The Fall of Never(24)

“It’ll turn to snow before dark,” the old woman muttered, more to herself than to him. “Been around long enough to know such things.”

He squeezed her hand lightly. “Some other things too,” he continued. “Something about a baby named Julian?”

“Julian?” she said, and for the briefest moment her eyes shifted away from the window. “Who told you that?”

“Doctor Mendes, the fellow who’s been treating you, Nellie. That name doesn’t sound familiar to you? Julian?”

She rolled the name around on her tongue, and when she finally spat it out, it came out sounding like Droo-leen. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said, uninterested.

“Did you happen to overhear any of the staff talking about Doctor Mendes’s wife having a baby?”

“No, Joshua, I don’t know what this is about.” She tried to adjust the pillow behind her head. Josh leaned over and did it for her. He was right—it was starched to all hell.

But aren’t you even curious? And then as if to scold himself: No, she’s old and she’s been through enough already.

“One last thing,” he added quickly. “The name Kellow—does that mean anything to you?”

This time there was something behind the woman’s old eyes. Recognition? He couldn’t be sure, but there was something, some glimmer, there and then gone. Split-second action, as his mother had been fond of saying. The woman had a saying for everything.

“Kellow,” he repeated, hoping to see that spark again. But no, not this time.

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Are you certain?”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, dejected.

“I said it?”

“You said it in your sleep. Mendes heard you. He said he spoke to you about it.”

“Hmmm. What does it mean?” she asked him.

He just shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know, Nellie.” He sighed. “Just wanted to pay you a visit, you know? See how my favorite lady is doing.”

“Favorite lady,” the old woman mused, beginning to grin. Then the grin faded, and her eyes again locked with the window across the room. The rain was coming down heavy now and Josh was quite sure that Nellie was right, that it would turn to snow before the day was through. “Kelly…” she said, hardly audible.

“Kelly? Is that what you’d been saying? Were you dreaming about Kelly?”

A veil of confusion fell across the old woman’s face. Her wrinkled, pale brow creased together while her eyes became even more distant. She worked at her crooked lower lip with her yellowed upper teeth, as if deep in concentration.

She said, “I remember Kelly telling me something…something about a hurt animal, a boy and a hurt animal…some story, Josh. I don’t…I can’t even remember it all now. I’m sorry. My head hurts.”

“When did she tell you this story?”

“I can’t remember. Maybe back at the apartment. Could I have some water? There’s a pitcher and a glass there behind you.”

“Sure.” He poured her some water and handed it over to her. She took it with her one good hand and, shakily, brought it to her quivering lips. She sipped it like a perfect lady.

“Better,” she sighed when she’d drank all she could.

“Have you told the doctor about those?”

“The headaches?”

“You’ve been having them for a while now, right?”

She turned away from him as much as her uncooperative body would allow. “Off and on, on and off. Nothing unusual in that. I’m an old lady, Joshua, dear.”

He leaned over the bed and adjusted the bedclothes over her shoulders. “Just get some rest, all right? I’ll hop in to check on you before they let you out of this prison, okay?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, dear. It was nice this once.”

“No trouble,” he said truthfully. “I’d like to.”

“Well,” she said, trying to smile again, “in that case, see if you can sneak me in some coffee, will you? What a lousy damned hospital this is, doesn’t even serve coffee.”

Grinning, Josh stood and slid the folding chair back into the corner of the room. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.





Chapter Eight


She awoke very late, and still exhausted. Upon opening her eyes, she found herself staring at the underside of the sheer pink canopy and all in one great tidal wave, she remembered where she was: home.

She showered quickly, dressed, and slipped into the upstairs hallway as silent as a sigh. Passing Becky’s closed bedroom door, she reached out and jiggled the doorknob. Locked.

What the hell is that all about, anyway?

Downstairs, Glenda had prepared her a full course meal: eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, English muffins, cornbread, a variety of peeled fruits, a pitcher of crisp milk beside a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. Centered on the table in a beautiful ornate vase was a bouquet of cream-colored peonies. She sat down readily and ate by herself, the house silent and brooding all around her. How much of this place did she remember, exactly? Sure, there were bits and pieces of childhood memories—Halloweens and Christmases, Thanksgivings and even birthdays—but none of those memories seemed to be connected to anything, just free-floating and incorporeal, ghosts at the window. And then there were what could only be called “snippets”—those bodiless images surfacing in her head, of faces hardly remembered, of a certain pair of patent leather shoes with brass buckles, of chasing squirrels and rabbits through the wooded hills behind the house.