Harvey Holds His Own

by Colleen Nelson

  “That’s what happens sometimes. They go downhill fast.” Artie drops his voice as Mrs. Luzzi walks by. “And others are here for years.”

  Like Mr. Pickering. Grandpa told me that he lived in his suite for over twenty years. “Do you know who’s moving in?”

  “I don’t, but Mary Rose does. She was talking to Charlie about it earlier.” Charlie is the manager of Brayside. Even though he is technically the boss, it is Grandpa and Mary Rose who really run the place. If there is a problem, they usually deal with it before it gets to Charlie.

  The elevator bell dings as the doors open. “Need help?” I ask Artie.

  He shakes his head. “This is the last load.”

  I can’t help walking past Mr. Pickering’s old room. No matter who lives in it, I’ll always think of it as his apartment. It’s been emptied out and because Mr. Stephens was there for such a short time, the furniture barely made indents on the carpet.

  This is where his recliner was, I think. And the couch went here. In the empty apartment, I can almost hear his voice. Stupid to miss someone I only knew a few weeks, but as Grandpa says, it’s not how long you know someone, but how well.

  “Thought I might find you here,” Grandpa says from the doorway. He’s got a can of paint in one hand and a ladder in the other.

  “I heard about Mr. Stephens,” I say. Seeing how quickly some of the old people’s lives change makes me sad, but also grateful for Grandpa. He might be in his sixties, but you’d never know it. I can’t imagine him living in a place like Brayside, as nice as it is. It just isn’t his style. He’s lived in the same apartment for ages. It’s kind of cramped with furniture and stuff, but he likes it. My mom’s always on him to clean it up, but he tells her to mind her own business.

  “There’s not much to do in this place to get it ready,” he says. “A few touch-ups with paint and a deep clean and it’ll be good to go.”

  “Who’s moving in?” I ask.

  “A lady. Mrs. Josephine Fradette.”

  I don’t have time to ask Grandpa anything else because we’re interrupted by Mary Rose. “I just got off the phone with a girl who wants to volunteer at Brayside.” She fixes me with what Grandpa calls “a Mary Rose look,” like I should be able to read her mind.

  “Her name is Maggie.” Mary Rose looks me square in the eye and lets the meaning sink in. “She asked if she could bring her dog with her.”

  I don’t need her to say anything else because now I know why she has that look on her face. Harvey is coming back.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie

  Maggie hops out of the car just before eleven o’clock on Saturday and straightens her kilt. Even though it’s the weekend, Maggie is representing St. Ambrose, so she had to put on her itchy socks, stiff white blouse, kilt, and cardigan.

  “Pick you up at one o’clock,” Maggie’s mom says. The building is classier than Maggie remembers it. There’s a red carpet out front with Brayside written in gold, scrolling letters. A striped awning hangs over the sidewalk. The two big planters sitting one on either side of the door are filled with fall flowers. The glass doors slide open, revealing a foyer that reminds her of a fancy hotel.

  When Maggie gets inside, she pauses for a moment taking in the space. She’d imagined it smelling like mothballs or cough drops, but detects neither of these things. Good smells come from the dining room and there’s a hint of lemon cleaner in the air. Past the reception area, and to the right of the entrance, is a large desk. An engraved gold sign reads nurses station. A woman in a pale pink cardigan looks up and smiles. “You must be Maggie,” she says, which puts Maggie at ease. She wipes her hand on her kilt before holding it out to the nurse.

  “That’s right.”

  “Mary Rose Aguilar. I’m the head nurse here. We spoke on the phone.”

  Maggie remembers. Harvey had been staring at her from the bed, as if he knew what was going on. For the first visit, it was decided that Harvey wouldn’t come with her. She needed an orientation and could decide how she’d like to spend her time at Brayside. All twenty hours.

  Another nurse comes out of the back room. Her name tag says louise. “I remember you,” she says. Most people remember Maggie for her auburn hair. It’s darkening as she gets older, and hangs down her back in waves. She’s got freckles too, which are fading now that summer has come and gone. But Maggie knows it’s not her hair that made her memorable to the staff at Brayside. “You’re Harvey’s owner. Is Harvey here?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “Not today. Next time though.” She glances at Mary Rose. “If it’s allowed.”

