The Country Duet

by HJ Bellus

  “Of course.” Teale beams.

  “Warning you now that there’s no way to prepare anyone for this man.” I pull Teale into my chest, cradling her head on my bicep while running my palms up and down her back. “And just to warn you, he’s a tit man.”

  The vibrations of her giggles tickle my chest.

  “And Teale, you, Darlin’, have a nice set of tits.”

  “Thank you.” She manages to get out between laughter.

  “He told me to play with your tits one day when I was in a bad mood.”

  “You talk to him about me?”

  “Yeah.” I kiss the top of her head. “He even tried giving me dance lessons one day.”

  Teale’s eyes flutter shut while her smile stays in place. I refuse to close my eyes, preferring to study the woman in my arms. Her breathing deepens and is rhythmic, righting all the wrongs in the world. Uncertain of when it happened…I’m falling in love with Teale.

  Chapter 10

  Hunter

  “I say if you're going to take a chance on something, you just go full balls to the wall.”

  –Toby Keith

  “Do you know if Mr. Hendricks has a DNR?” the social worker at the hospital asks once again.

  “Ma’am, I’m not trying to be rude.” I twirl my cowboy hat in my hand. “I’ve just been working for him. He doesn’t have anyone else.”

  “His hospital stay is racking up, and Medicare is cut off for this visit.”

  She continues rattling off the immense expense of the hospital stay and ambulance ride.

  “Listen, I’m just a twenty-year-old college kid helping him out.”

  “What about his assets? Is that something he’d be willing to put up as collateral or sell off to pay some bills?”

  “Again, I’m not much help here.”

  “A serious question, Hunter.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her oak desk. “Does Mr. Hendricks have funeral arrangements?”

  I scrub my face in frustration with my free hand. “Don’t know how many more times I can tell you that I know nothing of Dave’s medical history or wishes.”

  “It seems you’re the only one he’s let in, so this falls on your shoulders. We need these answers to ensure the best possible healthcare. These conversations can be quite hard to have, but something that needs to be done.”

  “Okay.” I clasp my hands together and stand to leave the office.

  “Hunter.” She rises from her desk, rounding the corner of it and handing me a card. “Here’s a number you should contact to find out different avenues and how Medicare might be further help.”

  “Thank you.”

  The chilled air outside is a welcoming relief to the nerves crawling up my spine. I place my Stetson on my head and call the one person who has always had all the answers my whole life.

  “Dad.”

  “Hunter.” There’s a loud ruckus in the background then it ceases. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m lost, Dad.” I pause for a second. “It’s Dave.”

  I fill him in on the last couple of days and the most recent visit with the social worker.

  “She’s right. You need to have that conversation with him. I can tell by your voice that this is wearing on you, son. The hardest things in life end up being the most rewarding. You are taking a lot on your shoulders, just know your family is here for you.”

  “How in the hell do I ask an eighty-four-year-old man how he’d like to be buried? His mind is intact, it’s just his body failing him.”

  “And you don’t think he knows this?”

  “Of course he does, but still…”

  “All you can do is be there for him, Hunter.”

  “You’re right. It’s just not as easy as it sounds.”

  “Remember, I’m always just one phone call away.”

  I end the call feeling not a lick better about this entire situation. Dave’s been transported to a local nursing home. He hates it and hated the hospital as well. He’s always worried about his place and someone stealing his shit. He’s sent me out there daily, having me gather some of his valuables and checking in on his house. The window was fixed the first day I went out there. I made sure to mend it with my own hands, wanting it perfect for when Dave comes home.

  ***

  Never have I felt like a felon until smuggling candy into a damn nursing home. Dave demands candy. The man devours it. The nurses bust my balls when I bring the candy since he’s not supposed to have it. The man doesn’t give two fucks about his diabetes. His sweet tooth is strong. I’m pretty much in hot water either way. After the first day of not bringing Dave his sweet treats and enduring his wrath, I figured I could handle the nurses.

  “Bring me candy?” Dave bellows out.

  I smile at him and then empty my pockets. An assortment of candy bars tumble onto the bed in the nursing home. Dave reaches forward, grabbing a chocolate bar, tearing right into it, and chowing down. Shit, the man only has three teeth left in his head, and those are rotten.

  It’s the quiet before the storm. Dave has drool running down his chin, happier than a pig in shit. The door bursts open and in comes a nurse. I scrub my face, knowing what’s coming next. She’s young and good looking which means Dave will let her know so.

  “You’re a cute one.” Dave manages to get out around a bite of chocolate. “Nice little ass to boot.”

  “Candy? You’ve been warned.” She shoots me a death stare.

  “What?” Dave genuinely asks.

  This is nothing new. The man is hard of hearing, and he can’t understand a woman’s voice for shit. So I find myself in the middle, translating every bit of it. It's a constant cycle of everyone being upset and frustrated beyond belief.

  I relay the message from the nurse, not making eye contact with her. Hell, the woman scares the shit out of me, but not Dave. He chomps down on the candy bar after I just told him what she said.

  “You’ve been warned. They will kick you out for not following orders.” She checks his monitors, remaining with her stern stare.

