up at her like she’d said something nice to him. “I was just telling Birdie about my trains.” He watched her expectantly as she circled the wheelchair and grabbed the handles. “Ifeoma, did I ever tell you about my trains?”
“Maaa-ny times.” Ifeoma sighed, turning him toward the door. “Out wit’cha now. You cannot go about waking all the others—do you hear?”
Putting his feet on the footrests, Claude folded his hands over his stomach and sat back for the ride. “All right, but if Nurse Betty ain’t gone home yet, just put me in the closet ’til she leaves.”
“Betty must complete her work,” Ifeoma defended. “She has no time to chase around an old man.”
“If she wouldn’t be so hateful to me, I might not hide from her,” Claude protested. “I don’t never hide from you, Ifay. Back in Buffalo River School, my first-grade teacher had a sayin’—Squawking bird’s unwelcome soon no matter the color the wing, but songbird, plain gray, is welcome long as she sings, and sings, and sings.”
Ifeoma rolled her eyes, her habitually formal posture softening slightly. “In Ghana, we have also a saying—Old rooster, he loud on the fence, quiet in the stew.”
Hooking a finger in the neck of his robe, Claude loosened it like a hangman’s noose. “That’s a good sayin’, too. If you give me my medication, Ifeoma, I won’t even fuss.”
I heard myself laughing before I felt the muscles contracting, puffs of air lifting me off the bed.
Ifeoma raised a brow at me, surprised. Her full lips parted into a wide, slow smile that was dazzlingly white against her mahogany skin, and she threw her head back, laughing as she went out the door.
I listened as the sound drifted away. It was good to hear someone laugh with abandon, a real laugh, not the forced, controlled kind reserved for places where no one is supposed to be too happy. The picture of her smile stayed with me as I turned back to the window, watching the third-shift staff go home and the day shift come in. I waited for Mary to arrive. She and her little boys would ride the DART bus in at seven. They’d get off at the stop out front, then wait until the day-care van came at seven thirty. She was late today. The bus came and went, and then the day-care van, with no sign of her. She’d never been late before.
Ifeoma came back in and took care of providing my breakfast through the peg tube, and I surmised that she was covering for Mary. As efficient as Ifeoma was, I wanted Mary. The prospects for the day would be dimmer without her.
When Gretchen showed up with her cart, her brawny form blocking the light from the hall, the prospects dimmed further yet.
“You’re first on the list today,” she informed me brusquely. From her box, she whipped out the wide leather therapy belt she used to move people around. “I hear you been holding out on me. Let’s see what you can do.” There was axle grease under her fingernails.
I jerked my leg away as she came closer. The movement surprised me.
Gretchen was pleased. Her pale gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for her work. “Well, lookie there. That’s something new.” After lowering the bed, she grasped the belt between her hands and stood over me like Dr. Frankenstein about to flip the switch and illuminate his helpless creature like a Christmas decoration. “Betcha there’s more where that came from.”
“Don’t let her whup ya, Birdie,” Claude’s voice came from the doorway.
Gretchen glanced over her shoulder. “When I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it, Fisher. You better head on back to your room now. I got some special exercises planned for you today.”
I had the vague sense that Gretchen was trying to make a funny, and I started laughing again.
Gretchen squinted one eye and peered at me through the other. “Mmm-hmm. Well, look at this. A cheerful patient. I love a cheerful patient.” She cracked her knuckles in preparation and closed the window blind. She held the
“Maaa-ny times.” Ifeoma sighed, turning him toward the door. “Out wit’cha now. You cannot go about waking all the others—do you hear?”
Putting his feet on the footrests, Claude folded his hands over his stomach and sat back for the ride. “All right, but if Nurse Betty ain’t gone home yet, just put me in the closet ’til she leaves.”
“Betty must complete her work,” Ifeoma defended. “She has no time to chase around an old man.”
“If she wouldn’t be so hateful to me, I might not hide from her,” Claude protested. “I don’t never hide from you, Ifay. Back in Buffalo River School, my first-grade teacher had a sayin’—Squawking bird’s unwelcome soon no matter the color the wing, but songbird, plain gray, is welcome long as she sings, and sings, and sings.”
Ifeoma rolled her eyes, her habitually formal posture softening slightly. “In Ghana, we have also a saying—Old rooster, he loud on the fence, quiet in the stew.”
Hooking a finger in the neck of his robe, Claude loosened it like a hangman’s noose. “That’s a good sayin’, too. If you give me my medication, Ifeoma, I won’t even fuss.”
I heard myself laughing before I felt the muscles contracting, puffs of air lifting me off the bed.
Ifeoma raised a brow at me, surprised. Her full lips parted into a wide, slow smile that was dazzlingly white against her mahogany skin, and she threw her head back, laughing as she went out the door.
I listened as the sound drifted away. It was good to hear someone laugh with abandon, a real laugh, not the forced, controlled kind reserved for places where no one is supposed to be too happy. The picture of her smile stayed with me as I turned back to the window, watching the third-shift staff go home and the day shift come in. I waited for Mary to arrive. She and her little boys would ride the DART bus in at seven. They’d get off at the stop out front, then wait until the day-care van came at seven thirty. She was late today. The bus came and went, and then the day-care van, with no sign of her. She’d never been late before.
Ifeoma came back in and took care of providing my breakfast through the peg tube, and I surmised that she was covering for Mary. As efficient as Ifeoma was, I wanted Mary. The prospects for the day would be dimmer without her.
When Gretchen showed up with her cart, her brawny form blocking the light from the hall, the prospects dimmed further yet.
“You’re first on the list today,” she informed me brusquely. From her box, she whipped out the wide leather therapy belt she used to move people around. “I hear you been holding out on me. Let’s see what you can do.” There was axle grease under her fingernails.
I jerked my leg away as she came closer. The movement surprised me.
Gretchen was pleased. Her pale gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for her work. “Well, lookie there. That’s something new.” After lowering the bed, she grasped the belt between her hands and stood over me like Dr. Frankenstein about to flip the switch and illuminate his helpless creature like a Christmas decoration. “Betcha there’s more where that came from.”
“Don’t let her whup ya, Birdie,” Claude’s voice came from the doorway.
Gretchen glanced over her shoulder. “When I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it, Fisher. You better head on back to your room now. I got some special exercises planned for you today.”
I had the vague sense that Gretchen was trying to make a funny, and I started laughing again.
Gretchen squinted one eye and peered at me through the other. “Mmm-hmm. Well, look at this. A cheerful patient. I love a cheerful patient.” She cracked her knuckles in preparation and closed the window blind. She held the
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