All's Well That Ends Well

by Roseanne Dowell

  Finally, Ed came out of the booth and the consultant explained all the marks, many of them below the normal levels. Ed definitely had a hearing problem. “Not with all tones, mind you, but enough. Let’s try something.” The consultant rolled his chair back, opened a drawer and brought out a set of hearing aids, attached some tubes, hooked them up to a machine, a computer I found out later, and put them in Ed’s ears.

  The consultant whispered. “Okay, now turn around, face that wall. Good. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Ed said.

  The consultant motioned me to get up and follow him. We walked toward the door. “Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes.”

  The consultant whispered for me to ask Ed something in a normal tone as we stood outside the office a good fifteen feet away from Ed.

  “Can you hear me, Ed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, turn around,” the consultant said.

  The amazed look on Ed’s face when he saw how far away we were was priceless. “I guess I have a hearing problem.”

  “We’ll take them,” I said. “How much and where do we sign?” I cringed at the price, but it would be worth it not to have to yell all the time.

  After we purchased the hearing aids and they were tuned up to match Ed’s hearing, we decided to stop for lunch. No point going home, we were already near my doctor’s office. We’d had time for a leisurely meal.

  * * *

  After lunch and a million questions about what I’d done to my foot, or rather not done, the doctor sent me for an ultra sound to rule out blood clots because of the swelling. Blood clot was the furthest thing from my mind. Fortunately, I was able to get the ultrasound that afternoon and it was normal. No blood clots present. Amen and praise the Lord. I don’t mind telling you, I was damn scared. I don’t scare easily, but when it comes to my health, well, that’s a different story.

  So now I was off to see an orthopedic doctor. Something many people don’t know about me is I dislike doctors. Not the people, but the occupation. Or maybe it’s just I don’t like going to the doctor. It’s a sign of weakness. Ed thinks it’s silly, but I can’t help my feelings.

  To make a long story short, after the ortho guy took x-rays, he said I had posterior tibial tendonitis. In other words, the tendon that goes from the ankle to the back of the shin bone was inflamed. He put me in a walking boot to stabilize and immobilize the foot. Strangest darn thing I’d ever wore. It rocked when I walked. He also prescribed therapy.

  Amazingly, the foot felt better immediately. I called and set up an appointment for therapy when I got home. It wasn’t something I looked forward to. I had better things to do with my time and I still hadn’t figured out who was stealing stuff at the Pine Haven Retirement Home. I was completely perplexed and wanted to make a trip back. Since I couldn’t drive with this boot, Ethel would have to.

  The first appointment for therapy was an evaluation with Leslie. We did a few exercises, an ultrasound treatment and something called an ice massage. If you’ve never had an ice massage, don’t. Oh. My. God. The pain! They put the ice directly on your skin. No towel, nothing between your skin and the ice. First it feels cold, then it burns. Intense burning. Eventually it becomes numb. It felt like my foot was on fire. Amazing people didn’t get frostbite from the treatment. I wanted to kick the therapist. It was beyond unpleasant. That’s the term the therapist used. Unpleasant. Going to the dentist is unpleasant. And I lied. My foot never turned numb. I just said it did to stop the burning. I couldn’t take it anymore. What a relief to put my sock on and that crazy boot helped thaw out my foot.

  The second session, on the other hand, was something else completely. Joyce, the therapist was distracted and, after putting me on the bike for ten minutes, went off to take a phone call. Twenty minutes later, I was still sitting there waiting for her. I was just about ready to get up and leave, and probably would have, but I couldn’t turn the darn seat to get off the bike.

  Eventually, Joyce got off the phone and apologized profusely. “My parents are in nursing homes. My mother had a hip replacement and insurance just paid for the last of her therapy. I’m trying to make arrangements for an assisted living apartment. It’s just never ending.” In the half hour I spent with Joyce, I learned her son was getting married, her father had Alzheimer, and her mother’s hip replacement was complicated by Parkinson Disease. She also couldn’t get the computer to bring up my page and mumbled and muttered a lot.

