twitching as she glanced again at her daughter.

  “I mean, maybe something was bothering him. Sometimes, they say that stress can be just as dangerous as high cholesterol or lack of activity in causing heart attacks. . .”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a heart attack,” noted Rose. “The doctors aren’t certain exactly what it was—or is—but Bob’s nurse said quite specifically that it’s not a heart attack—or a stroke.”

  “But it could be stress?”

  “I guess,” responded Rose. “I guess it could be anything else. Who knows?”

  “Had Bob discussed anything with you that was bothering him?”

  “No . . . ”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing he said,” said Rose, again looking towards her daughter.

  “I sense a but,” offered Essie, glancing from one woman to another, sensing their discomfort.

  “It’s funny, Essie. I was just telling my daughter. Bob did seem agitated at dinner.”

  “At dinner?”

  “Yes, last night. He was just fine at lunch—the regular old Bob—cheerful, friendly, outgoing. Then, at dinner, he was quiet. He seemed nervous, like something was bothering him.”

  “Do you know what that something was?”

  “No. I don’t have a clue. But I’m guessing that whatever it was, it was what led to his collapse during Bingo. You could ask Evelyn.”

  “Evelyn?”

  “Yes, our other tablemate. She might know. Sometimes, I think—I’m not sure—but sometimes Bob stayed after dinner. They talked. Evelyn is a very good listener.”

  “Mom,” whispered Rose Lane’s daughter.


  “I need to get going, Essie. If you want to talk to Evelyn, you can probably find her in the chapel around this time.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

  Rose beamed from ear to ear. “You wouldn’t disturb Evelyn. I promise.” She clutched Essie’s arm, then turned abruptly and transferred her weight to her daughter’s arm and the two walked slowly into the residents’ hallway.

  Essie lost no time pushing her walker swiftly through the foyer and family room. Down the back entrance to the family room ran a narrow hallway that led to a small room which had been turned into a non-denominational chapel. As she guided her walker through the doorway, she noted one woman kneeling near the front altar. She assumed it was Evelyn Cudahy because the woman was wearing a bright flowered scarf wrapped around her head. Essie moved between the pews and up the central aisle of the chapel as quietly as possible. She seated herself behind and across from the kneeling woman.

  Soon, the woman must have realized that someone else was in the small chapel, because she turned her head. When she saw Essie, she smiled and rose. Walking towards her, Essie was impressed with how her face seemed to glow—surprising for someone undergoing chemotherapy, she thought.

  “Essie Cobb,” said the scarved woman.

  “Evelyn Cudahy?” asked Essie.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Are you looking for me?”

  “I hate to intrude.”

  “It’s fine. If you want to talk to me, we can talk here. No one else is around. If someone comes in, though, we’ll have to leave.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re concerned about Bob,” said Evelyn as she sat beside Essie in the pew.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m concerned about him too!”

  “Oh,” said Essie, stammering, “I thought. . . I thought. . .”

  “You thought I was here praying for myself?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “There’s nothing wrong with praying for yourself and—believe me—I do my share of it. But today, my prayers are primarily for Bob.”

  “Rose Lane suggested I talk to you. She thought you might know what was bothering him.”