Before We Were Yours(14)
Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes, and the sky starts to spit out mist. Did Zede and Briny make it across-water with our mama? I wonder. Is she someplace where the doctors can fix her, the way they did Camellia when her appendix went bad?
“Batten down the windows that’re toward the river. No sense rain comin’ in,” I tell Camellia, and she doesn’t even argue. For the first time ever, she’s lost. She’s not sure what’s best. The problem is, I’m not either.
Gabion’s mouth falls open, and he starts to snore. That’s one of the little kids, at least, who won’t be raising a fuss tonight. Lark and Fern are another matter. Lark’s big blue eyes fill up, and she whispers, “I wa-a-ant Queenie. I’m skeered.”
I want Queenie too, but I can’t tell them that. “Hush up, now. You’re six years old. You’re not a baby. Close the windows before the wind starts blowin’, and get your nighty on. We’ll change the big bed and sleep there, all of us. Just like when Briny’s gone.”
My body’s boneless and weary, but my mind is running crazy. It can’t think a clear thought; it’s just spinning up nonsense words, like the Waterwitch turning the shallows, stirring leaves and twigs and bait grubs and muck.
It keeps on so that I don’t hear all the whining and complaining and sniggling and sniffing and Camellia egging it on by calling Fern a ninny and Lark a baby and another dirty word she ain’t even supposed to say.
Last thing, once they’re all in the big bed and I turn the lanterns down, I take the tin man’s cross off the floor and hang him back on the wall where he belongs. Briny hasn’t got any use for him, but Queenie does, and tonight he’s the only one here to watch over us.
Getting on my knees before I climb into bed, I whisper every word of Polish I know.
CHAPTER 5
Avery
“I’ll only be a little while,” I tell Ian, Leslie’s intern, as he parks under the nursing home portico.
He stops halfway out the driver’s side door. “Oh…okay. I’ll just sit here and take care of some email, I guess.” He seems disappointed that no escort is needed. I feel his curious gaze following me as I exit the car and make my way through the lobby.
The director is waiting in her office. Grandma Judy’s bracelet lies on her desk. The dragonflies’ gemstone eyes glitter as I slip the lost treasure back onto my wrist.
We chat a bit about the day’s event before the director apologizes for my trouble. “We’ve had quite a time with Mrs. Crandall,” she admits. “Poor thing. For the most part, she doesn’t speak to anyone. She just…wanders the halls and the grounds until lockup at night. Then she stays in her room, unless the volunteers are here to play the piano. She does seem to love music, but even at the sing-alongs, we can’t persuade her to engage with the other residents. Grief and a change of location can often be more than the mind and body can handle.”
Immediately, I imagine someone saying the same thing about Grandma Judy. My heart aches for this poor woman, May. “I hope she isn’t upset. I’m sure she didn’t take the bracelet on purpose. I would’ve let her keep it, except it’s been in the family for so long.”
“Oh, goodness, no. It’s best that she gives it back. One of the things our residents sometimes have difficulty accepting is that many of their belongings haven’t come here with them. They tend to see things around the facility and think someone has made off with their possessions. We return heisted goods quite often. Mrs. Crandall is still adjusting to leaving her house. She’s confused and unsettled right now, but it’s natural.”
“I know that’s a hard transition.” My grandmother’s estate on Lagniappe Street is still closed up with everything inside it. We haven’t been ready to decide what should happen to a lifetime of mementos and countless family heirlooms. Eventually, the house will pass down to the next generation, as it always has. Hopefully, one of my sisters will move in, and most of the antiques can stay. “Does Mrs. Crandall have family who come to visit?” I purposely don’t mention the story about the dead sister. I already feel guilty talking about this woman as if she’s some sort of…case study. She’s a person, like Grandma Judy.
The director shakes her head, frowning. “No one locally. Her son passed away years ago. She has grandchildren, but it’s a remarried and blended family, and none of them live nearby, so it’s complicated. They’re doing their best, and to be honest, Mrs. Crandall hasn’t been making it any easier. She was taken to a facility closer to her home to begin with, and she tried to run away. The family moved her here thinking that a bit of distance might help. She has attempted to leave us three times in two weeks. Some amount of disorientation and difficulty isn’t unusual for new residents. Hopefully, she’ll improve once she has adjusted a bit. I’d hate to see her transferred to the Alzheimer’s Unit, but…” She clamps her lips over the sentence, apparently realizing that she’s not supposed to be telling me all of this.
“I’m so sorry.” I can’t help feeling as if I’ve made a bad situation worse. “Could I see her…just to tell her thank you for returning my bracelet?”
“She didn’t return it…exactly. The nurse found her with it.”