Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Present Day
F riday night and Saturday were the same for Chuck. He was exhausted but didn’t want to admit it. Saturday night was his friend Dan’s birthday celebration in the retirement facility's main dining hall, and Chuck could only stay for a half hour before he headed back to his room to rest. A few minutes after he collapsed in his chair, there was a knock on the door. Bethany, the eighty-three-year-old woman who’d been good friends with Mia many years ago when their girls had gone to school together, poked her head in to check on him. “Are you feeling all right, Chuck? Should I call Oriana?”
Chuck blushed and forced himself to smile. “I’m just old, Bethany,” he reminded her.
Bethany slipped the rest of the way through the door and wrung her hands. Chuck wasn’t entirely clear on what had led her to move into the retirement facility; she was of good health and probably had many years ahead of her. Why didn’t she want to live at home anymore? Chuck’s only guess was that she’d gotten lonely without her husband around. He’d died a couple of years ago from liver cancer. But he’d left her enough money to do whatever she wanted, and she’d decided to move in here and join their community of old folks. Chuck was glad to have her around, although she often “tattled” on his illnesses and fatigue to Oriana. She was a spy.
“Would you like me to bring you some cake?” Bethany asked.
Chuck turned down the volume on his television. He was watching a documentary on the Civil War, a topic he was well-versed in. He hoped it would put him to sleep.
“I don’t need anything at all, Bethany,” Chuck said. “And do me a favor, okay? Don’t tell Oriana I left the party early.”
Bethany looked stricken. “I would never!” This was obviously a lie, but Chuck didn’t feel like calling her out. She said, “We have to watch out for each other around here, Chuck. You know that.”
Chuck turned the corners of his lips up and felt a cough tremble through his lungs. He tried to swallow it, but it soon puffed out of him, and his shoulders shook. He knew he didn’t look like the portrait of health.
He didn’t often get sick. But when he did, it was heinous, keeping him in bed for days at a time. During the pandemic, he’d been so terrified that he hadn’t seen anyone up close for many, many months, far longer than most everyone else at the retirement home. The loneliness had nearly killed him, so much so that he wasn’t sure what was worse—the disease or his broken heart.
Eventually, Bethany got the hint and headed back to the birthday party. But now that he was alone, Chuck couldn’t stop thinking about his cough. Maybe he’d picked something up from his family on Thanksgiving? He pictured germs in the bottom of his lungs, multiplying and threatening to kill him, and he bolted to his feet, turned off the television, and changed his clothes. He’d read somewhere that you had to keep the lungs active and the bacteria from rotting at the base of your lungs. He was no doctor, but he’d always been active. It seemed like good advice.
It was already eight thirty when Chuck reached the gym down the hall. Just as he’d suspected, its four exercise bikes, three treadmills, and hand weights were unused at such a late hour on the weekend. It occurred to him how funny it was that the retirement facility upheld weekends and days of the week. It wasn’t like any of them had nine-to-five jobs anymore. They could do whatever they wanted at any time since societal expectations were no more.
Chuck turned on the television and got on an exercise bike, gripping the handles as he watched a different documentary about a different war in a different country at a different time. He was getting tired of all these war documentaries. But as he pedaled, his brain felt more and more activated, and his breathing came quick and easy. Twenty minutes later, he was tired and slick with sweat but no longer feeling bad for himself. He decided to dip into the sauna before it closed at nine thirty.
This was always his method: keep going, never stop.
A stack of fluffy towels sat on the table beside the sauna. A female employee Chuck didn’t recognize was doing a crossword at the little table near the sauna. She must have been new.
“Evening!” Chuck said to her, taking a towel.
“You’re exercising at a time like this?” she asked with a smile and a silly voice.
Again, Chuck had the sensation that she spoke to him as though he were a child. Not all of the people who worked here did that, but it seemed like an overwhelming majority lately. His smile faded.
“I’ll just take some time in the sauna if that’s okay,” Chuck said.
“It’s all yours,” she said. “Ring the bell if you feel lightheaded.”
Chuck stepped into the sauna, which wasn’t as hot as he used to like it when he was a younger man. It had to do. He sat down and closed his eyes as beads of sweat popped up along his chest and arms. As he sat there in silence, it occurred to him that Oriana and Meghan were doing their best. They cared about him and wanted him to be happy and healthy for a long time. Maybe he should call them tomorrow and apologize for being “cranky” sometimes. Perhaps he should ask them to go with him to Mia’s grave this week.
