Must Be a Mistake

by Fiona West

  “Okay, Grandpa.”

  Philip threw his arms out. “I’m practically a millennial!”

  “No, you’re not.” He paused. “You don’t think she’s back with Dean, do you?”

  “Dean moved to Portland.”

  “Dean belongs in Portland.”

  “Yes, Dean does belong in Portland. Weirdo.”

  “Remember when he dyed his hair black?”

  “Weirdo.”

  “Who’s a weirdo?” asked Claire, flopping back down at the table with Hannah in her arms.

  “Dean Hoppsteader.”

  “Didn’t he move to Portland?” Claire picked up her fork to resume eating, but Hannah couldn’t stay latched. Her high-pitched cries tugged at Kyle’s heartstrings, but he tried not to let it show. Infant cries were one of the few things that made him teary if he was already on edge.

  He coughed, pivoting to give Claire some privacy as she tried to adjust her hold on Hannah. “We have lactation consultants at the hospital, you know.”

  Claire snorted. “I don’t need a lactation consultant.”

  “I’m just saying. If you did, we have them.”

  His sister-in-law enunciated her words patronizingly. “I have done this before with Coop. I don’t need a lactation consultant; they’re the same breasts I had then.”

  “But not the same baby,” her husband added gently, reaching over to rub her back.

  “Don’t touch,” Claire said without looking up, still trying to get Hannah to latch, and Kyle felt momentary sympathy for his brother.

  “I’ve got to get to work. Thanks for dinner, Claire.”

  “Thanks for picking up Cooper, Kyle. I should be able to do it myself soon, I’ve just been so exhausted, and Hannah’s still nursing a lot . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving her off. “I don’t mind.” He paused at the threshold of the open front door. “Also, Ainsley caught him peeing on a tree at school. Bye.” Kyle shut the door behind him before he could hear their reaction. He felt only slightly guilty for throwing Coop under the bus, since he had given him the idea.

  He whipped out his phone as he got in the car. Daniel. His brother would know, he’d been best friends with her since middle school.

  Kyle: Is Ainsley engaged?

  Daniel: Don’t think so. Why?

  Kyle: Heard a rumor.

  Daniel: Pretty sure she would’ve told me or Winnie . . .

  Kyle: Probably just a rumor.

  Kyle: Don’t tell her I said anything.

  Daniel: But come to think of it, she has been on a few dates with some guy she met on an app, so I could be wrong.

  So maybe it is true. That was upsetting for two reasons: she’d been dating someone, and she’d debased herself by using one of those terrible apps. He appreciated Daniel’s insights into the situation, even though he was annoyed with him in general right now. It felt like every time he came home and wanted to chill in his own living room, his brother and his brother’s fiancée had beaten him to it. At least he was working nights now; the house was quieter during the day. Kyle liked quiet. Kyle missed quiet. He didn’t regret letting Daniel move into his house, but he could be a little . . .

  “A little much,” Kyle grumbled aloud as he started his car.

  CHAPTER THREE

  KYLE WAS BURNING THROUGH the crowd of patients in the waiting room today. He’d already seen a little girl with a high fever, sewn up an accidental hacksaw injury, removed a Lego from a preschooler’s nostril, and sent a woman coughing up blood to get a CT scan, and it was only nine in the morning.

  “What’s next?”

  Trevor Harper, his favorite nurse, had the next patient ready for him. “Possible broken wrist. She fell off a chair.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. All other vitals were normal. Exam room 3.”

  “Thank you.” Kyle knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” It sounded like a man’s voice that answered him. He half wished they still used paper charts; at least then he could check and make sure he was getting the patient’s gender right. He opened the door. A woman in her early fifties with honey-blonde hair sat on the exam table, her legs swaying as she kicked her feet. She cradled her right arm against her chest. A young man with the same shade of hair stood anxiously next to the exam table.

  “Mrs. Carpenter?”

  She turned her head to look at him, but didn’t answer. Her body language was stiff; she clearly didn’t recognize him. Given that his mother had known her for years, her aloof gaze surprised him.