  To say I felt for her is an understatement, but excuse me, wasn’t this therapy about me? About my foot? I know it sounds selfish, but seriously, wasn’t I here for her to help me? I will give her credit; she gave me the full time allotted for therapy but probably only because her next client didn’t show.

  Whatever the reason, I swear my foot hurt worse after the therapy than it did before. In the few days I’d stayed off it, iced it, and took the anti-inflammatory pills, the swelling disappeared, the foot felt much better, and was pain free. Now, however, the foot swelled up again and hurt worse than before.

  The second session with Joyce wasn’t much better. While I spent the ten minutes on the bike, she was at her station texting. When my ten minutes was up another therapist released me and I hobbled over to Joyce. She looked up, held up a finger and continued texting. I will admit it annoyed me.

  “There! Wedding stuff,” she said and set her phone aside. “Sorry, last minute instructions.”

  No more had she said that and her phone rang. She picked it up, looked at it, and said, “Sorry, I have to take this. Nursing home stuff.”

  So I stood there like an idiot, doing a slow burn. At least that conversation didn’t last as long.

  “Sorry, I have to pick up prescriptions for my mother.” She set the phone aside again. “No more interruptions.” With that, she began typing on the laptop and muttering to herself. “Darn thing won’t bring up your page. I had the same problem yesterday. Oh wait, there it is. Nope, it’s gone again. Oh good, there it is. This darn thing has been taking fits all day. Okay, let’s go over to the steps.”

  I didn’t respond. I don’t think she expected me to. She set me up for the next exercise, hit a button on the computer and disappeared. A few minutes later she came back with a diagram for a new exercise, which I couldn’t do. I’m not sure anyone could. I was supposed to stand with one foot behind the other, toes bent up on the heel in front and knees bent. Talk about awkward. We weren’t meant to stand that way.

  She decided to ignore that exercise, had me do a few others, and then set me up for the ultra sound. I’d already refused the ice massage. I told her I’d ice it at home. She offered to massage it and I agreed.

  In fact, it felt really good. During the process, I learned a bit about assisted living. I figured if she was going to monopolize the conversation, it may as well be about something I wanted to hear.

  “Does your mother take all of her meals in the dining room?”

  “Most of them. It’s easier for her. But sometimes she eats in her room. If she doesn’t show up for a meal, they come looking for her. The resident’s doors are never locked and they’re quite heavy. Some of the residents can’t open them.”

  “Isn’t that a problem? I mean, what if they want to go out?”

  “There’s a bell they ring and someone comes to help them.”

  “So that gives just about everyone access to the rooms.”

  “Yes, it does, but the staff is supposed to knock before entering. They do respect the resident’s privacy, after all.”

  I remembered seeing nurses, aides, therapists, cleaning staff and office staff wandering the halls. Anyone of them could be stealing. But who? And why? They all stood to lose their jobs if discovered. On the other hand, it could be a resident. We already ruled out George, but there was Boris.

  “The first night my mother was there, she complained about someone yelling all night. I couldn’t understand that because it wasn’t the skilled nursing side. Everyone here was pretty m
uch independent.”

  “Did you find out who it was?”

  “Yes, the woman next door. She’s got back problems and the pain medication wasn’t working. I told them they’d have to do something about her. She kept my mother up all night.”

  I think I’d gone beyond even the skilled nursing area. “Is there an Alzheimer’s wing by any chance?”

  “Yes, there is, but they’re locked in. My father is in that wing.”

  “Does your mother get to visit your dad?”

  “Yes, they gave her a code to unlock the door.”

  “I see, and the skilled nursing, that isn’t locked?”

  “No, actually, they’re just down the hall. Instead of turning right, you turn left. It’s not like there’s a door dividing them or anything.”

  “So they’d be free to come and go if they’re ambulatory?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ve seen them walking around. Sometimes they even go into the solarium.”

  “Is that right?” Definitely something to check out.

  “Sure, why not? They have as much right to it as the other residents.”

  “How can you tell they’re from skilled nursing?”

