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“It’s Annie’s turn tomorrow. She’ll come around two. Gotta run now. See you, Coach Greta.”
And she was gone. Greta didn’t have a chance to thank her and wasn’t sure exactly what she’d say.
At five o’clock in the afternoon, another nurse came in to take a blood sample. Why was not explained, and Greta doubted the hospital knew anything, except it was “time.” She swallowed a couple of pills she didn’t ask about, and a few minutes later the evening’s culinary delight was delivered by cart. The food was edible and had been warm at some time in the past. She finished, the tray was taken away, and sleep soon followed.
CHAPTER 25
The doctors kept her one additional day in the hospital, then released her late the following morning. She signed the required paperwork and sat in a wheelchair, to be rolled out the front door by an orderly. This was standard procedure to prevent the possibility of Greta suing the hospital if she fell while in the building—as if crossing the hospital’s threshold eliminated its liability or her chance of falling.
Waiting outside were James and Judy Plummer, Tillamook City mayor Alice Blankenship, several other Tillamook deputies and staff, Alex Boylan from Lincoln, the Tillamook City Police chief, several reporters, and a gaggle of other individuals. She didn’t register who they all were, only tolerated the greetings, congratulations, words of collegial support, well-wishes, and a number of media questions divided between appropriate and inane. Finally, with Boylan helping to run interference, Plummer cut off the session and took her to his sedan.
Greta bent down carefully and sat in the front passenger seat, and Judy got in the back. Plummer started the car, and they drove away.
After her days in the hospital, the brisk air felt good. She cracked the car window and let the air waft across her face. The morning mist hadn’t completely burned away, and the sun shone on the evergreens and wisps of fog. The smells of the forest and the nearby sea—even the earthy aroma from cow flops in dairy farm pastures—all made her feel alive.
Plummer turned up the heat to compensate for the open window. The warm air on her feet, combined with the cool air on her face, made her feel at ease. They talked about nothing in particular. When they pulled into her driveway, the garage door was open. In surprise, she turned to Plummer, who smiled.
“Emily Sievers had the house key you gave her. She organized the neighbors. Some of them will check on you a couple of times a day. Your refrigerator and freezer are now stocked with enough ready-to-heat food that you won’t have to cook for weeks. Also, the girls on the basketball team will take turns staying over nights for the next week.”
Greta flushed. “I don’t need anyone taking over my house!” she complained. “Nobody checked with me on any of this.”
“That’s because you don’t have any say in it,” Plummer countered. “People are concerned about you and want to help. So hush up and let ’em.”
Greta’s initial irritation morphed into something approaching a glow.
“All right,” she said, pretending to keep grumbling. “As long as they don’t lay it on too much. I’m not helpless.”
Plummer sighed. “People don’t always want to help someone just because they’re helpless. Sometimes there are other reasons.”
They had hardly left the car before several women rose up from the pavement, as if by magic. Greta knew them all by name but had never formally socialized with them, except for occasional greetings and short chats as they passed, coming and going. A woman named Natalie something-or-other asked whether Greta needed help going inside. Greta politely assured Natalie that she could walk. Another woman carried the bag with her things from the hospital. All of them insisted several times that Greta call them if she needed anything, that their phone numbers were tacked to her message board by the kitchen phone.
By the time she lay on her own bed, the women had run through the list of available foods. They reminded Greta yet again to call if she needed anything, including shopping trips. They finally left when she said she felt tired.
Plummer also repeated that she should call him if she needed anything, and he left her in peace. The quietness and the feel of her own mattress under her body lulled her. She pulled the comforter over herself without changing clothes and went straight to sleep.
She woke four hours later to knocking at her back door. She heard the door open and someone enter the house. A moment of anxiety flared, and she had a fleetin
g thought that it was Balfour’s ghost come to finish the job.
A youthful voice bellowed, “Hey, Greta! It’s me . . . Sharon.”
She sagged back onto the bed, her heart rate slowing. “I’m in the bedroom, Sharon.”
The stocky forward appeared in the doorway. “It’s my turn tonight to babysit. Pauline will do it tomorrow and Kathy the day after. I forget the rotation after that. What’s for dinner tonight? I hear your larder is stocked.”
“I hear the same,” Greta said faintly, giving in to the “help.” “Why don’t you check and see what looks good?”
“Right-o. Be back in a sec.”
Sharon returned quickly. “Some kind of lasagna-looking dish in the refrig. Also, enough bread and goodies for an army. I assume those are from Doris’s Bakery.”
“Sounds fine.”
In fact, it was more than fine. The mention of food reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the mandated hospital breakfast that morning, and it was nearly a week since she had eaten “real” food.
“Coach Sievers also says we’re to see that you take care of yourself . . . you know . . . take your medicines or whatever, clean yourself every day, check your stitches and bandages, keep your hair combed, all that stuff.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your job.”