  “Mom,” the man nudged. “Say hello to the doctor.” He turned to Kyle, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry, she seems to be a little . . . out of it, at the moment.”

  Kyle’s mind started cranking. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye?

  “That’s all right. Crash, right? Kyle Durand.” Kyle offered his hand, and the man shook it firmly. That wasn’t the man’s real name; he’d been in some kind of reckless aircraft incident that had earned him the nickname years ago.

  “Yes, I remember you and your family. How are you?”

  “Better than you, sounds like. Were you with your mother when she fell?” Kyle sat down and opened her chart on the screen.

  “No, the household staff called me. I was at work.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Kyle noticed he was sweating right through his Brooks Brothers dress shirt. He scanned her file: no history of cancer, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, surgeries of any kind . . .

  “Sorry, is this correct? This paperwork?”

  Crash reddened. “I don’t know. She filled out some of it, but she’s been pretty confused.”

  “Okay. That’s all right, we’ll just work with what we’ve got.” Kyle sauntered over to the sink and scrubbed his hands thoroughly.

  “Carter,” she whispered, “can we go home now?”

  “Not yet,” he replied gently, rubbing her back. “Dr. Durand’s going to look at your arm first.”

  “How long have we been here?” she asked, looking around the spare exam room with a sigh. “I didn’t get the spider. I don’t want it to get away; I think it was a brown recluse.”

  “Mrs. Carpenter, can you tell me what happened when you fell?” He suspected she’d hit her head, but he started with the basics. He shined a light into her right eye, and she lifted a hand to block it, squinting.

  “Do you mind?” she asked. “That’s really bright.”

  “Mom, you have to let him examine you,” Crash said, pulling her hand down.

  Kyle put down his light. He was going to have to try another tactic with her, despite the seats filling up in the waiting area.

  “I’m sorry, Willow, I didn’t introduce myself very well. I’m Kyle Durand. You know my mother, Farrah?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes, Farrah cuts my hair. She has for twenty-five years. No one mixes color like Farrah.”

  “That’s her,” he agreed. “Ever since you moved to Timber Falls, you’ve been coming to her, haven’t you?”

  “That’s right.” She paused. “You’re her son?”

  “Yes, I’m her second-oldest son. Same as your twins, Chase and Christopher.”

  “Where is Chase?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “Chase is in rehab, Mom . . . remember? We went to see him last weekend?”

  “Oh, that’s right . . .” She turned to Crash again. “Can we go now? I don’t care for this place.”

  “Pretty soon,” Crash promised, and when he looked back at Kyle, he saw the deep frustration in the younger man.

  “Tell me about your accident, Willow.”

  “Accident?”

  “Yes, you fell off a chair, right?”

  “It rolled right out from under me . . .”

  Crash looked stunned. “You stood on a chair with wheels?”

  “There was a spider up in the corner. I asked the staff to kill it for me, but they said it was too high up. I’m taller than they are, so I thou
ght I could get it, but I guess . . .” She rubbed her wrist with regret in her voice. “I guess not.”

  “Does your wrist hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I examine it? I promise I’ll be very gentle.”

  Willow gave him a skeptical side-eye, but she offered him her arm. He took her hand as if to shake it, then tipped her hand up, watching for her reaction. She bit her lip, but said nothing.

  “Does that hurt, Mrs. Carpenter?”

  “A little bit . . .”

  He gripped her thumb gently, telescoping it in toward her wrist, and he heard her breath catch. Willow pulled her hand back, and he let go of her. He suspected she had a scaphoid fracture, which was common in this type of fall, but he’d need another minute to check two more things . . . She eyed him with mistrust, giving him an injured look. But more than that, she was wearing all her emotions on her sleeve. This woman was the head of the Ladies’ Auxiliary of Linn and Marion Counties. She hosted benefits and organized the Christmas bazaar, and he’d never seen her flustered, let alone hurt. This was more than physical pain on her carefully made-up face.