  “Because they’re usually in their pajamas. Assisted living residents are always dressed.”

  I’d noticed someone walking the halls when we took the tour. No one spoke to her, and she didn’t look at us as we passed. I thought that was odd since we were such a large group, but then I thought maybe she was part of George’s group. When I looked back, she was gone. I’m not sure what it was about her that stuck in my mind, but it was like she didn’t belong. Call it a gut feeling. Maybe it was her nightgown and bathrobe or maybe it was her uncombed hair. Everyone I’d met or seen in the solarium was dressed, hair combed and fairly neat. Now I knew why.

  Was she the one stealing? If so, why and what was she doing with the stuff? My therapy session ended and I will say, my foot felt pretty good after that massage. Sure felt better than the ice massage.

  Ed made me dinner later and insisted I sit down and relax. Can’t say I minded. My foot didn’t hurt immediately after therapy but it sure hurt then. He helped me to the couch, not that I needed the help. I really got around quite well in the boot. But I liked the pampering. Ed’s too good to me.

  “You sit here and relax, honey pot. I’ll do up the dishes.” He kissed me and returned to the kitchen.

  Just as I sat down, put my foot up, and set the ice bag on it, the phone rang. Isn’t that always the way? You get settled and the phone rings or someone comes over. Luckily, I was able to reach the table and eased the phone close enough to grab. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Eberhardt, this is Sylvia Calhoun.”

  Calhoun? Ruth’s last name was Calhoun. Sylvia! I snapped my fingers. “Yes, dear, what can I do for you?” She was the last person I’d expected to hear from.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

  “No bother, what is it dear?”

  “I’m dropping my kids off at Ruth’s tomorrow and wondered…um…uh…if you’d mind if I came over. I don’t know anyone else in town or where to go.”

  “Not at all, dear. How long will the children be with Ruth?” Already the wheels started turning. If Sylvia had the time, maybe she’d take me to Pine Haven. I couldn’t wait to tell them what I figured out. Thing was what they were going to do about it. There wasn’t any way to prove it, but I was pretty sure I was right.

  “Most of the day, if you don’t mind. I mean, I don’t have to stay with you all day if you point me in the direction of a good place to eat and maybe a shopping mall.”

  “I don’t mind, but I wonder if you’ll do me a favor.” I was pretty sure she wouldn’t refuse. Now I wouldn’t have to wait for Ethel to take me.

  “Sure, what?”

  “I need to see some people at Pine Haven Retirement Home. Would you mind taking me? It’s only about a half hour, maybe forty-five minute drive.”

  “Sure, that’ll be fine. Is nine o’clock too early to come by? Ruth said she’s an early riser and wanted the kids first thing in the morning.”

  “Nine o’clock is perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Sylvia picked me up a precisely nine o’clock. I liked promptness. “I’m glad things are working out with you and Ruth. All she talks about is you and the kids.”

  “Thank you for getting us together. The kids love her. Did she tell you I’m moving up here?”

  “No, that’s wonderful. When?”

  “Next week. I’m going to cosmetology school. Ruth is paying for it. Well, actually, she said Norman is paying for it. He had a separate bank account and there’s still money in it. She said Norman meant the money for me.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for both of you.”

  “Ruth wanted us to live with her, but I felt it better to live by ourselves. The kids are a handful sometimes and can get pretty rambunctious. After Ruth thought about it, she agreed. She raised her child, she didn’t need to raise mine.” Sylvia paused for a breath. “She helped me find an apartment.”

  “When do you start school?”

  “Three weeks from tomorrow. I’m excited. Ruth even helped me find a sitter for the kids. Did you know she has a man friend?”

  “The dentist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. I met him. He’s really nice.”

  “I’ve not had the pleasure yet. I just hope Ruth isn’t jumping into something just because she’s lonely. Have you met Shirley?”

  “No, but we’ve talked on the phone and skyped a couple times.”

  “Skyped?”

  “Yes, on the computer. We can see each other and talk. She’s glad Ruth finally agreed to meet me.”