  Mary Rose winks. “Charlie doesn’t know it yet, so keep it to yourself,” she whispers to Louise, then she grins again at Maggie.

  Maggie’s memories of the Brayside nurses are foggy, but she’s pleased to see how friendly they are. “Let’s start with a tour,” Mary Rose says. She is shorter than Maggie, but moves like someone who is used to people following her direction.

  Beep beep! Maggie jumps at the sound of a high-pitched horn. Behind her, an old man has come to a stop on a scooter. He is bald, except for a ring of white hair.

  “Good day, Mary Rose! Who is this?” he asks.

  “Mr. Singh, this is Maggie. She’s going to volunteer.”

  Mr. Singh nods and with a twist of the handle on his scooter zooms back down the hallway. “You have to watch him on that thing,” Mary Rose whispers. “He takes the corners pretty fast. And he loves tooting his horn, if you know what I mean.”

  Maggie smirks, following Mary Rose to the dining room. With its huge chandeliers, it looks like a fancy restaurant. There are fresh flowers on the tables and a whiteboard with today’s menu. A few servers bustle around setting tables.

  They leave the dining room and pass a bulletin board with a schedule of events. There is everything from chess to yoga to karaoke to knitting. A few more old people wander past them. They all say hello to Mary Rose and give Maggie a friendly smile.

  Mary Rose brings Maggie to a dark room at the end of a short hallway. “This is the library,” she says, and turns on the lights. The fluorescent bulbs hum as they flicker on. “It doesn’t get used much.” Maggie can see why. Boxes of books sit on top of tables and the curtains are drawn across the windows. “A resident used to shelve donations and keep it running, but since she moved on…” Mary Rose shrugs as if there is no hope for the space.

  Next, they go to the games room. Unlike the library, it is humming with activity. Small groupings of chairs and couches are set up for people to play cards or chat. Two men are playing pool and another group stands at the shuffleboard court at the far end of the room. There’s even a Ping-Pong table.

  “There’s a movie theater too,” Mary Rose says. “And the first floor residents’ rooms are down the hallway. At the end is the courtyard. Harvey used to love going out there.”

  “Oh, yes he did!” one of the ladies closest to them says. “We used to watch him from the window.”

  “He’d chase the squirrels away. Remember that? He’d take off after them like a rocket! A blur of white.” A lady with fluffy white hair laughs.

  “I miss that little Harvey. He was a sweet dog.”

  Maggie looks to Mary Rose, who gives her a secretive smile. “Go on. Tell them,” she says.

  “I’m Harvey’s owner.” Real owner, she’s tempted to say. “He’ll come with me next time.”

  “Lovely!” one of the women says. “Austin will be thrilled. He took such good care of him.”

  Maggie keeps her smile in place, but the words irk her. Austin had no business keeping Harvey the way he did. But she remembers she is here representing St. Ambrose and bites her tongue.

  Chapter 8

  Austin

  All anyone can talk about when I get to Brayside on Monday is Maggie’s visit. First, I hear about it from Mrs. O’Brien who met her in the
games room. Then, Mr. Singh zips over on his Cobra GT4. “She’s bringing Harvey,” he tells me.

  Harvey’s name sits between us. I can’t think of Harvey without remembering Mr. Pickering. “I wonder if he’ll remember us,” I say.

  “Harvey will,” Mr. Singh says confidently. “Dogs have excellent memories.” Down the hall, someone starts playing the piano for the pre-dinner concert. As soon as the dinner music starts, Mr. Singh puts the Cobra GT4 into drive and bolts off. He likes to be first in line.

  “Hey, Austin!” Artie claps a hand on my back. “Guess you’ll be coming on Saturdays now too? That’s when Harvey’s coming.”