  “Willow, I’m sorry if I hurt you. Let’s go ahead and do some X-rays and see what it looks like inside, okay? That won’t hurt at all.” He paused. He wanted more information. An idea occurred to him . . . It was maybe a little deceptive, but he didn’t think she really wanted to cooperate at the moment. “May I look at your hair, Willow? I’d like to see if Farrah did a good job the last time she dyed it . . .”

  “Of course,” she said, tipping her head down for him to see better. He combed his fingers through her hair, looking for blood, contusions, bumps, anything to indicate she’d taken a blow to the head . . . but her scalp looked perfect aside from some light dandruff. He tipped it lightly from side to side to see if she complained of pain, but she just smiled at him. Despite his mind being firmly at work, he smiled back. He wanted her at ease.

  “Do you have a headache?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “Have you had any alcohol to drink today?”

  “I think I had a glass of wine with my lunch.”

  “And what did you have for lunch?” It was a test. He didn’t want to be right. He wanted so badly to be wrong. He wanted Mrs. Carpenter to just have poor balance from a lack of exercise and too much alcohol. He wanted that to be what had lowered her inhibitions enough to stand on a rolling chair.

  “Um . . .”

  Crash pulled out his phone. “I can call the staff and ask . . .” Kyle gave him a little head shake.

  “Willow, what did you have for breakfast?”

  “She always—”

  Crash finally shut up when he saw Kyle’s stern look.

  “I always have eggs and half a grapefruit for breakfast.”

  “Is that right?” Kyle said conversationally, but he looked to Crash, who gave him a slight nod to confirm the information.

  “And what were you trying to do on the chair?”

  “I don’t . . .” She swallowed hard. “I don’t remember.”

  “Okay. Wait here for just a minute, I’m going to talk to your son outside. You can use your phone if you want; there’s free Wi-Fi in the hospital. The password is ‘santiamhealth.’” Another test, and perhaps not a very fair one. But he wanted to know how her short-term memory was being affected. “Carter and I will be right back.”

  The younger man followed him out into the hall, his expression grim.

  “Has this happened before?”

  “Has she fallen before? No. But there’s been other little things . . . Last month, she was making a cup of tea, and she grabbed the handle of the kettle with her hand, even though it’s not insulated. She’s had that teakettle since I was in high school. She should know better.”

  “Okay. Any other recent instances of ‘she should’ve known better’?” Thankfully, Kyle had a good memory; he’d put this into the chart later . . . He wasn’t allowed to use his phone, annoyingly. He understood the reason for the rule, but he still resented it. He would never misuse the information or allow it to fall into the wrong hands.

  “Yeah. Yes, she was . . . she was in the garage, and she was trying to find a box of books that she gave away to the library last week.”

  “New books or old books?”

  “Old. Super old, like I’m not sure they’d even want them in that condition. Textbooks from her college days and stuff.”

  “Okay.” That last question was purely selfish; their friend Starla had been receiving anonymous donations of recent bestsellers at the Rachel Rutherford Memorial Library, and they were all curious as to who was sending them. This ruled her out as the book fairy; Kyle agreed with Starla that the mystery needed to be solved.

  “Well, here’s what I’d like to do. We’re going to go ahead and do the X-ray today and see what’s happening with her wrist, but I’d also like to refer you to a neurologist.”

  He stiffened. “Is it that serious?”

  “That kind of increased risk taking, paired with forgetfulness and some of the other things I’ve observed just now? It’s not good. I’m not ready to make any kind of guess yet as to what kind of illness it is, but . . .” He sighed. “If she didn’t hit her head, then there’s a few other reasons why she might be having trouble cognitively, none of them good.”

  Crash just stared at him, then his gaze fell to the tile. “I see.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “He’s in Tokyo this week. Then he’ll be in Australia for a while . . . then I’m not sure.”

  “Are there any family members living with your mother right now? It might be better if she wasn’t alone . . . even given the presence of the staff.”

  His gaze was still trained on the floor, and Kyle thought he might have tears in his eyes. “Chase is in rehab, and Christopher’s living in New York.”

