Nell and Lady: A Novel

by Ashley Farley

  “I heard every word—the important stuff anyway. I learned a lot about my loved ones while I was away on my little journey.” Willa struggled into a sitting position. “Now help me get up. I have work to do. And I’m starving. Is the food any good around here?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s find out,” Lady said, retrieving the room service menu off the rolling bed table.

  Willa approached her recovery with more determination than Lady had seen from her in years. By noon the next day, a physical therapist—a brunette named Natalie with a sweet smile that reminded Lady of Regan—was called in to determine the next phase in her recuperation.

  “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know,” Willa snapped at Natalie. “I’m ready to go home. How soon can the doctors sign the release papers?”

  Natalie smiled at her. “I wish it were that simple, Mrs. Bellemore. We have certain procedures we’re required to follow.”

  After assessing her physical condition in the room, Natalie strolled alongside Willa as she maneuvered her walker down the hall.

  “She did well,” Natalie reported when they returned to the room. “But her trip to the end of the hall wore her out, which is understandable after an illness as serious as hers.” She helped Willa get settled in the lounge chair and then sat on the edge of the bed in front of her with her iPad. “Now, I need to ask you some questions.” She two-finger typed on her iPad. “Do you have a first-floor bedroom at home?”

  “My bedroom’s at the top of the stairs,” Willa said. “I can get to it just fine.”

  “You’ll need to continue using the walker until you build up your strength.” Natalie directed her next question at Lady, who was standing at the foot of the bed. “Do you have a room on the first floor you can convert into a bedroom?”

  “No,” Lady said, “but I’m sure we can figure—”

  Willa’s face grew red. “I refuse to have my home turned into a hospital. I’ll be just fine in my own room.”

  Natalie’s body grew rigid. “I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Bellemore. If conditions in your home don’t meet certain requirements, I’ll have to recommend you be released to a step-down facility.”

  Lady and Willa looked at each other and then asked in unison, “What’s a step-down facility?”

  “A rehabilitation facility, an extended-care program. You have several medical concerns we must address. Your mobility challenges and oxygen needs are at the top of that list.”

  Lady gulped. “You mean she’ll be on oxygen when she goes home?”

  “At least for a while,” Natalie said. “It’s up to her pulmonologist to decide how long.”

  Lady noticed her mother sinking farther down in her seat. “Will someone show us how to use it?” she asked.

  “Of course. It won’t take you long to adapt.” Natalie closed the cover on her iPad and set it on the bed beside her. “I understand you’re eager to be in your own surroundings, and a first-floor bedroom isn’t a requirement, but the only way we can consider sending you home is if you hire private home care.”

  “That’ll cost a lot of money I’m not willing to spend,” Willa said. “My daughter lives with me. She’ll take care of everything.”

  Lady clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. Quitting drinking was much harder than she’d imagined. Since pouring her vodka down the drain fifty-two hours ago, her cravings were becoming more difficult to ignore. She’d experienced many of the typical withdrawal symptoms, although they came and went in no consistent pattern. She had a constant headache, and the nausea had taken away her appetite.

  “Do you mind, Natalie?” Lady asked. “I’d like a moment alone with my mother.”

  “Certainly.” Retrieving her iPad, she rose from the bed. “I’ll wait out in the hall.”

  Lady dragged an armchair near the bed. “I’ll be frank with you, Willa. Your medical needs have risen to a level I’m no longer comfortable in managing. I’m sure that with time, I can figure out how to use the oxygen, but there’s no shame in asking for help in the interim.”

  Willa set her jaw in determination. “Regan’s a smart girl. She’ll know how to use the oxygen.”

