Crush. Candy. Corpse.

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Oh, she was a sweetheart. She always thanked me whenever I did anything.”

  “She thanked you . . . but I thought she couldn’t talk.”

  “Most of the time she didn’t. But I guess thanking was a habit that stayed behind. The patients have good moments sometimes.”

  “Can you describe any other good moments?”

  “Oh, yes. Mrs. Demers had been silent for a while but we still talked all the time around the patients whether they answered or not. She seemed blue one day, so I told her how I was missing my family in Florida but it was such a long drive from here. I didn’t know if my car could make it. And suddenly she said, as clear as a bell, ‘Take a plane.’”

  “Really? But that meant she must have understood you, too. What about physically? She used a wheelchair. Was she mobile on her own?”

  “No. She stopped walking just when I started working in that unit.”

  “This is a characteristic of Alzheimer’s though, correct?”

  “Yes. She didn’t have a stroke, or severe enough arthritis to cause it. But then when I was getting her up for breakfast one morning, she just walked into the bathroom and brushed her own teeth. One time only, and then not again.”

  “She never stood up on her own legs and walked again for you. Is it possible she may have walked on her own when you weren’t there?”

  “Nobody told me about it, but it’s possible.”

  “She could have done it when nobody was watching, perhaps to visit another resident’s room or to help herself to some sweets?”

  The doughnuts that the biker brought in . . . or the ones in Jeannette’s room. The candies that she choked on.

  Ambrose’s eyes shift to look into mine for just a moment. I feel myself starting to smile and stop.

  “It is possible. But it is not so likely. Someone would have seen her.”

  Everyone was too busy, you liar. My doughnuts were resting on Jeannette’s lap, they didn’t fly into Helen Demers’s mouth on their own.

  “When you started working on the first floor last year did you ever notice a biker visiting the resident Frank Conner?”

  “Oh, yes. I talked to him about his chopper. It was a beautiful machine.”

  “And did he visit other residents’ rooms offering them doughnuts or just visiting?

  “I’m not sure, but I did see him carry in a box.”

  Okay, so those doughnuts are still a big strike against me, despite my lawyer’s questions. All I tried to do was keep Jeannette happy. Had I just waited, Jeannette would have forgotten about the treats too. The hands on the clock move slowly into position, the short one nudges the four first, the long one finally hits the twelve. Four o’clock. It’s no surprise when the judge calls it a day. “Court is adjourned. We will meet again tomorrow at ten o’clock.” Up, slowly, like a big black bird fluffing his feathers. The court clerk tells everyone to rise and we wait while the judge and jury leave. Then I follow with my parents.

  As usual, we head back to the condo office. Wolfgang’s on the phone when we arrive. Mom tackles a stack of mail in her in-box and Dad just sits down and sighs.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I ask him.

  “What do you mean? They will find you innocent and you will move on with your life.”

  “Do you think?”

  Schwizt! Mom slits open an envelope, fast and sure, stacking it in a new pile. Schwizt!

  Dad shrugs his shoulders.

  Mom stops and points her opener at me. “All this time we have been listening to the witnesses for the prosecution.” She shakes the opener. “When we hear from the witnesses on your side, things will be different. You’ll see.”

  “Mom, I just can’t tell if the jury likes me. Some people think everything I do is evil, no matter what I say. Look at Mrs. Johnson.”

  “Some people are very stupid.” Schwizt, schwizt! Even faster.

  “What do you think? Are the jury members smart?” I look first at my mother and she returns my stare over her glasses.

  Schwizt, schwizt!

  “You be careful with that,” my father warns my mother.

  No answer from her. She sees what I see and it’s not good. I move my eyes to my father’s face.

  “Sunny, Sunny. This is not American Idol. They will listen and they will need to weigh.” He moves his hands up and down like scales. “They must decide things for certain. No doubts.” He wags a finger now. “Think how hard it must be to be so sure that you caused this old lady’s death.”