  “She knew about you?” I wondered if that’s why she acted so cold to Ruth after the funeral. What did she think of her parents giving up a child?

  “Yes, Ruth told her about it after Norman asked her to meet me. She thought she should be the one to explain it to Shirley. I guess Shirley didn’t handle it well, especially when Ruth was reluctant to meet me.” Sylvia merged onto the highway with ease.

  “I thought Shirley was acting strange at her father’s funeral.”

  “She was really angry with Norman for making Ruth give me up. She’s coming home next week for a visit, so I’ll finally get to meet her in person.”

  Sylvia was a great conversationalist and before I knew it we arrived at Pine Haven. We signed in and found Delores and her entourage in the solarium. Apparently, they spent a lot of time there. “Ladies, gentleman, I’d like you to meet my friend, Sylvia Calhoun,” I said. “Sylvia, let see if I can get this right. Meet Delores, Edith, Blanche, Gladys, and Elmer. Someone’s missing. Genevieve, I think.”

  Elmer stood, took Sylvia’s hand, looked her straight in the eyes, and said, “Redheads are some of the most unique, gorgeous creatures to ever walk this earth. Cat like in the sense they are powerful and mighty, yet as soft as baked bread. Souls that are truly there, but so deep and loving they make you get lost like a ship in a rough sea. The way their eyes dance with laughter, they are a bit crazy. Not many men can handle these creatures. We cannot help but fall in love with your kind. But one thing is for sure, a man who loves a redhead will find out that his life is complete, and there will be no other woman to compare his one unique gift to. I should know... I was married to my redhead for 52 years. Your boyfriend is a very, very lucky man. A brave and daring one, but one who is set for life.”

  Sylvia’s face turned almost as red as her hair, but she smiled at him. “I wish I had a boyfriend. I’m afraid my ex-husband didn’t feel the way you do.”

  Elmer looked at her sadly. “His loss, my dear. Some day he may realize it. Trust me, there’s someone out there for you.”

  Delores wiped a tear. “Okay, that’s enough. Don’t go all gushy on us. Now I know why you’re attracted to me.”

  Elmer turned his attention back to Delore
s. “Do you doubt my love for a minute?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He took her in his arms and kissed her. A kiss that would knock the socks off most people. Not that Delores seemed to mind. She wrapped her arms around him and neither one of them wanted to break the kiss.

  I coughed. Enough was enough. Didn’t her mama teach her there was a time and a place for everything? My goodness, they acted no better than teenagers. I turned my attention back to Sylvia. “Sorry.”

  Sylvia laughed. “I think it’s sweet. People their age kissing.”

  “Hey, we’re old, we’re not dead,” Elmer finally broke his hold.

  “Old people need love, too.” Delores waved her hand in front of her face like a fan. “Whoa, you’re something else, Elmer. Phew. Okay, ladies, what brings you here today? Not a social visit, I’m sure.”

  Before I could answer a short man with a paunchy stomach and balding head approached, his face redder than a beet. Anger exuded from him. I half expected to see smoke come from his nostrils.

  “Which one of you absconded with my shoes? Mike’s not here so it had to be one of you,” he shouted. “I demand you return them at once. And while you’re at it, return Mrs. Kerry’s umbrella and jacket.”

  I stepped in front of Elmer before an all out war broke out. “Excuse me, did you say someone stole your shoes and an umbrella and jacket from another resident?”

  “That’s right. Not that it’s any of your business. Who are you, anyway?” George took a step backward.

  “I’m Beatrice Lulu Ebeherhardt and you’re George Kendall, I presume.” I extended my hand to him.

  “I…um….how do you know my name?” He ignored my hand and looked at the group and back at me. “Are you a new resident?”

  I laughed. Me, a resident. Then I shuddered. I wasn’t so far off. “No, I’m not. Actually, I’m investigating some misplaced items from these residents. When did your shoes go missing?”

  “I’m not sure. I just noticed this morning. They’re my best shoes. I don’t wear them often. Only when I go out.”