  Lady’s thirst meter shot up ten degrees. “I’m sorry, Willa, but I have to put my foot down. I want Regan to enjoy these last months of her senior year in high school. She can’t do that if she’s taking care of her sick grandmother. I’m a smart girl too. But I’m exhausted. I’ve been waiting on you hand and foot for weeks. I pay the household bills. I know how much you have in your bank accounts. You have enough money to hire round-the-clock care for the next hundred years. You live like a miser. Why not enjoy your money while you can? It’s what your parents would’ve wanted and why Daddy purchased such a considerable life insurance policy.”

  In the span of seconds, a host of expressions crossed her mother’s face—doubt, followed by contemplation, and finally acceptance and elation. “You’re exactly right, Lady. I am a miser. I’ve scrimped and saved all these years, worried that one day I’d run out of money. But I’m not going to live forever, and I can’t take it with me to heaven.” She threw her hands in the air. “Hire the nurses. And when I’m well, we’re gonna have ourselves a grand old time. We’ll buy new wardrobes, redecorate the house, and eat out at every fancy new restaurant in town. Maybe we’ll even go on a Mediterranean cruise. I’ve always wanted to see Greece.”

  The hospital recommended two private home health-care companies, but only one met Lady’s approval after interviewing them on the phone. Penny Yates, clinical manager at Lowcountry Home Health Care, intimidated Lady at first. Even though they were about the same age, Penny was everything Lady was not. Attractive, with her dark hair cut man-short in a style that complemented her thin face. Fit, dressed in tailored gray slacks and a trim-cut white cotton blouse. And professional, efficient but warm and compassionate with her clients.

  Penny personally escorted them home from the hospital late Thursday afternoon. The certified nursing assistant, Monique, whose quiet confidence set Lady at ease, and a therapist from the oxygen supply company were waiting for them when they arrived. After helping Willa get settled in bed, Monique and Penny reorganized her suite of rooms to accommodate the walker.

  As Lady was unpacking Willa’s suitcase, she caught a glimpse of a framed photograph of Mavis. She’d seen the photograph a thousand times, but it had been years since she’d really looked at it. Lifting the frame, she inspected the image of the nanny she’d loved as much as her own mother. She touched the tip of her finger to Mavis’s right cheek dimple. Was it possible Mavis was the woman in the chapel? She set the frame back down. Great, so now I’m seeing ghosts. I must be hallucinating. She’d read online that confusion was not uncommon in alcohol withdrawal.

  After they’d finished rearranging the furniture, Penny pulled Lady aside. “Is there somewhere you and I can speak in private while these two get acquainted?” She gestured at the bed, where Monique was plumping Willa’s pillow and Willa was rattling on about her granddaughter giving the valedictorian address at her upcoming graduation in May.

  Lady’s legs felt wobbly, and she braced herself against the bedpost. “Is something wrong with my mother?”

  “Oh no. It’s nothing like that.” Penny waved away her concern with a flick of her wrist. “I just wanted to go over her medications and our schedule of workers for the next few days so you’ll know what to expect.”

  “In that case, why don’t we go downstairs and have a glass of tea,” Lady said and led the way down to the kitchen.

  Lady poured two glasses of sweet tea, and they sat down at the kitchen table.

  Penny spread Willa’s prescription pill bottles out on the table along with a folder of information about their services. “Monique is one of our top CNAs. I wanted her here when Willa got home to assess her needs and help her get situated. She’ll stay for a while tonight, until the night-duty gal arrives, and then, starting at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, she’ll wo
rk the day shift going forward.”

  “Whatever you think best,” Lady said, and for the next few minutes, they discussed Willa’s medications and general care for the coming days.

  “Here’s my card.” Penny attached her business card to the folder of information with a paper clip. “Do not hesitate to call me night or day with any concerns whatsoever.”

  “Thank you, Penny. I feel like we’re in capable hands.”

  Penny gathered her things, and Lady saw her to the door. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Penny said, “but have you ever worked in health care? I was watching you with your mother, and you’re a natural. It takes a special kind of patience to deal with the elderly.”

  Lady bit down on her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She was the least patient person she knew, particularly in her current state of alcohol withdrawal. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not a nurse.”