It felt like ages since Mia died. The thought of her final days turned Chuck’s stomach. When he’d married Margaret and then Mia, he’d never imagined they’d both die so many years before him. It felt like he was the last remaining member of a club that no longer mattered.
Sometimes he tried to remember what it was like to sleep next to a woman he was in love with. He remembered the little noises they made when they were sleeping. He remembered how his heart had burst when they’d left the bed in the middle of the night—to use the bathroom, go downstairs to read, or tend to one of the children. He’d wanted them to stay.
It wasn’t lost on him that he was too old to fall in love again.
It wasn’t lost on him that he—Chuck Coleman, who’d famously betrayed his wife—didn’t deserve to fall in love again, either.
He wasn’t sure if that was a healthy thought. But it was one he lived with.
Chuck left the sauna and gave a stern smile to the woman doing the crossword, flipping a towel over his shoulder as he went. His muscles felt limber. It was nine twenty, and he decided to grab a cup of tea and a snack and head back to his room. He was feeling better than ever. Maybe he just needed a few days to himself. Perhaps he didn’t have to attend every birthday party or celebration in the dining room.
He was blessed not to be lonely. He had a tremendous family and plenty of love. He knew that.
He turned the corner and spotted a woman at the far end of the hall. With her long dark hair and her glowing face, there beneath the hallway spotlight, she looked angelic and youthful. But she was seated in a wheelchair. Her eyes stared straight ahead, almost as though she couldn’t see anything. What was she waiting for? Why was she alone? How old was she? Chuck felt frozen. He really wanted to approach her.
But suddenly, a nurse stepped out of a door directly behind the wheelchair. Chuck realized she was Claire, one of his favorites, not only for her happy and welcoming smile but for her sharp wit and empathy. Unlike the others, she didn’t look down on him for being old. She said something to the woman in the wheelchair that Chuck couldn’t hear, and then she spun the wheelchair around and headed down the hall toward him.
The woman wasn’t blind, Chuck didn’t think. But her eyes seemed unfocused. It was as though her brain was elsewhere. By now, Chuck realized she was quite a bit younger than he was, maybe even a good thirty years younger, although it was difficult to say. It was rare that people in their sixties came to the retirement home. It usually meant something was really wrong with their health. They didn’t stay long before they went elsewhere or passed away.
Something about this woman tugged at Chuck’s heartstrings. He remained rooted in his spot.
“Chuck! How are you?” Claire smiled and stopped the woman’s chair in the hall to visit.
“I just took some time in the sauna,” Chuck explained. “Any chance you can get them to turn that thing up?”
“No can do, Chuck.” Claire laughed. “I wish I could, but they don’t put me in charge of stuff like that.”
Chuck snapped his fingers. “I thought it was worth a shot.” He eyed the woman in the chair. “My name is Chuck. Are you new here?”
Claire continued to smile and spoke for her. “This is Mrs. Knight,” she explained. “She just arrived yesterday and is still getting her bearings. She lives down the hall from you.”
Chuck wondered why the woman couldn’t speak for herself, but he knew better than to pry. “Welcome,” he said. “I think you’ll like it here. And you’re in good hands with Claire. She’s the best this place has.”
Claire waved him off. “You flatter me. I’m just doing my job.”
Chuck gave her a pointed look. “All you do here for us—for me—means a lot,” he told her.
Claire bowed her head. It was rare that Chuck passed out compliments like this, but he wanted Claire to know he meant it.
“It’s a pleasure to work here,” Claire said, stuttering just slightly, as though it was too emotional for her. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Knight just took some medication. I think she’s about ready for bed.”
“I’m about ready myself,” Chuck said. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Knight. I hope you’ll let me know if you need anything.”
Claire wheeled Mrs. Knight the rest of the way down the hall to her new suite. Chuck hung back, then followed to his own apartment, where he showered and put on a pair of warm pajamas. Instead of bothering with more documentaries about historical topics he knew down to his bones, he got into bed and stared through the darkness.
His heart thundered with sorrow for Mrs. Knight. At that age, she should still be hiking, swimming, and traveling; she should be welcoming her first grandchild. She was probably barely retired although maybe she’d never been able to work at all due to her condition. There was so little Chuck could say about her based on his brief introduction.
But something about the younger woman broke his heart. He couldn’t say why.