  “What’d she say?” he asks again.

  And the process goes on and on like this. Nothing new.

  “Thank fuck,” Dave grumbles out. There’s a pregnant pause in the room then he attacks. “You’re too uptight and need to get laid. My boy here, Hunter, is single and a good catch. You want to marry him?”

  “Jesus, Dave,” I whisper, covering my face. He knows I’m not single, but it never stops him.

  The young nurse gets right in his face. “No more candy.”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  She turns on her heels, heading straight for me. “I’m not dumb, and we all know where he gets the candy from. NO MORE.”

  Then the door slams. Dave reaches for another candy bar, giving zero fucks about his sugar level.

  “She’s a feisty one. Those kind always make good wives. Hard workers and warm your sheets at night.”

  “You should really listen to them. It will help you get out of here faster.”

  “Fuck that, ain’t no one going to tell me how to live, Hunter.”

  Pointless. It’s pointless to talk any sense into this man. He has his mind set on the way he lives and isn’t going to change for anyone. On his third candy bar, he leans forward in his bed.

  “My back itches, can you scratch it?”

  I grunt in disapproval. After a good ten minutes of scratching his back, Dave begins fidgeting.

  “This ain’t working. Run on into town and buy me a back scratcher.”

  “We are in town,” I reply.

  “Dammit, Hunter, you know what I mean. Go to the drug store and ask to talk to the manager. They’ll give you a deal on it. You always talk to the manager.”

  “Okay.” I act like I’m taking his message to heart.

  I am not going to waltz into a damn store, ask for the manager, then dicker on the price of a ten dollar back scratcher. Hell, do they even make those anymore?

  “I’ll
see what I can do.”

  Four stores later and smack dab in the middle of a Wal-Mart, I find a damn back scratcher. Rolling it over in my hand, I chuckle with the thought of seeking out the manager and asking for a deal on it. No doubt in my mind Dave would do it. My phone rings while checking out. A picture I took of Teale fills the frame. She was sleeping with the majority of her face covered by her long hair. Just the sight of it makes me smile.

  “Gordon.”

  “Princess Pete,” she spits right back.

  “Good to hear your voice.”

  “How’s Dave doing today?”

  “Ornery and stubborn.”

  “So, the same?”

  “Pretty much. He has me on a wild goose chase for a damn back scratcher.”

  She chuckles into the phone.

  “Got busted for smuggling candy into him, but his spirits seem to be better.”

  “Good to hear. How are your spirits?”

  I shrug even though she can’t see me. “This shit is deep. Nurses and social workers asking me all kinds of questions that I have no clue about. It’s frustrating as hell. Have a test tomorrow that I need to brush up for.”

  “Need me to come help you study?”

  “That would be nice, but I think we both know how that would turn out.”

  “Hasn’t stopped you from interrupting mine.”

  “But we made good memories. Go to bed, babe. Going to sit with Dave until he falls asleep. Have to make sure no nurses strangle his ass.”

  Chapter 11

  Hunter

  “To heal from the inside out is the key.” -Wynonna Judd

  “You know I have my own metal business?”

  “You’ve told me that about a hundred times, but I’m picky about my welds.” Dave leans forward, his natural coloring back in place after weeks of recovery.

  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt those nurses threw a damn celebration after he left the nursing home. He should be counting his lucky stars that none of them snuffed him out in his sleep over the long stay. He demanded a bowl of ice cream every night before bed and refused to give up until one of the nurses would bring him one. It was brutal. All I could do was sit by his bed and shake my head in some apology.

  I don't know how I managed, but I did. I went to school every day, visited Dave in the nursing home, worked at Frank’s, and managed to squeak in some Teale time. I couldn't ask for a better woman. She’s understanding, patient, and busy with her own life. I even came home late one night to find her in my apartment with homemade chicken noodle soup, thanks to the Instapot. It made me ecstatic to know she put her emergency key to proper use.

  “One shot, Dave, just give me one shot. If you don’t approve of my weld, then I’ll never ask again.”

  “You won’t know how to use my welder. It’s different than yours.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I like things done my way.”

  “No shit. I’m asking to weld, not anything else.”

  Dave grunts and groans then tosses me a piece of old scrap metal. “One chance and that’s just to shut you up. A ninety-degree bead then we are not talking about it again.”

  “No, then I get to weld.”

  I refuse to drop this topic. Welding is one of my passions I picked up at a young age, at the side of my dad. Dave has all the equipment and plenty of shit that could be welded. It would be much more satisfying than stacking labeled boxes and moving shit around for the fun of it. I know it would lift his spirits as well to see some of this machinery that he’s collected coming back to life. Our plans of restoring an old tractor were halted with his hospital and nursing home stay.

  I slide on the thick leather gloves, pull on the welding helmet, flip the switch up on the welder, and begin my work. My hands are steadily laying out the perfect weld. I rise slowly and can’t help the smile, knowing I just created the best weld of my life. I let the metal cool down before handing it to Dave.

  “Bullshit.”

  His first words make me chuckle.

  “There’s no way you did this. Bullshit.”