  Schwizt, schwizt. Mom throws the letter opener down. “Impossible! If they do, we will appeal.” She jumps up and heads out of the room.

  If she’s so certain, why does she leave the room? Is she crying? My heart sinks. She had her ultrasound before court this morning. What had it shown? It couldn’t have been good news, or we would be celebrating.

  “Dad, what happened at the ultrasound today?”

  “Nothing. Your mother was at the clinic and the technician refused to say anything. She told Mama to discuss it with her doctor.” Dad frowns.

  “But they like telling you if it’s nothing, don’t they?”

  He shakes his head. “They are not supposed to tell you any results. She has an appointment with the doctor Thursday morning.”

  But Mom knew she was all clear instantly the last time she had an ultrasound. If Mom has to see her doctor to explain the results, it must mean the cancer is back.

  I feel myself floating away from the desk so I grip the edges. Then I take a drink of water. If I am found guilty, I will be gone for two or three years. They could be the last years of Mom’s life. Tomorrow will be the toughest witness, too — Mrs. Johnson. Maybe there is still time to get out of all this.

  “Dad, can you call Mr. McCann? I want to change my plea. At least I’ll get the lesser sentence.”

  The Sixteenth Visit — eight hours left

  Mrs. Johnson knows my phone number because she called me to complain about the doughnuts that some other guy left behind. I think she could have called to tell me about the quarantine at the residence. A few of the seniors had a flu, so the whole floor was closed off to visitors. The receptionist wouldn’t even let me sign in to prove I had been there. It kills a couple of hours of my time riding the bus to and from Paradise Manor. I think this visit should count.

  The truth is that when the receptionist stopped me, I was pretty happy. If Cole had asked me right then and there to skip out and go to a movie, I would have taken it all as a sign and said yes.

  But instead, Cole told me he had a great immune system, and he wasn’t afraid of being around a little flu. He was going to visit his grandma, especially if she was sick.

  I have a great immune system, too, and would have liked to cheer the residents up — there’s nothing quite as depressing as being alone when you’re feeling lousy — but I wasn’t sure about my mom’s. All those treatments had left her susceptible. What if some strange microbe hitched a ride on me and made her sick?

  The phone rang and Katherine Filmore got into a deep discussion. When she needed to check the files at the back to answer a question, Cole made his break for it.

  He keyed in the code. “You coming?” He tilted his head towards the door.

  I shook my head. I just couldn’t risk it.

  Then I called Donny and we headed to the mall instead. Instead of browsing stores, I made him apply for some jobs in the food court. I was pretty happy to put him on the road to reform. If he had a job, I was sure he wouldn’t be stealing again.

  chapter seventeen

  Dad makes the call to our lawyer but when he rings back the news is bad. It’s too late to bargain. The Crown will not give us a deal anymore. If I change my plea now, the buzzard wants to put me in a young offender’s institute for a full two years, with a
n additional year of probation. There’s no other option but to go on.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep that night. The buzzard must be very sure of his case to want to hold out till the end of the trial.

  The Seventeenth Visit — I caught up, Mr. Brooks, for real, only six hours left

  I stayed a couple of extra hours to play bingo with the seniors today. A resident named Jeannette Ferrier hurt her foot and the pain put her in kind of a slump. Wow, was she serious about her game, though. I did a really good job of cheering her up.

  Cole and I rode on the same bus to Paradise Manor on the next Monday. There was a cold weather warning that day and it was already dreary dark. “You didn’t take your bike today. Good call,” I said when I climbed in and saw him sitting near the front.

  “Hey, Sunny. You’re using public transit. Excellent. Does that mean you dumped the Neanderthal?”

  “No.” I smiled as I sat down beside Cole. His hair looked nice today and the dark brown pea coat he wore worked well with his eyes. “You may not like Donovan, but the old ladies sure did.”

  “Yeah, he flirted and even went to their rooms with them. I think that should mean you can go to the dance with me.”

