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“Ms. O’Brien!” an exhausted voice calls, interrupting us. An older woman comes bustling down the hall, her white scrubs stretched to their limits, and her gray hair pinned to the top of her head. “He’s not having a good day today. Perhaps you could try again tomorrow?”
Rory drops my hand and rubs her temples. “But I’ve come all this way. It took me almost an hour to get here. Can’t I just try? If he’s bad, I’ll leave right away.”
The nurse, Betty, flicks her gaze between us. It’s obvious she doesn’t know what to do, and judging by the bags under her eyes, she’s had a long day. Nurses are so underrated. They have to deal with crap from patients, crap from doctors, and crap from visitors. No one is ever happy with them. It’s a wonder there are still as many as there are.
If it were up to me, nurses would be appreciated a lot more and given the proper staff to run facilities as they should. They are literally walking angels sent down from heaven to take care of us.
Betty reluctantly deflates. “Okay. But please keep in mind what happened last time.”
Betty scurries down the hall, and I cage Rory against the nearest wall. “Want to tell me who we are visiting today, Hellcat?”
She gulps and licks her lips, and I find I can’t take my eyes off of them. “It’s my brother. He’s… Well…I don’t know anymore.”
I nod solemnly. “Disease or drugs?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Both?”
Idiot, I think to myself. Why did I ask her that? It’s not like it even matters. The two usually go hand in hand anyway.
I pull away from her, giving her room to move. “Lead the way, Ms. O’Brien.”
She immediately becomes cold at the use of her proper name. Rory spins, her long coat billowing around her legs, and she storms down the hallway. We pass a dozen white doors with little windows at the top. Each door has a caddy next to it where a manilla folder sits with what I assume are patient files.
We stop at the last door on the left, which is right in front of a huge bay window. In a rocking chair, singing softly to herself, is an old woman. Her thin hands are gnarled from arthritis, and she has liver spots on her face, but I don’t find her any less beautiful.
A knit shawl covers her tiny shoulders, one she probably made herself. She stares vacantly out the window as she rocks. I don’t know why, but the sight of her does something to me. It makes me sad for her that she ended up here like this, and sad for me, because I was never able to experience the joy of a grandparent.
Hell, we barely had parents, but there’s no time to dwell on that.
Rory stares at the door as if it might bite her, so I snatch the manilla folder from its holder before she can protest.
Patient: Mitchel O’Brien
Age: 32
Allergies: Sulfa drugs.
Behavior: Combative, please use caution.
Ailments: Memory loss, kidney failure, recovering drug addict and alcohol user.
Duration of stay: Lifelong care.
I stop reading and replace the folder when they begin to list off medications because I’ve learned what I wanted to know. Rory looks over at me with such sadness in her eyes, and I can’t figure out if it’s because I’ve discovered this secret or if it’s due to what we might see behind the door.
Perhaps a bit of both.
“It’s best if you don’t come in,” she whispers before placing a trembling hand on the knob and turning it.
My fingers itch to comfort her, but I give her this moment. She’s survived this long all on her own, so she certainly doesn’t need me.
“Mitchel?” she calls tentatively, pulling her hat from her head. “It’s me. Rory. Your sister.”
I step into the doorframe and rest my back against it, folding my arms over my chest. Inside is a tiny room with a twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a TV set encased behind glass. There’s a small table with two chairs and another door, through which I can see a toilet and a sink.
The most shocking thing in here, however, is the man standing at the window, gazing out as he bounces from one foot to the next. A patient gown is haphazardly tied around him, and his socks are only half on his feet.
He turns with a crazed look in his eyes, his hair disheveled and a thick beard growing on his face. “My sister?” He stills for a moment, staring at Rory, then looking past her as his eyes grow vacant.
