Chip
He doesn’t want to tell Phil he’s worried his energy stores are barely existent, that the platelet transfusion he got as an outpatient the other day is how he gets by, that he wants to stay as long as he can at this place and not use any of his precious energy exercising.
Phil wipes sweat from his forehead with his bath towel. “Maybe I should try books—maybe that’s the secret to bulking up.” He grins.
“Maybe those are your secret,” Phil says and laughs.
When he opens the door, he realizes he’s only wearing his pajama pants and a ratty T-shirt. He looks at who’s there, and for a second, he can’t tell if she’s real because his old life has seemed like a separate planet until now.
“Your family’s worried sick,” Vicky says, and she pulls him into a hug, not one bit afraid of the red ember from his cigarette.
They walk the trail that leads up a hill where there is a smaller lake with a dock.
Phil told him they call that area Proposal Point because so many couples get engaged in that quiet spot at sunset.
The morning is on the cool side, and Chip sees a bird building a nest in the corner of the barn where the horses are.
Twigs droop from the bird’s beak as it flies.
Vicky looks around, taking it all in as they walk.
“How are you feeling?”
“Dandy.” He bites his thumbnail. “So how did you find me?”
She raises her eyebrows. “When you slipped the brochure into your pocket that day, it felt like a plan.” She shrugs. “You think I can’t read you, Charles Henry?” She rolls her eyes.
He bends down to pick up a stray golf ball and feels slightly dizzy. He should eat something. “Vic, I need you not to tell them.” He clears his throat. “Please.”
She does the sign of locking her mouth and tossing away the key. “Your dad is tough, though. They should have him question international spies. But he’s not tougher than me.” She grins. “Think this is really the right thing to be doing though?”
The sun is behind her, and it lights up her hair and face in a way he’s never seen. “I don’t know what’s right.” He sighs. “I just know I needed this.”
“I’m really trying to understand. I’m just worried you’ll be in a pickle if things get bad.” She looks down at her feet and flexes her toes.
He sighs again. “Dr. Palmer knows I’m here. He set me up with a doctor at Pocono General who sees me as an outpatient for stuff like transfusions. My roommate took me the other day, but I said it was because I have diabetes and needed to check my insulin.” He laughs. “He seemed to buy it.”
“Hiding from one illness, inventing another.” She shakes her head. “So you just get a platelet transfusion or whatever and come back to work?”
“Yup. I mean it’s not ideal.” He scratches his cheek. “Sometimes I get hives, and I need Benadryl, or I get queasy. The last time I was there for a couple of hours, which I felt bad about.”
“I’ll take you to that shit. Call me. I’m usually at my dad’s office during the day, so just call and ask for me, and I’ll be here when you need me.” She hits his arm and he smiles. “The answer’s always yes, okay?”
They get to the top of the hill, and the sun sparkles on the small pond. There are cattails and an old wooden swing built for two, with bunches of flowers around it. “How could I leave this?” he says and gestures to the little oasis.
He hears her take a breath, but she doesn’t say anything. “What’s that?” she finally says and points. He follows her finger and sees what looks like a purse slung over a post on the small dock.
They walk over together, and he wants to say “Let’s jump in the water.
” He wants to feel the surprise of it, the splash.
He wants to sink down and touch the mossy bottom with his toes; he even wants a fish to brush against his skin.
What will he look like as he starts to fade away?
He’s only ever been young. He picks up the purse.
It’s damp with dew. “I guess I’ll bring it to the front desk. ”
“Should we see if there’s any cash?” she jokes.
“Nah. I need all the good karma I can get.”
A noise startles them then, but it’s just a frog jumping into the water. The purse is heavy, and as he balls up the strap in his hand he wonders how much longer he’ll be able to make a fist. “I’m glad to see you, Vic.”
She stares straight ahead and doesn’t look at him.
He can tell she’s trying not to cry. In true Vicky fashion, she redirects the conversation.
“Do you ever feel like Dracula, getting rejuvenated from that fresh blood?” She turns to him and tries to smile.
“So I’m taking you to your next appointment? ”
“I’d be mad if you didn’t.”
His shift is supposed to start at ten, but first he takes the purse to the front desk.
The receptionist isn’t there, so he rests his arms on the counter and waits.
Paige’s office door is open, and he hears her shuffling papers.
He coughs, and she marches out to her doorway.
He holds the purse up. “Sorry to bother you. I found this up at Proposal Point.”
“Ahh, good work.” She comes over and retrieves it. “She misplaces everything these days.” She brushes a piece of grass off the purse and lowers her voice. “Last week I found her glasses in the fountain.”
Paige is looking at him the way the waitress at the tavern did when he arrived in Bradley Falls.
“How is the weed work? Everything okay? Do you need another uniform shirt?”
“All good,” he says. Why doesn’t he just tell her it’s not his cup of tea? This is the end of his life, does he really need to be so polite? “Yeah, I mean it’s a bit hot.”
“I envy you,” she says. The air conditioner mounted on the wall drones on, and he feels the cool air hitting him and doesn’t want to leave this spot. “I’ve always worked office jobs. But I’d love to be out in the sunshine and the fresh air all day.”
He forces a smile. “Yup, it’s swell.”
She pats the purse, then looks around. “Well, have a good day.” She glances at his chest. “Don’t forget your nametag.”
He looks down. “Shoot. Sorry.”