  “We’ll see.” I smiled. He wasn’t afraid of Donovan. I was glad.

  The bus lumbered and swished through the snow. Cole rubbed at the frosted window with a mitted fist in order to get a view of where we were. “Did you notice Kidnapping in Athens is playing at the theatres now? Your boyfriend didn’t say we couldn’t see a movie together.”

  I rolled my eyes at Cole. “Honestly, he really doesn’t have to itemize.”

  “When your forty hours are up, do you think you’ll still come to Paradise Manor?” His golden eyes held mine for a moment.

  “I don’t know. I’ll miss some of the residents. But Mrs. Johnson really has it in for me.”

  “She wouldn’t if you didn’t come just because you have to for school. I mean, if you really volunteer on your own, I’m sure her attitude will change.” He peered through the cleared part of the window. “Our stop now.” We both stood and Cole pulled the signal rope so the bus driver would know to let us off.

  As we walked from the curb to the entrance, he gripped my elbow so I wouldn’t fall. My laced knee-high boots had heels so I needed the help. At least that’s what I would tell Donovan if it ever come up somehow. We did the whole signing-in ritual, sterilizing our hands and entering the door-opening code to lockup.

  Once inside, we only went a little ways through the hall, till I stopped where Jeannette sat. She didn’t look up or say hello.

  “I’ll see you in the dining room,” Cole said as he headed off towards his grandmother’s room.

  I nodded. “Hey, Jeannette,” I said loudly. “I brought you something.”

  She tilted her head. “What is it? Chocolate?”

  “No, better than that.” I took out a new lipstick I’d bought — two for one at The Bay. I’d thought of Jeannette immediately. I picked up Plum for me and Strawberry Wine for her. “See?” I unwrapped and uncapped the tube. “Smile for me and I’ll put some on you.”

  She leaned her head back as I rolled the lipstick on. Her pupils were needle-point small and she seemed vague. Was she fading away like Helen Demers?

  “There, now you’re beautiful for supper. Come, let’s go.” I pushed her walker towards her.

  She stared at it.

  “Suppertime, Jeannette. Come on.” I patted my hand on one of the handlebars.

  Gillian walked by. “Hurry, ladies. We’re having bingo at six p.m.”

  “I don’t care about bingo,” Jeannette grumbled, but she slowly hoisted herself up on the walker.

  “Do you think you can help Jeannette get to her game and play?” Gillian asked me.

  Jeannette turned her head slowly towards me. Her strawberry-wine lips stretched with just the suggestion of a smile. She looked poised to grin if I answered correctly.

  “Sure. I love bingo,” I lied. “And I’m very lucky.” I winked at Jeannette and she tried to straighten. Her eyebrows lifted. If I could do anything to snap her out of her slump and prevent her from sliding down into nothingness, I would do it.

  Shepherd’s pie or roast chicken for supper. I sat down with Jeannette and coaxed her to eat. She at least got food in its original format. Then I jumped up and visited with Fred and Marlene. Cole gave me a wave with a spoon from where he sat feeding his grandmother. Helen Demers just got plops of colour to eat now.

  “Oh, hi Diane,” Marlene said. “We’re out of bread. Do you think you could pick some up on your way home tonight?”

  “Yes. Rye or whole wheat?”

  Cole rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  Marlene’s brow furrowed.

  “Never mind. I’ll just pick what looks freshest.” I jumped up and sat with Jeannette. “Here, can I just cut up your chicken for you? You need to save your strength to place your bingo chips.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted just a little.

  I bounced back over to be with Marlene and Fred and told Cole about bingo.

  “That sounds like fun, eh Grandma? Let’s you and me play too.” His grandmother looked blankly back at him.

  Bingo was being held in the crafts room on the second floor, where we had decorated the Christmas trees. We walked slowly, pushing Helen’s wheelchair and allowing Jeannette to shuffle alongside. It took a long time just to get to the elevator. The elevator stayed open an extra moment after we moved on board, programmed I guess to allow seniors to make it in at their pace. Going up was the fastest part of the trip. Then trudge, roll, trudge, we finally made it to the room.

