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I say.
“The dealing, this life—this is who I am. Who I was born to be. The reaper with pretty eyes and pretty hair.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
Abby looks so damn exhausted and her movements are stiff—that pain, it’s there. “I’m not redeemable so stop thinking of me as fixable. I’m not some pathetic girl who needs saving. I’m willingly making these choices.”
“Why not put your grandmother in a nursing home? I’ll help you fill out the paperwork if that’s what your problem is. If you can’t pay for it, Medicare will.”
Abby winces as she props herself up onto the pillows. “Mac and I, we tried the nursing home route and it was a nightmare. Within a week, someone stole her clothes. All of them. The staff said another patient stole them. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t, but the end result was that my grandmother was freaked out because every time she woke up, another thing of hers was gone. When I kept complaining, the staff began to claim the stuff wasn’t there to begin with. Know the night that really sucked? When I held my grandmother because she woke to find her mother’s diamond ring gone. Gone. Who is sick enough to steal a ring from an old woman in her sleep? You can try to blame another patient on that one, but I ain’t buying it.”
“Abby,” I say, but she cuts me off.
“I switched her facilities, but she was on Medicare and did you know that most decent nursing homes only have so many beds for Medicare patients? That the places where you want your loved one to be, the ones where they give a rat’s ass, cost money we didn’t have? So the new place? Grams fell. Out of her wheelchair. No one was watching her, and in case you’ve never been to one of these places, they strap people into their chairs to keep them from falling out because there aren’t enough people to watch them and somebody didn’t strap Grams into hers so she fell and she was hurt and she was in the hospital for days.
“She went back to the nursing home and I visited her to find her writhing in pain because one of her aids or nurses on duty was stealing her pain medication. Stealing it. And then when I demanded to see her prescription list, I found out that someone was ordering more pain meds than she needed and do you think she saw any of those? Nope, someone had formed their own drug ring at my grandmother’s expense.”
“Abby,” I try again and she keeps going.
“They gave her the wrong meds, they gave her too many meds, they didn’t give her enough meds, they tried to put her on things she didn’t need, doctors we didn’t request came, doctors we did need never showed, they let her piss and shit all over herself and wouldn’t clean her for hours. If I didn’t show up daily, they wouldn’t have even changed her clothes. They would have left her to rot with bedsores.
“She cried, Logan, every time I was there. Not understanding why I locked her up in that place, why I left her with people who yelled, who left her in the dark, and she begged me over and over again to bring her home so I did. I did what I had to do and I brought my grandmother home because they treat animals in zoos better than they treated my grandmother.”
God help for saying the following. “They aren’t all like that. The place my grandfather was at, it wasn’t like that.”
“I know.” The weariness in her tone only underscores the burden she carries. “But I’ll bet you the money hanging out in my cubby those places are filled and, in the end, I can’t take that risk.”
A cloud must have passed over the moon as the light streaming in through the blinds fades and then strikes Abby again.
I state the obvious. “You need an out.”
“There is no out.” She motions with her chin to the hand I still hold the pain meds in. “Except for stuff like what you hold in your hand. My job is a testament to that. Lots of people find an out in a high, but that’s not really an out, that’s just another form of pretending your reality is different.”
My stomach knots. “I care about you.” And from that kiss, she cares about me.
“None of this changes anything. I sell drugs and I refuse to hang around any of you anymore. There is nothing you are going to say or do to change my mind.”
I roll my neck as it tenses. “You care about me.”
“Yes,” she admits. “But I care about Grams more.”
I respect that. Drives me further to discover the out she needs. I leave the water bottle on the nightstand then dump the pill back into the bottle. “Still don’t think you’re capable of being a junkie.”
“I’ve learned that none of us are really aware what we’re capable of until we’re confronted with the options.”
The bunny I gave Abby at the hospital, the one she kept tight in the crook of her arm as she slept, sits on the dresser. I pick it up and pull the covers down. Abby tilts her head as she smirks. “Am I two?”
I smirk right back at her. “Two-year-olds are easier.”
That gains her genuine smile and she slips her legs under the covers then settles so that she’s lying down. “Remember that time when you snuck into my room night after night during third grade and stayed with me because you were scared of the monsters under your bed? We stayed up late and read comic books under the covers.”
“I didn’t sneak in because I was afraid.” I hand Abby the bunny and try to imagine what it would have been like to be friends with Abby when we were younger. Considering I’ve always been gasoline and Abby’s a raging inferno, we would have been the elementary school version of Bonnie and Clyde. “I snuck in because I liked hanging out with you.”
Abby’s fingers circle my wrist. “I’m going to miss you.”
She’s given up, but she doesn’t know that I haven’t. That Isaiah hasn’t and that when West and Rachel hear the news, I’d bet my left ball they won’t give up, either. I kiss her lips, softly, briefly and it aches how tenderly she kisses me back.
I caress her face with my thumb. “You need to rest. Your wounds aren’t healed and you’re still weak from the blood loss. Take it slow, and do me a favor, stay out of trouble.”
