Chapter Seventeen
The mood today at the nursing home is lively with anticipation. I barely have time to think between running from one resident to another. These hours aren’t sustainable. The accumulation of long days and little sleep is catching up with me. Sunny sits alone in his room reading a newspaper, and I dip into his room and take a seat.
“Sis is still in memory care?” I glance at my watch.
Sunny puts his paper down, then grabs his coffee mug and takes a sip. “For another hour. The boys went fishing this morning, but I decided to stay back.”
I grab a pile of Sis’s clothes that were left on her bed, fully laundered, and start putting them away.
“How’s Sis doing? Is she having a good day?”
Sunny reclines his chair and rests his head back on his folded hands. “Did I ever tell you the story of the day I fell in love with Sis?”
“No,” I say, smiling. “But I’d love to hear it.”
I glance at my watch again. No one should be looking for me for at least fifteen minutes.
“Well,” Sunny says. “If I recall correctly, it was the first day of school when we were five years old.”
Sunny grins up at the ceiling. “She walked into the room, her white blond hair in two pigtails. She looked around, and I could tell she was very nervous. And lucky me—her assigned seat was next to mine. Signe Larsen. Bright blue eyes. A pretty yellow dress. And I was smitten.”
“We learned that both of our parents had moved here from Norway. Oh, I loved her from that day, but she didn’t know I existed for several more years.”
“How’d you finally get her to notice you?” I lean forward and rest my head on my fist.
“Well, that’s a funny story, Birdie,” Sunny says. “You see, I was a small kid, and she went out with a couple of our classmates throughout high school, but nothing serious. I had to sit back and watch it. By this point, we were good friends. She had dreams of going to a women’s college and moving to a city. I had dreams of inheriting my dad’s grocery store in town, running it, and expanding to other towns in the area. Sis did not want to stay in Wheaton. She made that very clear.”
“What did you do?”
“Well,” Sunny says but then looks at the door, and his face lights up. I turn to Camilla walking in with Sis. “That is a story for another day.”
“Hi, Grandpa,” Camilla says, rushing to his side and wrapping her arms around him.
“Hey, Birdie,” she says, waving.
I get up and guide Sis to the bed, as this is the time she takes her afternoon nap.
“Hey, Camilla.” I pull the blanket up over Sis. “Do you and Sunny want to go to the game room? Or how about a walk outside?”
Camilla kisses her grandma’s forehead, turns to me, and nods. “I’ll see you later, Grandma. I’m going to bring the kids by, too.”
“Thanks, dear,” Sis says and turns to her side.
I follow Sunny and Camilla out and flick the light off on my way. We walk out into the lobby, where Joe is standing by the door, waiting for someone to let him out.
“Grandpa,” Camilla says. “Are you up for a walk? It’s beautiful out today.”
“A short one would be nice,” Sunny says. “I’m going to stop in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Sunny walks off, and Camilla turns to me.
“Birdie,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you have any plans for the Fourth of July?”
“Umm,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “I’ll have to look at the schedule, but I’m pretty sure I’m free during the day.”
“Good,” she says, smiling. “Jake and I have hosted a party at our house for the past few years. It’s such a good time. It starts in the morning and goes as late as you want to stay. A lot of people come, and it’s a great way to get to know people. There’s a lot of food, drinks, and all you need to do is bring yourself.”
Joe tries to leave when someone walks through the door, and I hold up my finger to Camilla, then pull him away from the door.
“I’ll try to stop by,” I say. “I appreciate the invite.”
“Joe.” I gently take his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“As far away from here as possible.” He glances at Camilla, who smiles and shakes her head as we walk past her. “Meatloaf for lunch again? Who do I need to talk to that makes the decisions around here?”
“Okay.” I place him in the chair and immediately turn off Gunsmoke before he fixates on how much he hates that. “If you could choose a perfect meal that we could serve on a regular basis, what would that be?”
“Are you pulling my leg right now?”
I shake my head. “Seriously. What would you want?”
“It’s about time someone asked me that.” Joe grabs a throw pillow and puts it behind his back. “Easy. Spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread. That’s it. Simple. Can you make that happen?”
I nod. “I know some people in charge. I’m going to make this happen, Joe.”
He winks, and I pat his shoulder and continue on my rounds.
Marilyn is in her wheelchair, trying to make her way down the hallway.
“Can I help you get somewhere faster?”
“Miss Birdie,” she says. “I’m trying to work my way back to my room. But at this rate, I may not get there for a while.”
“I can help you with that.”
We take a left at the nurse’s station and head toward her room. I lift her out of the chair and into bed. She keeps getting thinner. Her collarbone protrudes, and I gently pull the covers over her.
“Tommy stopped by this morning, Miss Birdie.” She rolls to her side. “He cried. I haven’t seen that boy cry since his best friend told everyone who his crush was in middle school.”
I drag a chair to the edge of her bed.
“Do you want to know the hardest thing about knowing you’re dying?”
“What?” I practically whisper the question.
“Having to make everyone else feel better about it.” Marilyn reaches for a tissue. “I’m sad myself. And plenty scared. But Tommy is about to lose his mama. So I have to smile and pinch back the tears and tell him everything is going to be alright. But I’m not ready. I have grandbabies I won’t see get married. They’re so young that they’ll forget me.”
“I’m so scared.” Her voice is small.
I hold her hand and then massage it. Her hands are arthritic from years of knitting. I press into them gently, and she smiles.
“That sounds like an incredible burden, Marilyn,” I say. “When you’re sad, scared, and overwhelmed, talk to me.”
She nods.
“Your kids are losing their mama, and they are going to need you to give them permission to heal. When you have big feelings, I want to hear about them. Lay your worries on me.”
Marilyn lifts her head and covers her mouth. “That’s all I need. Someone I can say how I really feel to. Someone who lets me feel self-pity because I’m not ready. And nothing anyone says to me is going to make me ready to be dead.”
She puts her head back on her pillow, her breathing slows, and she falls into a deep slumber.