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The last time I was here visiting, a priest came in, offering to say a few words, and Bernadette called him a sewer rat in the process of banishing him from the room. Sewer rat is one of her favorite insults for neighbors, mail carriers, clerks, and the revolving roster of maids she has in.
But never for Smuckers. I stay at the bedside, feeling so bad for her.
“Smuckers wants you not to be scared,” I say. “Smuckers says you’re not alone, and you won’t be.”
Her dry lips move. If I could give her anything it would be some way for her not to be scared, but it’s pretty unavoidable in her situation. I don’t care what religion you are, the unknown is always scary, and death is the ultimate unknown quantity.
A nurse comes in just then, entering stealthily. She spots Smuckers before I can flick the sheet over him like I usually manage to do. “You can’t have a dog in here!”
I shamble on a surprised face. “The other nurses didn’t say anything about the dog…” Since they didn’t see the dog.
“You need to remove the animal.”
“Get out,” Bernadette says hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse says. “Animals not allowed.”
I go over. “Please,” I say under my breath. “The dog’s all she has. You need to give her a break.”
“Hospital regulations.”
I look back over at Bernadette, who is doing a nervous clutching thing on Smuckers’s fur, something Smuckers won’t tolerate too long. I go back over and put a protective hand on Bernadette’s to get her to stop it.
“A few more minutes,” I say. “If he was a service animal you’d let him in here. Can’t you just pretend he’s a service animal? I mean, he pretty much is one.”
“You’ll have to remove the animal.”
“A few more minutes,” I say.
“I’m getting security.” She spins and leaves. Security.
I turn to Bernadette. “The animal,” I say. “Please.”
She’s only paying attention to Smuckers, though. Her breathing is erratic. She’s upset.
Security will throw us out, and I probably won’t get Smuckers in here again. Which means this is the last time Bernadette sees Smuckers, and maybe she knows it.
I feel sad and helpless, but also like everything is important now. Like I have an important job to do as fake pet whisperer.
That’s when I make up the story.
“Smuckers has something to tell you, Bernadette,” I say. “He has something to say that he never told you before, and he needs to say it.”
She moves her lips. Nothing comes out, but I know what it is.
Tell me.
That’s what she always says when I announce that Smuckers has something important to communicate.
Whenever I channel Smuckers’s thoughts, I use the curious listening face and also change my voice just a tiny bit. I hate it when my water bowl is dry, Bernadette. Sometimes I get so very thirsty! Or, You shouldn’t let that sketchy building handyman in anymore, Bernadette, unless somebody you trust is with you. I don’t like him very much. The food in the refrigerator smells very yucky. Maybe it’s old.
Smuckers uses the word very a lot.
In addition to household matters, Smuckers is a good one for morale and encouragement. Your flowered shirts are very pretty. Please open the curtains, Bernadette, I love watching the birds. I feel very happy when you sing.
The sound of Bernadette’s singing was a major passion of Smuckers’s, according to me. And Bernadette is actually kind of a good singer, as it turned out, from the bits I heard over the three years I’ve been at it.
“This is very important. Are you listening? Smuckers wants you to know that he has a brother. A twin.”
