Chapter Forty-Five. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
As soon as the water cuts off in Betty’s shower, I put the papers back in their hiding place and start cleaning the already spotless living room.
Betty wheels in a little later. The shower must have refreshed her, because she has more color in her face and her eyes are brighter. “I’ve been thinking about our drive,” she tells me.
“Are you still up for it?” I ask. “It’s chilly out, so you’ll need a coat in case you’d like to stop somewhere.”
“I’ll need to bring more than that. I’ve decided I want to go back.”
“Go back?” I echo.
Her lips tremble, but her voice is steady. “I want to see Marquis one last time, dear. I suppose if I’m not going to be with my old friends ever again, this could be a way to feel close to them. And I can visit with Sandra. Will you drive me there?”
“Of course,” I say. It’s my job, after all.
“We should both bring overnight supplies. I’d like to look around campus for a while.”
I text Sandra to tell her Betty will be in town today and we’d love to meet up with her. She immediately texts back, inviting us to dinner. Betty looks nervous, but she tells me to let Sandra know we’d love to.
I make sure Betty has her blood pressure medicine and grab a blanket and pillow in case she wants to nap in the car again.
We’re about to head out the door when she pauses. “There’s one more thing.” She nods toward the bookcase. “Please bring along Douglas’s papers. Just in case.”
Betty wheels down the ramp as I hurry to my car and pull it as close as I can to the front walk. Once again, I’m surprised by her strength and agility as she uses her arms to swivel her body into the passenger’s seat.
“Would you like to listen to the radio?” I ask as we drive off.
She shakes her head. “Thank you, but I think I’d prefer quiet.”
I take that as my cue not to talk. She stares out the window the entire way to Marquis.
I don’t know if she’s lost in memories of the past or consumed by the strangeness of her present surroundings.
When someone on an electric bike whizzes by, she gasps.
And she’s shocked by ’s ability to deliver anything from ice cube trays to garden huts after she spots a truck and asks me what it’s carrying.
When we reach the Marquis campus, Betty takes in a slow, shuddering breath. “Could you park by the psychology building?” she asks. “I’d like to get out and look around.”
“No problem.” I find a street lined with two-hour parking spots a block away and Betty has her door open before I can bring around her wheelchair and coat.
She knows exactly where she’s going, and I quicken my step to keep up with her as she spins her wheels faster and faster.
We pass college students with backpacks slung over their shoulders and a member of the grounds crew blowing leaves off a lawn before Betty comes to a stop in front of a building that resembles many of the others anchored on campus: two levels of gray stone, tall windows, and a sharply pitched roof.
“It hasn’t changed a bit,” Betty whispers. “My goodness, I could almost swear Douglas was inside, waiting to come home to me at five o’clock.”
I place my hand on her shoulder and even through the thick fabric of her coat, I can feel her shaking.
“It’s as if not a day has passed,” Betty continues.
“I can still hear my friends’ voices and see their faces as if they were right in front of me.
The four of us would walk home together when Dr. Trimble was finished with us, chatting and laughing, the way young women do.
We’d stop at Kathleen’s place first, then Ivy would go to the faculty housing, and Helen would see me off before she went to the dorm. ”
“You must miss them terribly. You were so close,” I say gently.
“We were, until the very end,” Betty says. “Then everything changed.”
Her attention is diverted as several students emerge from the building. She watches them walk deeper into the heart of campus and I swear I see longing in her expression.
“When I was young, I thought everything would be so easy. All I had to do was reach the next step: find a husband, keep house and cook his favorite meals, and make babies. Life would be grand. And it was, at first.”
She stares at the building for a long moment. Her face appears sunken now, like this day has drained more from her than she can give.
“I would like to go inside,” Betty says.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“This place has stolen so much from me. I guess I’d finally like to stand up to it.”
I’m about to reach for the handles of her wheelchair to help steer her when she abruptly pushes off. But the curb is sloped and one of her wheels catches its edge. Before I can do anything, her wheelchair overturns and she spills out. Her head hits the curb with a sickening crack.
“Betty!” I cry.
She’s unmoving on the pavement.