“Protocol,” she says and smiles. He wonders if she is his age, or thirty or fifty. He really can’t tell. She’s not much fun, but maybe she’s just busy. He can feel there’s something kind buried beneath her exterior.
Why can’t he just tell her that he hates weed duty, that he wants to work with customers and other staffers and do something that brings a little variety to his days?
He imagines helping the band set up in the dining room or even something ridiculous like working in the kitchen to assemble a towering wedding cake.
“Yeah, I’ll go back to my room and grab it.
” Just then something bumps against him, and he lets out a weird, frightened noise he wishes he could take back.
“Oh,” he says. He looks down, and a massive golden retriever is sniffing his pocket.
It wags its tail and whines until he pets it. “Hi there,” he says.
“Has anyone seen my purse?” a booming voice calls out, and he sees the woman who bought him ice cream coming down the big staircase, her hair pinned up the same way, and she’s wearing a floral dress that looks like it was lying on the floor when she found it.
A college professor. That’s what she reminds him of.
Distracted. Smart but eccentric. He feels happy at the sight of her.
For some reason, she makes him feel less alone.
“Yes, Mr. Bishop found it up at Proposal Point,” Paige says. When he stops petting the dog, it bumps its head into him forcefully.
“Okay okay,” he whispers and scratches it behind the ears.
“Taffy, you come on too strong, silly girl. Leave the poor guy alone.” Rhonda walks slowly across the main floor and snaps her fingers. Taffy trudges over to her side. She smiles at Chip. “You certainly pass the dog test.”
He grins back at her. He thinks of Birdy Girl following him everywhere, and his throat burns. She must keep looking out the window, waiting for him. He looks around and forgets where he is for a second. “I’m definitely a dog person.”
“Not a nametag person though,” Paige says. Did she just wink? He doesn’t know how to read her. She seemed so humorless when she hired him, but now she’s warming up.
Rhonda looks at her and crosses her arms. “I got to thinking, Mr. Bishop seems to be more of a people person.” She holds up her hand. “I mean, unless I’m wrong, of course. Are you a people person?”
Chip looks at her and then at Paige, who has a poker face. “I, uh, I like people.”
“I thought so.”
Paige opens a drawer and takes out a folder. She clicks and unclicks her pen. She looks like she’s smiling, but he can’t tell.
“Mr. Bishop, would you like to assist with activities and events? Nancy, I’m not sure if you’ve met her yet, is our activities director, but she can’t be everywhere all at once.
She needs an assistant who can call bingo or introduce the magician or lead people to the bonfire and set up the s’mores station, that sort of thing. ”
He looks back and forth at their faces. “Yes, definitely yes,” Chip says. This is it, a voice inside his head says. This is why you came here. And that seems silly, but he suddenly feels lighter.
Rhonda moves closer to him. “You looked miserable out in that heat.” She smiles. “But I give you credit for not complaining.”
“I think he was silently objecting,” Paige says. She smiles at him again and scribbles something down in the folder. “Same pay unfortunately, but when we don’t need you in activities, you can train for serving breakfast and lunch, where you’d get tips.”
“This all sounds perfect,” he says, and Taffy returns to his side. He bends down to rub her head, and he feels lucky. That’s the only word he can think of.
They told him he could train today at the Wooden Duck for lunch service, so he runs back to his room to change into the polo shirt and black pants they’ve given him.
When he gets to the staircase of the crew lodge, he takes two steps at a time, but then gets so winded on the fourth step that he doesn’t know which way is up.
He stumbles backward, grabbing the railing just in time. He catches his breath and holds on.
None of the rules are the same. His body is no longer a sturdy, protective shell. He is glass now. “One fall could kill you,” Dr. Palmer told him. He holds the railing with all his might and takes each step slowly.
When Chip gets back to the room, Phil is fuming. “Look at this,” he says, gesturing.
Chip sees a cot set up in front of their window. For a minute, he thinks it looks like a hospital bed. “What, another roommate?”
“Complete bullshit.” Phil is putting some of his clothes away, like he’s getting the house ready for company.
He grabs his crossword puzzle books and some of his car magazines and stacks them in a pile.
“A little while ago, I had a goddamn room all to myself, and now there’s three of us.
” He looks at Chip. “I mean, no offense, man.”
“No, I get it.” Chip can’t imagine three of them in here. The room is tiny, and he’s been lucky with Phil, that their schedules are often opposite, that Phil is so laid-back.
Phil rubs his temples. “I’m too old for this crap,” he says. “Like we’re the fucking Brady Bunch or something.”
Chip looks at the bunk beds, at the new metal cot, and remembers watching The Brady Bunch with his family and wishing he had a brother or two to share a room with.
He and Phil have gotten used to each other, but he feels like they’re going to trip over a third person.
Two beanbags are easy to juggle, but add another, and suddenly it requires more skill.
“Well maybe we’ll scare him away,” Chip says, and Phil puts his hand up for a high five.
Just then there’s a pounding on the door and it swings open. “Hey,” a guy says. He wears a denim shirt and a pair of Levi’s and looks like he’s in the mood to kick someone’s ass. “I’m Hawk.” He nods at them.
Outside the window Chip sees a leaf falling on its own, floating and tilting as it moves past the screen. Hawk plops his giant green bag down and scratches his face. “I don’t think that cot’s going to work for me.”