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Enraged, Benny continued pounding on Roxanne, his words coming out in shrill bursts, his shoulders heaving with angry sobs. “Shouldn’t have…listened,” he shouted between huffs. “My…fault.”
“Benny,” Sam said softly, and Benny threw him a haunted look before returning his attention to the nurse, resuming his attack on Roxanne.
The nurse continued to hold very still, avoiding any escalation.
“Benny, can we talk?” Sam stepped forward, holding out his hands. “Please?”
When he got close enough, Sam gingerly gripped one of Benny’s wrists, taking care not to hurt him. He squeezed ever so lightly, tugging Benny’s fist away from the nurse. “Benny, you’re hurting her.”
Indecision clouded Benny’s expression. “No.”
“Yes,” Sam whispered. “Let her go.” He tugged a little harder. “Come to me. I’m here.”
Benny hesitated for only a moment, then sagged into Sam’s arms. “He’s gone, Sam. He’s gone.”
Feeling Benny’s sorrow, Sam tightened his arms around the older man in an embrace, rubbing his back. “I know, Benny. I’m so sorry.”
“My fault, Sammy,” Benny cried, now pounding Sam’s chest—hard enough to bruise, but Sam could take it. “All my fault.”
Sam met the nurse’s eyes over Benny’s shoulder. She was on her phone, having dialed as soon as Benny had moved into Sam’s arms. It sounded like she was talking with one of the doctors, explaining the situation and asking if she could give Benny a sedative. The doctor must have approved, because she ended the call, pocketed her phone, and drew out a small bottle and a syringe.
Sam knew the woman from his visits. She often stayed with the residents while he played for them, occasionally requesting songs for herself. Her favorite was an old country song, “Smoky Mountain Rain.” She took such good care of the elderly residents, so Sam had learned the song especially for her.
Roxanne shook her head sadly. “I keep telling him that it’s not his fault.”
“She lies!” Benny cried. “It is my fault.”
Roxanne stiffened, still shaking her head. “It’s not, Benny. It’s not your fault.” She came up behind them, syringe in one hand and an alcohol wipe in the other.
Sam continued rubbing Benny’s back, tightening his arms around the old man as Roxanne quickly administered the injection.
Sobbing in Sam’s arms, Benny didn’t even seem to notice. “It is. It is. It is.” He chanted the words before mumbling, “I didn’t listen to him. He was wrong.”
Sam frowned. “Frankie was wrong? About what?”
“He’s been saying that ever since I got him down here,” Roxanne explained patiently. “I don’t know what he means.”
Benny pounded a fist against Sam’s chest, but far more weakly now. He was quickly winding down. “I didn’t listen. Nobody listened.”
“Listen to what, Benny?” Sam asked, keeping his voice calm. He guided Benny to a comfortable chair and lowered him into it before kneeling in front of him. “I’m here, Benny. I’m listening.”
Benny looked so heartbroken that Sam’s chest constricted painfully. “Frankie was my friend.”
“I know. He was your brother.”
New tears filled Benny’s rheumy eyes. “I loved him. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, I do. I believe you.”
Benny’s lips trembled. “But I said awful things.”
“You couldn’t, Benny. You don’t say awful things to anyone.”
It was true. Benny was the kindest and gentlest of them all. He always had a cheerful word—unless he was caught in one of his anger episodes. They were coming more frequently these days. It was devastating to watch, especially since Benny could often remember the things he’d said and done during the episode. Watching him process his own guilt was even worse than the episode itself.
“I told him he was a fool.” Benny’s lips drooped. “But the fool…was me.” His eyelids lowered, as if they were too heavy to keep propped open. “He…loved me.”
“He did,” Sam agreed. “So much. And he knew that you didn’t mean any of it. He knew you couldn’t control when you got angry.”
