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“I need to pick Abby up from school.” Ms. Lynn’s voice is weak. Fragile. As if she’s talking from a memory rather than the present. She grabs the woman’s hand and there’s a bit of recognition in her eyes as she makes eye contact with her caretaker. “Can you pick Abby up from school, Nadia? Abby doesn’t like to be forgotten and I’m always the first one in line to pick her up. She’ll get scared and cry if I’m not there to pick her up.”
Pain strikes my heart hard and fast and I jerk with the impact.
“It’s summer,” Nadia replies. “Abby’s not in school.”
And Abby’s too old to be picked up and, if she wasn’t, it’s hard to imagine an Abby that’s not hell on wheels and independent.
Ms. Lynn’s forehead wrinkles. “Then where is she? It’s three. Abby should be home.”
Her voice is gaining strength, picking up speed, and the worry that causes my own mother’s voice to go higher in pitch is recognizable in her tone. Nadia looks over at me and the grandfather clock on the other side of the room begins to chime.
One.
Two.
Three.
Three p.m.—Abby said I needed to give the envelope at three.
My feet feel like they’re cemented in concrete as I force them forward. I hold out the envelope and hope to God this is right. “This yours?”
She lightly bows her head, but then returns her attention to Ms. Lynn as the older woman grows more restless. “It’s three. Abby should be home by three.”
Nadia tucks the blanket tighter to Ms. Lynn. “Abby’ll be home later, but she sent a friend of hers in her place. Isn’t that nice of her?”
Ms. Lynn blinks and looks me over for the first time and there’s not much kindness there. “Are you the boy who made her cry?”
A weight in my chest. Possibly. I don’t know who Abby is anymore. I don’t know a person who could make her cry. Yesterday, I would have claimed that Abby didn’t have emotions or tear ducts. “No, ma’am.”
Ms. Lynn scans the room as if she’s waking up or maybe she’s searching for the guy who made Abby cry. “Abby reads to me...”
At three. I can finish the thought for her. A book is next to her on an end table as well as a picture of her and Abby. The woman is in the same chair she’s in now and Abby is leaning over with her arm around Ms. Lynn. They’re both smiling. Real smiles. Genuine smiles. The type I didn’t think Abby owned. That picture presents Abby was a whole other person.
“I’ll read to you,” I say. “Abby asked me to do it while she...” My mouth dries out as I search for the words.
“Plays with friends?” offers Nadia, and by the look in her eye, she understands how deep of a lie that is.
“Yeah. That. I’ll be right back, Ms. Lynn. I need to talk to Nadia first.”
She briefly sighs like she’s disappointed and pats the blanket over her knees. “Abby says that, too.”
Nadia inclines her head toward the back of the house and when she leads, I follow. Once in the kitchen, Nadia accepts the envelope from me and drops it in her purse.
“Do you need to count it?” I ask.
“I’ve been working for Abby for three years and she’s never once shorted me.” She opens a cabinet and pulls out a bag of those Pepperidge Farm cookies. The type with chocolate lining the bottom. Other than the bag, there’s nothing else in the cabinet.
“Abby gives her two of these and a glass of milk. She’d read to Ms. Lynn for the next hour, even if Ms. Lynn is lost in her own mind again. I’ll stay an extra half hour, and I’ll call Peggy, she’s the next nurse on shift, to come in a half hour early. You don’t hit me as the type that wants to take an old woman into the bathroom to pee and then clean her up.”
“Do you need more money for that?”
She shakes her head. “Abby will compensate us when it’s time.”
I’m lost. In a fog. A lot like I imagine Ms. Lynn must be. “So when other people show, like me, when Abby’s caught up doing things, will other people show to help at night or...”
Nadia holds up her hand to cut off my question then opens the fridge to find the milk. Like the cabinet, the fridge is stark. Milk. Orange juice. A few condiments. “You’re the first person besides Abby, me, Peggy, and Nate to walk into this house in over three years. I don’t know how Abby gets the money to pay for three full-time nurses, but she does. We don’t ask, she doesn’t tell. We make nice tax-free money in a great work environment with a wonderful old woman and a granddaughter who would cut off her right arm for the woman in that room.”
My eyes briefly shut. Her grandmother. Abby’s caring for her grandmother. Damn it all to hell, Abby, why didn’t you tell any of us?
