LITMIR.BIZ

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need—you need to keep your eye on Ron Santo. This is—this is going to be his year.” He lowered the knife. He suddenly seemed to forget he was holding it.

      “I thought you were an Ernie Banks fan, Frank,” she said. “You know, there’s some glass on the floor behind you. Be careful.”

      He turned and glanced down at the floor. “Yeah, you got to love Ernie. Who doesn’t?”

      Karen felt her cell phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans, but she ignored it. She took a few steps toward him. “You know, you ought to put down that knife. Should we get some ice cream?”

      He frowned at the knife in his hand, and then set it on one of the cafeteria tables.

      “Does ice cream sound good to you, Frank?” Roseann piped in. “I think Karen has a good idea there. You recognize Karen, don’t you?”

      The second orderly carefully reached for the knife and took it away. A few of the residents behind Karen sighed, and one elderly man clapped.

      Karen put her arm around Frank. Between his breath and his body odor, he smelled awful. But she smiled at him. “You recognize me, don’t you, Poppy?”

      A smile flickered across his face, and for a second he was her dad again. “Of course,” he whispered. “You’re my little girl.”

      She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “That’s right, Poppy. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” She led her father toward the cafeteria doors.

      Later, while the orderly got Mr. Carlisle changed and back in bed, Karen ducked into the employee lounge to check her phone messages. She’d been volunteering once a week at the Sandpoint View Convalescent Home for half a year now, and knew all the staff. It was one way to ensure her dad got special treatment, one way to keep from feeling so horrible for giving up on him and putting him in there.

      In addition to her volunteer day, Karen saw her father at Sandpoint View about twice a week. She’d been driving over to visit him this afternoon when the call had come from Roseann, saying her dad was having an “episode.” Frank had slipped out of his room and under their radar a few times in the past; he’d even wandered off the grounds once. But this was the first incident in which he’d posed a threat to anyone.

      Karen knew Roseann would have to take some measures after what had just happened in the cafeteria. They’d probably start him on a new medication, which would make him even more dopey and unreachable. Or maybe they’d move him into Ward E with the severe cases.

      Karen didn’t want to think about that right now.

      She nodded hello to a nurse, sitting at the table with her iPod and a sandwich. The small lounge had one window with the blinds lowered, and yellow-painted cinderblock walls that someone had decorated with these sappy, inspirational posters entitled Achievement, Friendship, and Tranquility. The photos of people watching the sunset, goldfish in a bowl, and kites flying against a blue sky were fuzzy and the poetic sentiments were written in script. Someone had scribbled BLOW ME in the top corner of the sunset Tranquility poster. There was also a slightly tattered brown sofa, a mini-refrigerator, and a vending machine, along with a coffeemaker on the counter, not far from the sink.

      Karen poured herself a cup of their rotgut coffee. She leaned against the counter and checked her cell phone. Amelia Faraday had called.

      She had thirty-one clients, and Amelia was the one she cared about the most. At first, Amelia had reminded Karen of someone else, someone she’d lost. Karen figured that maybe by helping Amelia solve her problems, she could help herself. It wouldn’t raise the dead, but maybe she could make some of her own pain go away.

      She pushed a couple of buttons on the cell and played the voice mail. Amelia’s slightly shrill, panic-filled voice was like an assault: “Karen? Karen, I left you a couple of messages at home…” She let out a little gasp, then started to cry. “God, Karen, I’m in trouble. Something terrible has happened. I really need to talk with you. Please…please, call me back…”

      She was about to hit the last call return button when Earl swaggered into the lounge. A gauze bandage was wrapped around his wounded arm.

      “You!” the creepy little man growled. He stabbed a finger in the air at her. “You’re just lucky I don’t need stitches….”

      Karen put down the phone. “Earl, I’m sorry about your arm—”

      “‘Sorry’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said, cutting her off.

      The nurse took off her iPod headset, sat forward in her chair, and watched them.

      “I’m gonna make sure your old man gets some bed restraints. They ought to keep him tied up twenty-four seven.” Earl inched closer to Karen until he was almost screaming in her face. “Better yet, they should stick that crazy old fuck in Ward E with the rest of the lunatics before he kills someone. I don’t need this shit. That crazy old fuck, I’m gonna see to it they lock him up—”

      “No,” Karen said resolutely. “No, Earl. You’re going to see to it the kitchen knives are locked up. Over a third of the residents here have Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia, and you’re leaving knives out where anyone can get at them. My father isn’t responsible for his actions, but you are. What’s more, you wouldn’t have that cut on your arm if you’d let me handle him.”

      His mouth open, he glared at her and shook his head.

      “And one last thing, Earl, if you call my father a ‘crazy old fuck’ again, I swear, I’ll punch your lights out—or I’ll pay one of the attendants here to do it for me.”

      The nurse watching them let out an abrupt laugh.

      Earl kept shaking his head. “Listen, don’t you threaten me—”

      “Earl?”

      He swiveled around.

      Her arms folded, Roseann stood in the doorway of the employee lounge. “Karen’s right about locking up the kitchen utensils. I’ve talked to you about that before. It better not happen again. Now, don’t you have some potatoes to peel or something?”

      With a defiant grunt, he turned to glare one more time at Karen, then stomped out of the room.

      Roseann raised an eyebrow at the nurse. “Show’s over, Michelle. So was your break, as of ten minutes ago.”

      Nodding, the nurse took one last bite of her sandwich, gathered up her things, and ducked out of the lounge.

      “Thanks for running interference,” Karen said, giving Roseann a weary smile. “How’s my dad?”

      “Sedated.” Roseann plopped down at the table. “We’ll give him a rain check on the ice cream. Listen, you and I need to talk about making some adjustments to Frank’s routine.”

      Karen nodded. “I’ve seen that coming for a while now.” She looked down into her coffee cup. Yes, she’d seen it coming, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the inevitable. It meant giving up on him a little more.

      “Do yourself a favor,” she heard Roseann say. “Talk to a counselor or join a family of Alzheimer’s support group. In all this time, you haven’t gotten any help at all. And it’s not just about what’s going on with your dad. This last year has been pretty awful for you from what you told me about your breakup and what happened with that poor girl. What was her name again?”

      “Haley Lombard,” Karen said quietly.

      “Such a shame,” Roseann sighed. “Anyway, you’d be the first one to recommend counseling to somebody in your shoes.”

      “I know, I know, ‘Physician, heal thyself,’” Karen replied.

      Roseann was right, of course. But Karen made her living listening to people’s problems all day long. And it seemed like the rest of her time lately was dedicated to her father. She didn’t want to spend what little time remained in therapy or talking about Alzheimer’s.

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