  I smile at Artie, but it’s not a real smile. The thought of seeing Maggie and Harvey makes me nervous. No one except Maggie and Grandpa knows the truth about how I kept Harvey from finding his home. Instead of taking him to a shelter so they could check for a microchip that would have told them who he belonged to, I’d lied and said his owner couldn’t be located. I knew it was wrong when I did it, but I couldn’t help myself.

  With Harvey at my side I felt special. Mr. Pickering started talking to me. The old people and nurses at Brayside thought I was doing this great thing by looking after a lost dog. Admitting I’d basically stolen him from his owner was the last thing I wanted to do.

  But Harvey had found her anyway. Or she’d found him. Harvey was never my dog to keep. I just got to borrow him for a while.

  “Austin!” Grandpa barks from down the hall. He’s got his toolbox and waves me over. “Give me a hand in here.”

  Mr. Pickering’s old suite is almost ready for the new resident. Grandpa is reattaching the light switch plates and outlet covers now that it’s been repainted. He passes me a screwdriver. “Got to get this place ready. Mrs. Fradette is moving in tomorrow.” Turns out, there’s more to do in here than I thought. Grandpa shows me how to install the closet shelves, reattach the appliances that got moved during cleaning, and how to caulk the shower in the washroom. By the time we’re done, it’s past my usual quitting time, and Grandpa’s too.

  We look around the room, satisfied. “Good work, Austin,” Grandpa says. “You’re a big help.”

  I shut the door after me, glowing a little from Grandpa’s words.

  Chapter 9

  Maggie

  “What did you do on the weekend?” Brianne asks Maggie. The girls are by their lockers waiting for Lexi and for the first bell to ring on Monday morning. St. Ambrose is an imposing, brick building, over a hundred years old. The bells sound like fire alarms and, even after a month, startle Maggie. She expects disaster, not a class change, when they ring.

  Maggie waits a beat before answering. Maggie caught the look Lexi gave her in class when she told Mrs. Weston she wanted to volunteer at Brayside. It was an old-people-ewww sort of look, which Maggie had ignored. She wonders if Brianne will react the same way.

  “I went to Brayside to start my hours.”

  Hours may as well be capitalized. The volunteer requirement hangs like an ax over the heads of St. Ambrose students. Most of the girls leave the hours until the end of term and scramble to complete them in the middle of exams.

  To Maggie’s relief, Brianne doesn’t make a comment. “How was it?”

  After the tour, Mary Rose had been called away, so Maggie sat down with Mrs. O’Brien and the other ladies in the games room. When one of them mentioned she liked to play cribbage and Maggie said she didn’t know how, they decided she needed to learn. Before she knew it, a board and a deck of cards had been pulled off a shelf and they were teaching her.

  A little while later, Mr. Singh drove up on his scooter. “Do you play piano?” he asked her.

  Maggie nodded. She’d been taking lessons since she was six.

  “I knew it!” Mr. Singh fist-pumped the air, like she’d made his day. “Usually, Alma plays a tune, but she’s not feeling well today. Why don’t you play us something? We always have a little concert before we go in for dinner.”

  Maggie hesitated. She hated playing in front of an audience.

  “It doesn’t have to be long. And don’t worry if you’re out of practice. Most of us are deaf anyway,” Mrs. Kowalski, her cribbage partner, said with a laugh.

  When Maggie got to the piano, it was five minutes to noon and there were at least fifteen people in the chairs waiting. Mrs. Kowalski sat down beside a man who must have been her husband. She elbowed him and shouted, “Maggie’s going to play,” in his ear.

  “Who’s Maggie?” he asked loudly.

  “The girl I was playing crib with.”

  A tall man with a newspaper folded under his arm and an impressive comb-over walked up to the rows of chairs. “Where’s Alma?” he asked.

  “She’s sick. Maggie’s going to play,” Mrs. Kowalski said again. “She’s a volunteer.”

  Maggie wiggled her fingers, loosening them up. The old people applauded politely and she gave them a nervous smile. She didn’t know what on earth she was going to play.

  At the back of the chairs, Mary Rose appeared, pushing an old lady in a wheelchair. Maggie took a deep breath. This piano was a lot nicer than the one she had at home. The keys were cool under her fingertips. She decided to play a song she knew by heart and that she was sure she wouldn’t mess up on. When she was done, everyone clapped, but no one got up.