  “I don’t mean as a nurse. If you ever consider a career change, you might want to think about becoming a geriatric aide.”

  No longer able to hold back her laughter, Lady let out a loud hoot. “I’m just a stay-at-home mom taking care of my elderly mother. I would need to have a career first before I could consider changing it. But I’m curious. What exactly is a geriatric aide?”

  “Someone who aids elderly people. They perform a wide variety of services. Some help with an individual’s physical care while others provide transportation and companionship. With people living longer these days, the demand for this type of help has grown. The work is rewarding. Like your mother, so many of our clients are charming. You’d be a great fit.”

  Lady felt a glimmer of hope stir deep within her. She wasn’t interested in changing bedpans, but she relished the idea of helping an older person keep up their quality of life. “What kind of training is required?”

  “None, unless you want to work with the critically ill. Common sense, honesty, and reliability are key job requirements. I’d be happy to offer guidance or recommend you to some of my clients.”

  “I appreciate your vote of confidence.” Lady opened the door for Penny. “I need to get my mother back on her feet first, but I’ll give it some thought.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BOOKER

  The library was buzzing on Thursday evening with excitement over the senior prom. Most of Booker’s classmates had already been accepted to their college of choice and had given up on academics for the year. He wondered why they were even in the library when they weren’t studying. He wished they’d go somewhere else to run their yaps. Who cared about the prom anyway? He had better things to worry about, like getting into Harvard. He’d managed to control his stress level these past few days by tuning out everything and everyone except his schoolwork. But his two best guy friends, Stuart and Owen, were goofing off at his table, enjoying their last days as boys before they were cast into the real world and expected to become young men. They picked at each other, which led to pushing and shoving, which led to Owen wrestling Stuart down on top of the table. Where was the librarian when he needed her?

  Booker moved his notebook out of harm’s way. “Stop it already, you two! Go somewhere else! I’m trying to study for our calculus test tomorrow. Some of us still care about our grades.” He saw Regan, alone at a table across the room, with earbuds in her ears, oblivious to the ruckus around her. At this rate, she would get an A on their calc test, and he would fail. He gathered up his books. He’d have to finish his work at home.

  “Where’re you going, Book?” Stuart asked. “Don’t leave. We’re just having a little fun.”

  Owen added, “Yeah, man. You’re taking this whole getting-into-Harvard thing way too seriously.”

  “Chill, dude.” Stuart elbowed Owen in the ribs. “We get how important Harvard is to you. What we don’t understand is why you won’t take one night off from studying to go to the prom.”

  They’d been harassing him for days about getting a date to the prom. “Okay, Einstein, why don’t you tell me who I’m gonna ask?” Booker said. “All the girls in our grade already have dates.”

  “Not all of them,” Owen said, a mischievous smile on his lips as his hazel eyes traveled across the room to Regan.

  Booker raised his hand in protest. “No way, man. Not Regan. She’s my best friend. And she’s mad at me anyway.” He pushed back from the table. “I’m going home. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

  Stuart snatched Booker’s calculus book away from him so he couldn’t leave.

  “Give that back!” When Booker grabbed at the book, Stuart sat on it. “I’m not kidding, Stu. You’re pissing me off.”

  “I’ll give it back after you ask Regan to prom. No one misses their senior prom. It’ll be like anti-American or something if you don’t go. Even Broadbottom’s mother got a date for him with some girl from his synagogue. I promise, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “That’s true, dude,” Owen chimed in. “And Regan is the perfect date for you. No strings attached. Like you said, she’s your best friend. The two of you communicate on an IQ level none of us can touch. Y’all can sit in the corner and talk about chemistry and calculus all night.”

  Booker rubbed his chin as he considered the arrangements he would need to make in order to go. “Nah, man, no can do. I’m trying to pull my grades up. I don’t have time to worry about renting a tuxedo, making dinner reservations, and buying flowers.” He opened his notebook and flipped through the homework assignments he needed to study.

