So Long, Chester Wheeler(15)

I left them to work it out between themselves.



When he had finished his job in Chester’s room in spite of its occupant—and I use the word “spite” quite literally—I led Dean over to my house.

“Boy, he’s a piece of work, huh?” Dean said.

“Yeah, he’s one of a kind.”

“Your father?”

“Nope.”

“Grandfather?”

“No blood relation. It’s just a paid gig. I just told his daughter I’d look after him for a week or so.”

He stopped dead in my driveway.

“A week?”

“That’s right.”

“And after that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. They’re on their own. Why?”

His face took on a quizzical expression. Then he shrugged and resumed walking.

“Just seems like a lot of money to spend for a week. You know. Getting an intercom installed.”

“Well, it’s her money,” I said, and opened my front door for him. “It’s her decision.”

“Sure, sure. It just sounds like she’s hoping you’ll stay on the job longer.”

I never answered. Not only did I not know the answer, I had no idea why the question hadn’t occurred to me on my own, without the savvy counsel of Dean the intercom installer.



At 6:00 in the afternoon I told Chester I was leaving. He was already in bed, and he had been properly fed.

“You’re supposed to stay till seven,” he said.

“Well, I’m not going to. I’ve had enough.”

“I’ll tell Ellie. She’ll dock your pay.”

“She’ll give me a medal for having stuck it out this long.”

“It’s a nine-to-seven gig,” he said.

“I’ve been here since seven in the morning.”

That shut him up, which was a small miracle all in itself.



I lay awake until nearly midnight, listening to Chester toss and turn. He also snored like a buzz saw once he really went under, punctuated by sputters and gasps.

I stared at the ceiling, wondering how I could possibly make it through the week.

Then something odd happened.

Chester began talking. Not to me. Not giving me a bad time, as though he knew I was listening. He began talking in a soft voice, as if to someone in the room.

I couldn’t make out every word, but I heard a few sentences in their entirety.

“No, honey, don’t get up. I’ll get him, Sue. I’ll take care of it.”

Then something unintelligible.

Then, “He probably wants a glass of water. You go back to sleep.”

Then incoherent mumbling, followed by “I’ll show him inside the closet and under the bed. We’ll shine a flashlight in so he’ll know not to be scared.”

Then, suddenly, almost perfect silence. He must have rolled onto his side, because the buzz saw was gone, replaced by just the lightest trace of sleeping breath.

In time I must have drifted off to sleep myself.





Chapter Five:




* * *





Nocturnal Redemptions

When I opened my eyes, the world was light.

I reached over to my phone, which was charging on the nightstand, and hit Ellie’s number.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Everything okay?” she asked immediately.

“Yeah. Sure. Just a question.”

“Okay. Whew. Good. Baby’s here. A little girl. Seven pounds, ten ounces. I got here just in time.”

“Nice,” I said, and pretty much meant it. Even though I wasn’t much of a baby person. She was, and that was all that mattered. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. What’s the question?”

“Is your dad . . . ever . . . does he have . . . delusions?”

“What kind of delusions?”

“Like the kind that would have him talking to someone who wasn’t there.”

“Oh, my. Not up until now, no. You mean right there in broad daylight with his eyes wide open he was talking to someone who wasn’t there?”

“No, it was at night. I heard him on the intercom.”

“Oh, that’s just him talking in his sleep. He talks a blue streak in his sleep. I meant to tell you.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“I’m not sure what’s so interesting about it. Half the time I can’t make out a word he’s saying.”

“Maybe because you never had an intercom between your rooms. That thing could pick up a page turning. What’s so interesting about it is that in his sleep he seems . . . okay.”

“I don’t follow. Okay how?”

“Like . . . an okay person. Like a nice enough person.”

For a moment I heard no response.

Then she said, “Well, you never know about people. Maybe one is buried in there somewhere. If you can find it, you’re doing better than I am.”

Then she had to go, to help her daughter with the breastfeeding.



When I got over to Chester’s, he was in a deeply foul mood, even for Chester.

I couldn’t help wondering if it was constipation. The result of holding it in to avoid that moment we both dreaded.