  “Okay. Well, it doesn’t have to be decided today, but the four of you should talk about ways to keep your mom safe. She got lucky this time. If she’d hit her head on something on the way down, it might’ve been a very different story.”

  “Okay. I see. Yes, I will . . . investigate.”

  Kyle pulled a card out of his wallet. “When you get stuck in the wheels of bureaucracy, shoot me a text or an email, and I’ll see what I can do to help.” Carter wasn’t a kid, but he was the youngest in his family. He shouldn’t be the one dealing with this. But he’d met Mr. Carpenter before, and he wasn’t the kind of person who was going to reschedule his work trip to accommodate someone else. Kyle wasn’t judging it; it was just a fact.

  He could see down the hall to the waiting room. It was standing room only.

  “I’ve got to keep moving. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Crash said, rousing from his quiet moment. He shook Kyle’s hand firmly. “I appreciate your time. I’ll follow up with you soon.”

  “Please do.”

  Too bad it would constitute a HIPAA violation for him to tell his mom to be extra understanding while making small talk with Willow the next time she came in. Few would expect a woman so young to have Alzheimer’s.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KYLE GOT UP EARLY ON Friday morning; normally, he might give himself a break and do VR boxing or go to the gym, but today, he had a mission. Today, he started Phase Two: Win Ainsley’s Time. He often saw her running when he was out in the morning. She never appeared to notice, but then again, she ran with headphones on, blasting music, against the advice of every running blog ever. He didn’t like it when she ran through the woods; anyone might be waiting for her around a corner, any kind of creep.

  Luck was on his side today, and she came trotting down the stairs of her apartment building and out into the street . . . but she wasn’t alone. His brother’s fiancée, Winnie, was running, too, but was already falling behind. Ainsley turned around to tease her, and he waved. She waved back with a shy smile; she was too far away from him to clearly see her left hand. He’d thought to join her, but this wasn’t goi
ng to work . . . She already had a running buddy today. He followed them until they went into the park, then turned back toward his own house.

  Rats. He’d just have to find a moment to speak to her another day. Where could he do it that wouldn’t seem obvious? A neon-pink flyer on a telephone pole caught his eye as he passed it:

  TOWN MEETING FRIDAY 7:00 P.M.

  Discussion on how to save the historic covered bridge in Manfield Park, how you can participate in the Fall Carnival at Franklin Elementary, and other upcoming notable events.

  Kyle took a picture of the flyer with his phone. If a school event was being discussed, chances were good that Ainsley would be there. His mom was always bugging him to come to those things anyway. Two birds? Meet my stone.

  COUNCILMAN ROGERS STOOD up from behind the long folding table they’d placed for him horizontally at the VA hall. “Good evening, fellow Timberites.” Kyle pretended to cough so he wouldn’t let out a snort at the moniker. His mom glared at him, well versed in the ways men covered their tracks. Maggie sat on his other side, immersed in a fantasy book thick enough to kill a man if it fell on him.

  “What book is that?” Kyle whispered.

  “Terry Pratchett,” she said, not looking up.

  “Is it . . . good?” He didn’t know how to talk to his sister anymore.

  “Yes.”

  “Is she your favorite author?”

  Maggie glared at him over the top of her glasses. “Sir Terry Pratchett is one of the best fantasy writers of the modern era. His Discworld series has forty-one books, of which I have read twenty-five. There is no one like him.”

  “Gotcha. So it’s just a midlist thing . . . kind of an under-the-radar, indie thing,” Kyle mumbled under the councilman’s droning. Maggie rolled her eyes at him, but turned back to her book with a smile. He elbowed Maggie and she elbowed him back. He did it again.

  “Stop it,” his mother hissed under her breath. Kyle looked up. Councilwoman Park on the end was staring at him, and he resolved to get himself together. He’d hoped to at least get to see Ainsley, if not sit next to her, but she didn’t appear to be here . . . Sigh. At least there would be cookies at the end. He’d gone for a run today. He could have at least one. He was still thinking about what kind of cookie he’d get when Maggie stood up next to him. Reflexively, he stood up too, even before he realized that someone was edging down the row.