Lean on Me (Stories from hope haven)

by Leslie Gould

  Shelly hung up her phone and motioned to James, stepping around her desk to shake his hand. She couldn’t be more than thirty and wore her chestnut hair long and straight. She pushed her tortoise-shell plastic-framed glasses up on the bridge of her nose. More and more it seemed like the professionals around him were younger and younger.

  “How are you?” she asked, sitting down behind her desk. “Ready to start the loan process?”

  As he explained the situation he was in, the expression on her face grew more and more concerned.

  “I’ll be honest,” she said, “it wouldn’t be impossible for you to qualify for a mortgage since you have a substantial down payment, but your interest rate would be higher to offset our risk as the lender.”

  “So, it would be better to wait until after I’ve found another job?”

  She nodded. “But you’re a nurse, right? You’ll have another job in no time.”

  James said he hoped so and thanked Shelly for her time, saying he would be back in to talk more about the mortgage soon. As he pushed through the door of the bank and stepped out onto the sidewalk, a light, cold rain began to fall. It would be ridiculous to get a mortgage with a higher interest rate right now. They’d either have to refinance as soon as possible or live with a higher rate. Either way they would lose money. He needed to call Cody Wyatt and tell her what was going on. He hoped she would be fine with renting for a few more months.

  He started his van, deciding to stop by Tender Loving Health Care again.

  He drove over to Smith Street and turned left, wondering if checking in with Missy again would annoy her or show her that he was really interested in working with the organization. He decided it was worth the risk and parked in front of the office, stepping from his van quickly. He’d just check in with Missy and tell her he would be willing to take an LPN position if necessary. He would be willing to take anything that was available, actually. When he opened the door he was surprised to find a receptionist at the small desk in the outer office.

  “May I help you?” She wore jeans and a Chicago Bulls sweatshirt and looked to be college age.

  “I was hoping to speak to Missy,” James said.

  “She’s busy.” The girl kept her eyes on her computer screen as she spoke. “Come back after lunch.”

  James thanked the young woman, and she nodded without looking at him. As he reached the front of the office, Missy’s door swung open.

  “Can you believe it?” She was standing with her profile toward James, talking to the receptionist. “Another nurse has refused to take care of Joel Morris.”

  “Why don’t you drop him?” the receptionist said. She still had her eyes on the computer screen.

  James cleared his throat as he stepped forward.

  Missy spun around. “Oh, it’s you. You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” James said. “I just stopped by to check in, to see if you had any openings.”

  “Since yesterday?” She laughed.

  James stepped backward. “I’ll check back next week.”

  “Sure,” Missy said. “Wait. You were in the army, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said.

  The receptionist turned her head toward James for half a second and then looked at Missy.

  The woman had a smile on her face, and her feet hopped in a little jig. “Come into my office,” she said, gesturing toward the open door.

  A moment later, as she and James sat down at the table, Missy said, “I have a veteran living just outside of town. He’s waiting to get into a rehab program in Texas. He’s…let’s say difficult. I’ve had three LPNs withdraw their services in the last week and a half.”

  James cocked his head to the side. That must have been what all the phone calls yesterday were about.

  “Would you be interested in giving it a try?”

  “What’s difficult about the client?” James couldn’t imagine that the actual care could be that daunting, otherwise the man would still be hospitalized.

  Missy raised her eyebrows. “He’s angry. Acting out. He’s thrown his bedpan against the wall more than once. That sort of thing.”

  James started to smile and then caught himself. He could handle flying bedpans. “Sure. I’d like to give it a try.”

  “I can’t pay you what you were making at the hospital.”

  James nodded. “I assumed that.”

  “I’ll pay more than I would an LPN though.” She turned her attention to her computer and clicked her mouse several times. In a second her printer began to whir. “Can you start tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I can,” James answered, sitting up straight.

  She pulled a stack of papers from her printer. “He’s a sergeant in the army, a local kid who enlisted after high school and was stationed at Fort Stewart, Georgia, in an infantry division. They were deployed nine months ago and he was injured just before Christmas. He’s scheduled to go to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio—to rehab—in a few weeks.”

  James leaned back in his chair. Of course it was a temporary position. But maybe after that a position would open up at the hospital or Missy would have another assignment for him.

  Missy slid the papers across the desk to James. “Here’s the information you need—address, protocols, all of that.” She turned her attention back to the computer. “I’ll print out a contract…”

  He skimmed the paperwork. Sergeant Morris had been driving a Hummer on December 21 when it was struck by an improvised explosive device. His back and legs had been injured, but he was regaining movement in his legs. His left arm had been shattered and he’d had three surgeries on it already. He’d also suffered a head wound.

  James had read plenty about soldiers coming out of Iraq with brain injuries. They were called the “hidden wounded.” Often it was months or years before the lasting damage could be assessed.

  “What do you think?” Missy asked. “Still want to accept the assignment?”

  James looked up from the documents. “Of course,” he said. He couldn’t imagine not wanting to care for Sgt. Joel Morris.

  On Wednesday, Candace stepped into the courtyard of Hope Haven. It was cool but clear and dry. She and Heath had agreed to meet and have lunch together outside, hoping for some privacy.