  “Dave, you just sat here and watched me.”

  “There’s just no way. This is bullshit.” Dave shakes his head while staring at the work.

  “You approve?” I rub my hands together waiting for his response.

  His eyes narrow, eyebrows crinkling up in disbelief. “Still don’t believe it. But sat here and watched you do this.”

  “Then I weld.”

  He nods his head. I don’t waste any time before jumping to work on an old tractor I’ve been eyeing for weeks now. All the parts are scattered around it just waiting to be put back together. Magic. Yes, magic happened in the last couple of hours. It's a turning point in Dave and my relationship, because all of the constant demands and him over my shoulder watching me work no longer exists.

  After a long day of stress-free work, I pack Dave back into the house. It’s in somewhat of a manageable state since I did my best while he was in the hospital. He’s settled in his recliner with a protein shake while I make my way back to his room to empty piss bottles.

  A trail of human shit is streaked across his carpet, ending at a couple of pairs of shitty underwear. It’s a sad day when shock doesn’t register. After washing out his underwear then tossing them in his ancient washer, I clean up the carpet. I decide it would be best not to bring this up to him since we had such a great day together.

  “You’re quiet.” Dave looks up to me over his magazine. “Not getting laid?”

  “Got that department under control.” I kneel down next to him. “You’ve been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now. You need a damn shower. I’m going to get it ready then I’m dumping your stinky ass in it.”

  He only grunts, but I don’t give a shit. This man has been given a second chance at life and will not sit around in his own shit on my clock. Sad, but true that I had to wash his tub out before bathing him. I’m thankful there’s a bench he can sit on and a removable showerhead making this task much easier.

  Rifling around in his closet while the water warms up, I find myself laughing my ass off. The man has at least fifty black t-shirts, sweatpants, and jeans all with their tags on.

  Dave has his shoes kicked off and waiting on me. I scoop him up in my arms, packing him back to the bathroom. His bones scream out in pain from just lifting him up.

  “You weren’t shitting about not being a people person?”

  “You know, sometimes I think you’re a smart boy then you say something stupid like that.”

  “Found your stash of black clothes.”

  “Better not be stealing any of those.”

  “Not my style.”

  I help Dave get settled then leave so he can undress. My head falls back on the wall outside the bathroom. There’s no way in hell he’ll be able to get in the shower all by himself. I don’t need Dave falling and breaking a hip when I’m here to help.

  It’s not like I’m excited to give a grown man a bath, but it needs to be done. I hear him rustling around, so I walk into the bathroom and see that he’s ready to get into the bathtub. With shaking hands, I pick Dave up and set him on the bench. Waiting until he’s sitting underneath the spray of hot water, then I pull the shower curtain shut.

  I made sure to have an open bottle of body wash in there for him. But I figure at least he’s under hot water, that’s a small victory itself. Dave spends several long minutes in the shower and, if I’m not mistaken, begins humming to himself.

  This man has come into my life making a huge impact, forcing me to ponder what the true meaning of life is. Still, late at night when holding Teale to my chest and sleep is elusive, I have no idea why or what for. The conversations with the doctors and social workers wanting all his personal information and demanding answers from me weighs heavy on my thoughts. He needs someone in his life, and I’m determined to be that person.

  It is not just because of the turning point we had at the shop today. It’s simply a man
in need and a man that can help. The water to the shower shuts off, and I pull back the shower curtain to see Dave smiling like he’d just won the lottery. I toss the clean towel to him, stepping back to give him privacy to dry off.

  Giving privacy to a full-grown man while showering truly is a conundrum and impossible. I help Dave from the tub once he’s dried off and then help him into a clean pair of underwear.

  And then he shocks me with the next question he asks me.

  “You mind shavin’ my face?”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  I'm pretty sure I misunderstood him. I must be going crazy, or the odors in this damn house are making me insane. It’s one thing to help Dave bathe for hygiene purposes, but to shave another grown man’s face? That’s a whole other playing field.

  Yes, I am losing my fucking mind.

  “Haven’t had a nice clean shaved face in long years. Sure be good to have one.”

  I don’t answer with words, but pull open the medicine cabinet above the sink and guess what I find? Dozens and dozens of brand-new razors in the package, not opened. And right next to them, three cans of shaving cream.

  I ease Dave into his crisp, new pair of black sweatpants and then have him sit down on the toilet. Dave grabs the t-shirt off the counter, struggling to put it on himself. I’d have it done in a matter of seconds. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to let him have this moment.

  Wrapping a clean towel around his shoulders once his shirt is on, I guide his hand to hold onto it. My hands tremble, fighting to steady the razor in my hand. My memory escapes me, and it happens so damn fast that I can’t recall the first step in shaving. I step back, peering into the mirror, breathing in and out. This isn’t awkward I tell myself over and over…it’s empowering for Dave.

  A heap of cool lather foams in my palm. Once his lower jaw is covered, I raise my still shaky hand. The first swipe only manages to collect the shaving cream. Inhaling, I try again still with a nervous touch. Then it all comes naturally to me just like I’m shaving my own face. Steady rhythms of swipes begin to work their magic.