  A smiling woman stood near the counter, holding a wire-cylinder basket full of white numbered balls. Three banquet tables took up most of the room. Two were full of seniors already, eight at each. A couple of the women had little strange-haired troll dolls standing near their cards. Another had a little ceramic pig. Cole and I sat at the third table with just Jeannette and Helen, which turned out to be a good thing.

  I went to get some cards and markers for Jeannette and Helen from our volunteer bingo caller at the front. From somewhere I remembered that most people play with more than one card. At the other table the ladies seemed to all have four.

  Could we handle that many, I mean Cole and I, if we had to do all the playing over their shoulders? I counted out eight.

  I returned to the table with the cards and put them on the table in front of Helen and Jeannette. “Don’t give me those. They’re not lucky. Give me the top four,” Jeannette snapped at me.

  I quickly scooped the four away from Helen who wouldn’t care and exchanged them for the bottom ones. “Here you go. Now you’ll win for sure.”

  “Green daubers are no good. Go back and get hot pink,” she commanded.

  I smiled at Cole as I returned to the counter and found the pink ones. It was great to see some of Jeannette’s spirit returning, even if it was her bossy side.

  The volunteer caller at the front sent the metal basket spinning and then pulled out a white ball. “B12. That’s B12.” The volunteer also printed out the letter and number on the blackboard on the wall.

  I scanned Jeannette’s cards as quickly as I could. She was quicker, stamping the B12 on the fourth card. “Bingo!” she called.

  A woman at the other table stared at her, annoyed.

  “No, no,” I said gently. “You need to have a complete row to have a bingo.”

  Jeannette looked at me as though she was peering through clouds. Her eyes squinted. Then, for a moment, life woke in her eyes again. “Of course it’s not a bingo. Silly me.”

  The caller spun the basket again and then caught a ball, holding it up. “G58. G like in great, five eight.”

  “Bingo!” Jeannette called again.
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  Cole grinned at me. This time the volunteer walked over. “That’s pretty good. Two out of two. But not quite a bingo. You need a few more numbers here or there.” She pointed with her finger.

  For a while, Jeannette didn’t get any numbers. Puzzled, she kept looking over her four cards.

  “Over here, Grandma, look. I30.” Cole moved his grandmother’s hand to the spot and pushed at it gently so the marker stamped the number.

  After about a half an hour, someone from the other table called bingo. The caller ran over to check and it turned out to be a legitimate full-row bingo.

  “Cheater,” Jeannette grumbled. “I wanted that prize.”

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  We watched as a lady who helped us decorate trees received her winnings: a box of green-tea body lotion.

  “You aren’t even playing,” Jeannette snarled at me.

  “Yes, but I like green-tea lotion. It’s refreshing and smells nice.” I headed for the counter.

  “Bring back six cards this time,” Jeannette commanded. I did as she asked.

  I also called my mother on my cell to tell her I would be late.

  “You’re not with that boy,” my mother said.

  “No, I’m at the Manor. Do you want me to put the bingo caller on to confirm?”

  “No, that’s fine. I will save you some supper. You must be starving.”

  Apology accepted. “Thanks, Mom. See you later.”

  We played another six rounds. We came close but never scored a full line. Helen Demers won a nightlight for her room. On the other table they won a stuffed animal, a book, some more body lotion, cologne, crocheted slippers, and a mug.

  Jeannette eyed the cologne fiercely.

  I jumped up and whispered into the caller’s ear.

  “But we don’t have any more prizes.”

  “Never mind, could you just call N35?” I slipped the volunteer my new plum lipstick still in its package. “And give her this when she wins?”

  She nodded, smiled, and touched my shoulder. Then she spun the basket, picked out a ball and called the last number Jeannette needed to win her only real bingo that evening.