  Owen slammed his notebook shut. “How can your grades possibly get any higher than they already are?”

  “You don’t have to worry about making plans,” Stuart said. “We have the whole night figured out. Janie’s parents are having everyone over for dinner before the prom. Our parents will drive us to the dance in shifts. Then afterward, we’ll go to my house for breakfast.” He rubbed his hands together. “That’s when the real fun will begin.”

  Janie and Stuart lived two doors down from each other at the bottom of King Street. Not only were their parents longtime friends, Janie and Stuart had been boyfriend and girlfriend since middle school.

  Owen held his hands out, palms up. “How easy is that, dude? All you have to do is rent your tuxedo and have your mom order a corsage or flowers or whatever.”

  Stuart and Owen sat on the edge of their seats, elbows planted on the table and eyes glued on him as they awaited his decision. They were late bloomers like Booker. All three would be hard-pressed to grow a full beard if their lives depended on it. He studied their eager faces, etching the details in his memory for next year when they traveled to different corners of the country for college. Their lives were about to change forever. When he saw them at Thanksgiving, he might not recognize them. He would cherish his time spent with them these past twelve years. And snapshots from prom night would make his memory bank complete.

  Besides, his mom had been nagging him to get a date. He’d love to see her happy for a change.

  “All right, I’ll go. But only if Regan says yes. And don’t be surprised if she shoots me down.”

  He got up from the table, summoning his nerve as he walked toward her. She was too lost in her own world of classical music and calculus to notice him approaching. He waved his hand in front of her face as he slipped onto the seat opposite her.

  She tugged the earbuds out of her ears. “Hey, Booker. What’s up?”

  Her warm greeting gave him courage. “Not much. Trying to study for this calc test. How’s your grandmother?” he asked in his most sincere tone of voice.

  Her face brightened. “Better. Thanks for asking. She came home today. I’m going to leave here soon and go see her.”

  “That’s awesome! I’m glad to hear it. So . . . um . . .” He glanced behind him at Stuart and Owen, who nodded their support in unison. “A little birdie—two little birdies, actually—told me you don’t have a date for the prom. As it turns out, I don’t either. And I was wondering if you wanted to go wi
th me.” He paused and then quickly added, “As friends, of course.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her chin. “I’m not going to the prom.”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t planning to go either, until I found out that even Arthur Broadbottom’s got a date. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the only loser in the senior class who doesn’t show up for the prom.”

  Regan shrugged. “I don’t consider myself a loser. I have an excuse. My grandmother’s been sick.”

  “That may be true, Regan, but this is it for us. We’ll never get a chance to go to prom again. And I’m not going if you don’t go.”

  She looked away, her attention captured by a group of her girlfriends leaving the library together.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stuart and Owen spying on them from behind the bookshelves and waved them away.

  “Come on, Regan. This is our senior year. We don’t want to miss out on the fun. Our friends have the plans all figured out. Janie’s parents are having everyone to dinner beforehand.”

  Regan rolled her eyes. “I know. I’ve heard.”

  “See! It won’t be like a real date. We’ll all be together as friends.”

  “You make a good argument, Booker. Have you considered becoming a lawyer instead of a doctor?”

  He grinned. “Funny you should mention it. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. Does that mean my persuasion is working on you? Will you go with me to the prom?”

  She giggled. “Yes, it means I’ll go with you to the prom.” She held up a finger to signal a warning. “But I reserve the right to cancel if I can’t find a dress.”

  “How hard can it be to find a dress?”

  She laughed. “You have no idea.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something. I’ll have to go stag if you bail on me. Then I’ll look like a loser, and it’ll be all your fault.”

  “No pressure. Geez.”

  He eyed her calculus book. “How’s the studying coming?”

  “Good! The material’s easy for a change. Are you finished studying?”