So Long, Chester Wheeler(40)

“But I just got all cleaned up. Why didn’t you ask me before I showered?”

“I didn’t know I’d need it then.”

I sighed again, and walked back up the steps, and got the clean bedpan out from the hatch under Chester’s couch bed. I handed it to him.

“You can call me on my cell phone when you’re done,” I said.

“How can I call you from the Winnebago?”

“By using the cell phone that Ellie bought you specifically for that purpose.”

“I don’t know how to use that thing.”

“It’s not brain surgery, Chester.”

I walked the couple of steps up to the cab and got it. It was sitting in a little hatch where it could stay plugged in and charged. I unplugged it and carried it back to him.

“Look. I programmed my number in. All you have to do is hit ‘Call.’”

“I don’t like these new gadgets.”

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to hit ‘Call.’”

“And what if I can’t figure it out?”

“You might be able to reach the window behind you to open it.”

“Fine. I’ll use it and call.”

I headed for the door again, but he still was not about to let me go.

“I really do need the bedpan, but I also think it sucks that you get to go into the house and I don’t.”

“It’s an example of actions having consequences.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Why am I not surprised? It means that people who are kind and polite get more dinner invitations than people who are mean and rude. But try looking at it a different way. You blew your first chance with her. Now I’m going to go in and see if I can get you a second one.”

“Oh. You’re right. That does sound better. And you’ll bring me some of that stew?”

“If she gives me some to bring to you. And she said she would.”

“Knock before you come in. In case I’m on the bedpan.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to walk in on that. So, will do.”

I got out the door fast, before he could find another way to delay me.

As I walked up that now familiar concrete path, it struck me that between the time I woke up and the time I stepped out of the Winnebago, I had become thoroughly exhausted again. Chester had a way of draining off a lot of life energy. I briefly wondered where I could get more before I had to see him again.

Maybe his ex-wife had some she could spare.





Chapter Thirteen:




* * *





Honor

I stood in her kitchen, leaning back against one of her counters, watching her stir the stew. The oven had a glass door, and a light inside, and I could see a round loaf of crusty bread being warmed. The aromas were slaying me with their wonderfulness.

“You still look exhausted,” she said. “Did you sleep?”

She was wearing a sort of loose, flowy kimono type of garment. Turquoise. Possibly to match the furniture, or maybe she just liked turquoise. Actually it was a pretty safe bet that she did.

“I slept. But then Chester got after me about this and that, and then all of a sudden I was exhausted again.”

“He has that effect on people. Ellie probably thought you were young enough to bear up.” She raised her eyes to me and looked me up and down. “Lordy, honey, you’re just a baby. What are you? Twenty?”

“Twenty-four.”

“The curse of getting old. Everybody looks like a child to you. No offense, please. I’m not trying to take away your right to adulthood when I call you a baby. It’s more a jab at myself for being the opposite.”

“No offense taken,” I said. “Some days I feel like a baby. Like I don’t know the first damn thing about life.”

“Here’s a news flash, honey. I’m sixty-seven years old and some days I feel like I don’t know the first damn thing about life. Hate to break it to you. I hope you weren’t counting on that wearing off over time.” She met my eyes again with more of that Sue-style scrutiny. “Tell me again how you got roped into this job?”

“I needed the money.”

She nodded briskly, as though I had satisfied her unexpectedly. “That I get. That’s probably the only answer you could’ve given me that I could make sense of. Still. People will pay you to do various things that aren’t this.”

“I guess. I was having trouble finding those people. The job market was bad. I got laid off without notice, and I’d lost both my roommates in less than a month.”

She clucked her tongue slightly, crossed the kitchen, and pulled that same big bottle of Jim Beam down from her cupboard.

“You’ve earned this,” she said.

She gifted me with a generous pour, then poured some for herself.

“I just realized,” she said. “I never asked you your name.”

“Right. I guess not. It was a weird first meeting. It’s Lewis.”

“Lewis,” she said, sounding almost approving. As though she had weighed the name and found it worthy. “Here’s to your health, Lewis.”

She raised her glass.

“I’m more worried about my sanity.”