  It seemed like a long, long week so far, and she felt relieved that the weekend was just around the corner. She brushed a twig off the picnic table, sat down, and opened her lunch bag. She’d decided to start economizing wherever she could, just in case, and bringing her lunch instead of ordering a bowl of soup or a sandwich in the cafeteria would save a chunk of money each month. The kids were taking their lunch every day too.

  “Hi.” Heath stepped through the door to the courtyard with a tray from the cafeteria. “I brought you a piece of apple caramel pie.”

  Candace smiled, touched that he remembered how much she liked the specialty dessert that the cafeteria only offered occasionally. “Thanks.” That was another thing she loved about him—that he remembered those little details.

  He sat down across from her and slid the pie across the table. He had a burger and fries on his plate, which he could eat seven days a week and not gain a pound.

  “Have you heard anything new?” she asked.

  Heath shook his head. “I saw Varner talking to the nursing administrator this morning though. Neither looked happy.”

  No one had seemed happy at Hope Haven all week. Candace took a bite of her turkey on whole wheat. Varner had spoken with her boss, Riley Hohmann, the day before, but so far no one had heard a thing about the details of the conversation.

  The door to the courtyard opened again and Anabelle appeared. “Mind if I join you?”

  Heath turned his head and in unison Candace and he said, “Sit down.”

  Anabelle had a salad on her tray. “I was hoping I’d find you out here.” She sat beside Heath. “Any word on the advisory committee?”

  “Dr. Drew said he was gathering the last of the paperwo
rk he wanted us all to have. Then we’ll meet,” Candace answered.

  “Is it just me, or does it feel like the whole hospital is holding its breath?” Anabelle stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork.

  “That’s actually a nice way of putting it.” Candace slid the second half of her sandwich back into her bag.

  “Oh, I don’t think things are that bad,” Heath chimed in. “There’s no use guessing what’s going to happen.”

  Candace appreciated Heath’s optimism—usually. That was something she loved about him too. But on this issue, she was afraid he was in denial. Obviously the hospital was in trouble.

  The wind picked up a little, and the just-budding branches of the birch tree across the courtyard began to sway. A robin landed on the wall and bobbed its head around.

  Heath stood and stepped toward the robin and then looked at the tree. “Look, there’s a nest,” he said.

  Sure enough there was, in the crook of the branches.

  “What are you looking at?” Elena had come through the door without anyone noticing.

  “Bird-watching,” Candace answered, nodding her head toward Heath. She liked how he turned into a little kid when a bird appeared.

  Heath pivoted around slowly. “It’s not spring until the robins begin nesting. Look.” He pointed to the tree.

  Elena clasped her hands together. “Oh, isn’t that wonderful? And right here in our courtyard.” She sat down beside Candace. “How is everyone?”

  Heath sat back down, saying, “Fine.”

  “Well, I’m not so fine,” Elena said. “I’m afraid of being replaced by a nurse’s aide.”

  “Really?” Candace couldn’t fathom that. Especially not in ICU.

  “That’s the rumor.” Elena took a sip of her coffee—it was all she’d brought with her.

  Candace exhaled. She pushed the pie away. She couldn’t enjoy it.

  “Rumors and more rumors,” Anabelle said. “I’m anxious to figure this out.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  Anabelle put her fork down. “Could we pray? For wisdom for the advisory committee.”

  “And for James,” Elena said. “I feel like he’s been cozened.”

  Candace started to laugh. “And poor James isn’t even here to appreciate your choice of words. What, exactly, does it mean?”

  “Swindled.” Elena was obviously pleased with herself.

  “And the administrators and executives,” Anabelle continued, “we should pray for them.” Anabelle bowed her head and the others quickly joined her, except Candace who stole a look at Heath. His head was already bowed and his eyes closed.

  “I’ll start,” Anabelle said. “Dear Lord…” She prayed for the hospital and that it would be saved. Elena prayed for James, and Candace prayed for wisdom for the advisory committee and the administrators and executives. Heath didn’t pray out loud but concluded the other prayers by simply saying, “Amen.”

  There was silence for a moment and then Candace spoke. “How’s James doing?”

  “He’s found a part-time home health position,” Elena said. “And applied for unemployment.”

  Candace grimaced. But she had to admire James for his integrity to take whatever job was available.

  “Well, James will excel at whatever he does,” Anabelle said.

  “They’re lucky to have him,” Elena added, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug.

  Candace sighed. If James could persevere through his trial, surely she could continue on with a good attitude through her own uncertainty.

  Elena and Izzy cuddled on the couch, a stack of books on the coffee table.

  The back door banged. Heavy footsteps sounded through the kitchen. Elena looked over her shoulder; her son stood in the doorway, his cell phone to his ear. He waved at Izzy, and she scooted off the couch and dashed across the room to him. He lifted her up with one arm as he flipped his phone shut and then slid it into the pocket of his jacket. “What’s mi bonita up to?”

  She squealed as he bounced her higher in both of his arms and then said, “Reading. With Buela.”

  “How’s it going?” His question was more for Elena than Izzy.

  “Good,” Elena answered.