  “Play something else,” Mr. Singh said. “Alma plays at least three songs.”

  “Is she any good?” Mr. Kowalski shouted to his wife.

  “Yes! Very good!” she yelled back.

  Maggie smiled to herself. The old people were a lot less critical than her piano teacher. She played two more songs and when she was done, the applause was more than polite. “You play beautifully!” Mrs. O’Brien gushed as she moved past Maggie to the line for lunch.

  So, in the end, the afternoon had been a lot better than Maggie had hoped for. In fact, she’d sort of enjoyed herself. But Maggie relays none of this to Brianne now. She doesn’t want to appear too eager, so instead she says, “It was okay. I’m in charge of organizing the library and next time I’ll be able to bring Harvey.”

  “What if the boy who dognapped him is there?” Brianne asks.

  Maggie isn’t sure dognapped is the right word for what Austin did, but it sounded appropriately dramatic when she relayed the story of Harvey’s rescue to her friends last year. “He’s only there on weekdays,” Maggie explains. She doesn’t add that once the old people found out she was Harvey’s owner, almost all of them said kind things about Austin and told her how well he had looked after Harvey. Maggie wonders if maybe she judged him too harshly. Maybe Austin the Dognapper deserves a second chance.

  Chapter 10

  Austin

  Whenever we get a new resident, there’s a bit of a commotion. The old people are curious and want to know about them. It’s like when a new kid starts at school; everyone wants to check them out to see if they have friend potential. But as soon as I meet Mrs. Fradette, I know she’s not like any of the other old people at Brayside.

  To start with, she still drives. Most people give up their cars when they move into Brayside because it’s downtown and there’s a Brayside bus that takes them anywhere they want to go. Some of them aren’t given a choice because of medical issues. Mr. Kowalski still grumbles about it.

  It isn’t just that she drives, either. It’s what she drives. Mrs. Fradette pulls up to Brayside in a car straight out of an old movie. It’s so big, it takes up the whole loading zone in front of the entrance. The car is something else. It’s red with a band of white on the tail fins. The wheels have white sides and sparkly chrome hubcaps. Grandpa comes up beside me and gives a low whistle. “That’s an old Chevy,” he says, and shakes his head with appreciation. “Looks like it’s in mint condition too.”

  Mrs. Fradette gets out of the car. She’s not much taller than me, which isn’t saying much since I’m what
Mom calls a “late bloomer.” What she’s lacking in height, she makes up for in a huge pile of black hair that has to be a wig. A pair of thick black-framed glasses take up half her face, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick.

  “Yoo-hoo! Young man!” she calls. I don’t know if she means Grandpa or me. We look at each other, trying to figure it out.

  “Been a while since I was called young,” Grandpa mutters, smiling. “Need some help, Mrs. Fradette?”

  “I’ve got my last couple of boxes in there,” she says, pointing to the trunk. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Grandpa says with a smile. He opens the car door and I sidle up to get a better look at the inside. The front and back seats stretch side to side like benches and are upholstered in red leather; even the steering wheel is red. There’s nothing digital, it’s all knobs and dials.

  “That’s a great car,” Grandpa says to Mrs. Fradette.

  “Chevrolet Bel Air. She’s the only car I ever had. I drove her off the lot in 1958 and never needed another one. She’s got turbo injection and a V8 engine.” Mrs. Fradette pats the hood. “She’s been good to me.”

  Grandpa elbows me: a silent command to get the dolly and move the boxes because she’s parked in a loading zone. When I get back inside Brayside, a few of the ladies are at the front doors, watching. “Is that her car, Austin?” Mrs. O’Brien asks.

  “Yep.”

  When I look back, Mrs. Fradette has popped the hood and she’s showing Grandpa the engine. Mrs. O’Brien and Miss Lin raise their eyebrows. I’m no expert, but I don’t think Mrs. Fradette got the same “How to Grow Old” memo as the rest of them.

  Chapter 11

  Harvey