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“Can I help you?” A voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn and see an older lady staring at me with a smile on her face. Her name tag says “Irene.”
“I hope like hell you can,” I mutter then say more loudly, “I’m looking for a nightgown. Something soft against the skin. The woman I want it for is in the hospital, so something she’ll appreciate wearing beside those coarse gowns.”
Her smile grows. “Yes. Those things are hideous and definitely don’t cover all the parts it should. I’ve got the perfect one. If you’ll follow me?”
She turns without waiting for my response, and I trail behind her. We stop at a rack of nightgowns.
“What size do you need?” she asks.
I think back to the small woman in the bed. She was sitting the entire time, so I don’t know her height, but if I had to guess, I’d say she was a little below average. Her weight on the other hand couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds. Beneath the scars riddling her, she was just skin and bones.
“Small,” I tell the clerk, hoping my guess is right.
She pulls a floral gown from the rack, and before she can even hand it to me, I shake my head. I look past her at all the colors offered and immediately pinpoint a particular one. It’s a light green with loose sleeves that come to just above the elbow. The hem is long, so I know it’ll cover most of her legs. I reach out and feel the material, and even to my rough hands, it feels incredibly soft. It’s also thick, which will keep hidden the parts of her that should stay hidden.
“This one,” I say, pulling the hanger from the rack.
“That’s a good choice. The lady will love it.”
I thank the clerk for her help and head back to the front of the store but then veer away from the registers when another thought occurs to me. It takes me several minutes to peruse through all the selections of panties. Again, there are too fucking many to choose from. I end up grabbing a pack of plain white. From there, I go to the bath aisle and look over the shampoos and conditioners. The woman’s hair is a mess, and there’s a big chance she may lose some, if not all, of it, which would be a shame. There’s a lot of it, and I’m sure it was once beautiful. Just in case, though, I grab a bottle of shampoo and conditioner then snag a bottle that says detangler on it, hoping it may help.
Next, I move to the soap aisle, and after opening and smelling several of the options, I settle on the lavender rose. Toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush are next. The hospital provides all these things, of course, but it’ll be nice for her to have her own that don’t smell so antiseptic. That, and the quality of shit they give you in the hospital is just that… shit.
With my arms loaded, I walk to the front of the store. As I’m waiting in line behind a woman with two kids in her buggy who keep leaning over the edge and nearly falling out, almost causing me to lose everything in my arms to catch them, I spot a deck of cards. I set the shampoo and conditioner on the little lip at the end of the conveyor belt and add the cards to my pile of stuff. I then notice a word search book and add that as well. Just as the lady and kids in front of me walk away, I see an old classic I read when I was younger, and I add that to the pile too. While in the hospital, you can’t ever have too many things to occupy your time. For good measure, I toss in a few candy bars and bags of chips.
When the sales clerk tells me my total, and I hand over my credit card and leave with several bags. I load them in the passenger seat of my truck and take off for the hospital once again.
I walk in the main entrance ten minutes later and head straight for the elevators, bypassing the front desk. On the sixth floor, I take a left. At the last minute, I stop at the nurse’s station. Maneuvering the bag handles to one hand, I whip out my badge since the nurse on duty isn’t the one who was here yesterday. I hold it up and let her take a peek. I pull one of my cards out before flipping it closed and putting it back in my pocket.
“I was here yesterday visiting the woman in room 632. There was a man in the hallway impersonating a police officer. His name’s Clem Stewart. Middle aged with short brown hair. Average weight and height. You see him”—I hold out the card—“you give me a call. He’s not to go in there.”
The man seemed a bit unhinged and determined when he thought she was his niece. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to come back.
She takes the card and looks at it before bringing her eyes back to me. “Got it.”
I begin to turn but then look back.
“How is she today?” I ask.
Her eyes hold sympathy as she looks over at the door. “She let us put in an IV, but only when we told her we’d remove the restraints if she did. She hasn’t let anyone touch her since. Becomes hysterical if someone even mentions it. She’s eating but very little, and all she does is stare off into space. Not once has she asked to watch TV or asked the nurses for anything. She’s very withdrawn.”
I nod, not altogether surprised by her answer. It was obvious she doesn’t like to be touched from the way she looked when she spoke about the doctor’s examination of her. Something about her seems off, as if she’s detached to the outside world or something.
I leave the nurse with a promise from her that she’ll pass along the message to call me and not allow Mr. Stewart in the room if he shows up. I stop at the open door and stare at the woman sitting in a chair in front of the window. Most of her body is facing the window with the way she sits, so I only get a side view of her. She’s drawn her knees up to her chest with her feet resting on the edge of the chair. Arms wrapped around her legs, she’s lightly rocking as she sits there. She almost looks like a lost child. I grow confused when my chest tightens at the sight.
Her hair is still matted and dirty, and I wonder if she’s even tried brushing it at all. The cuts on the arm I can see look cleaned, but still no bandage covers them. The only form of bandage is the tape securing the IV in her arm.
Pushing the thoughts away, I gently rap my knuckles on the door so I don’t frighten her. Even with the light sound, she jumps and gives a startled scream. She turns her head and looks surprised to see me standing there.
“Sorry,” I say, stepping inside the doorway.
She keeps her arms around her legs as she cautiously watches me approach. I stop a good five feet from her when I see her eyes dart behind me to the door then back at me.
“How are you today?”
She doesn’t answer but keeps her eyes on me. After several seconds, she asks, “Why did you come back?” Her brows pull down into a frown as if she can’t fathom why I would care enough to return. Her question is valid; I’m not exactly sure myself why I’m here. It’s more than to get answers out of her and to ensure Mr. Stewart doesn’t come back.