  Rafael lowered himself into the wingback chair next to the fireplace, with Izzy still in his arms. He looked at his daughter. “I’m so glad I got home before bedtime.”

  Izzy grinned.

  “Would you read to me?” Rafael asked his daughter.

  Izzy climbed down from his lap, picked up the first Madeline book, and then snuggled next to her dad and began reading it perfectly. When she finished the last line, Rafael praised her and then said, “Go put on your pajamas.” Rafael lowered the little girl to the floor. “Then come back out, and I’ll read to you.”

  Izzy smiled and scampered down the hall.

  “She’s doing well, isn’t she?” Elena said.

  “Not according to her teacher.” Rafael scooted forward on the chair and clasped his hands. “She’s concerned about her reading.”

  “Really?” Elena’s thoughts raced. The teacher hadn’t said a thing to Elena about the topic, and she picked Izzy up from school a few times a week, at least. And Izzy was reading, amazingly well. But besides that, she was only in kindergarten.

  Rafael nodded. “I just had a message from her.”

  The teacher wouldn’t call without a reason.

  “She says she thinks Izzy’s regressing in her reading skills—that normally whether a student reads or not isn’t a big deal, since it’s kindergarten. But she says Izzy was reading quite well and now isn’t at all.” Rafael stood. “I don’t think the teacher knows what she’s talking about though.”

  “Call her back and ask for more details,” Elena said.

  Izzy came running down the hall; she’d put her pajamas on in record time. “Can I have a piggyback ride?” she squealed at Rafael.

  “Climb on.” He dropped down and Izzy clambered onto his back.

  “Be careful she doesn’t fall,” Elena said. Izzy’s lip was healing nicely, but if she hit it again, it would reopen.

  Elena headed into the kitchen to unload the dishwasher; otherwise, she’d probably keep nagging Rafael. But at least Izzy wasn’t afraid to roughhouse after her accident. She really was a trouper.

  A half hour later, Izzy was down for the night, and Rafael was raiding the refrigerator.

  “I was thinking more about Izzy’s reading,” Elena said as she scoured the sink. “One of us should have her read to us out of a book she doesn’t know.” It had dawned on her that the little girl only read books to them that had been read, over and over, to her.

  “I tried that when I put her to bed.”

  “And?” Elena rinsed out the sink.

  “She said her head hurt.” Rafael juggled roast beef, cheese, mustard, lettuce, and a tomato in his hands.

  “Oh.” Elena rinsed out the sponge. “It sure didn’t seem like she had a headache earlier.”

  Rafael agreed.

  “Didn’t you eat at the restaurant?” Elena scanned the countertop.

  “Nah,” he said. “I didn’t want to take the time.”

  She appreciated him wanting to get home in time to put Izzy to bed. “Make sure to clean up when you’re done.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Rafael opened the breadbox. “I know.”

  Elena started to head back to the living room but then turned around. “You might do some research online about reading issues,” she said. “It might give you a head start in talking with her teacher.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Rafael said again, looking up from spreading mustard on the bread. He smiled. “Actually that’s a good idea. I’ll do that tonight.”

  Relieved, Elena started for her room to put on her own pajamas. Sometimes it was hard to know how much advice to offer Rafael.

  Chapter Eight

  FRIDAY MORNING, JAMES SLOWLY DROVE OUT the highway to the Morris home, his windshieldwipers working furiously to clear the sheets o
f rain. It was his third day caring for Joel Morris. Wednesday and Thursday the twenty-three-year-old man had been sullen and moody and in pain each day and had taken his full amount of prescribed pain medication. He’d been mouthy and rude. James had told him several times to tone down his language.

  On the bright side, he hadn’t thrown the bedpan.

  The first thing James had done was get rid of the thing, although he was pretty sure Joel’s parents still let him use it. James had Joel up as much as possible and in the bathroom as much as needed. His plan was to never give the kid a chance to throw the bedpan at him, no matter how much he raged about not wanting to transfer into the wheelchair for a trip down the hall.

  His mother Melanie Morris seemed detached, giving James just the amount of information that he needed. But each time he was getting ready to leave he sensed that she was getting ready to hover.

  James helped Joel shower, checked his meds, and saw to his wounds, which were healing nicely. Joel was beginning to be able to use his left arm for the first time since his accident, but the young man was still weak.

  James turned onto Willow Road. The Morris home was a 1950s ranch, which worked well for Joel’s injuries since he was in a wheelchair. His hospital bed was in the middle of the living room since the doors to the bedrooms weren’t wide enough for his chair. His father, whom James hadn’t met, had taken the molding off the bathroom door so Joel’s wheelchair would fit through it.

  He parked in the driveway and stepped out into the pouring rain, hurrying toward the front door of the house. He rang the bell and waited. He heard voices inside, raised and loud. He rang the bell again. The voices grew more heated. He rang the bell a third time. Finally Melanie answered.

  “Brace yourself,” she whispered. “We’re having a bad day.” She stepped out onto the porch, wearing slacks and a blouse, looking as if she was ready to go into an office. Her shoulder-length hair was styled, and she wore lipstick and earrings. She was a small woman, not much bigger than Fern.

  James kept his voice low. “What’s up?”