So Long, Chester Wheeler(43)

Speaking of beastly, Chester was sitting right where I’d left him, right next to the now-unmentionable bedpan, his pants on but askew. He was holding one of those sticklike claw devices people use to get cans down from a high shelf. He was leaning over and using it to reach the horn. I caught him right before he honked a fourth time.

I grabbed the bedpan and flushed its contents in the bathroom, then set the dirty pan outside on the curb. I ran around and opened the two roof vents, turning on their exhaust fans as fast as I could manage.

Once that was done, I turned my foul mood onto Chester.

“Give me that,” I said. And I took his stick away. “Where was that, anyway?”

“Right under the couch. Same hatch as you’ve been using for the bedpan.”

“What happened to calling me on my cell phone?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to work that damn thing.”

“I’m going back,” I said.

And I tried to duck out the door.

“Wait. Is she going to give me a second chance?”

“I don’t know yet.”

I tried again to leave.

“Wait. Is there dessert?”

“She didn’t make anything, but she said there are store-bought cookies.”

“Bring me back some cookies,” he said.

I said no more to him, and left before he could say more to me.

I tucked the empty but unwashed bedpan under the body of the Winnebago. I just couldn’t cope with it in that moment. Maybe later I could get Sue to let me use her hose, or I could use the Winnie’s outside shower hose. After I’d changed out of my decent clothes.

Again I navigated the portal of the concrete walkway. But at least this time I was going in the preferred direction.

I opened the door and stuck my head in.

“Sue?”

I wasn’t in the habit of entering people’s houses without permission. It’s just not the way I was raised.

“Come on in, hon. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Everything except my life. Just a little bedpan emergency. Now all I need is a place to wash my hands until they bleed.”

“First door on the left,” she said.

She sounded unfazed by the whole thing. Then again, I reminded myself, she’d had children. It made me feel better to remember that I was not the first to have to perform unpleasant and unsanitary jobs for helpless others, and I wouldn’t be the last.

When I got back to the table she had poured me another stiff drink.

“You’ll have to sleep at my curb tonight,” she said. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“Says the woman who keeps pouring.”

“You’re too tired to be safe on the road tonight anyway.”

“True.”

“So you just do things like that for him no matter how he treats you?”

I sat down at the table again. Sipped. There was a plate of cookies in the middle of the table and I made a mental note to remember to bring some out to Chester.

“Well, yeah,” I said. “It’s my job. I knew who he was when I agreed to do it. I can quit if I want, but first I’d have to give Ellie enough time to find somebody else. That’s just common decency. Until I do that, I’m committed. And the way I do my job is about me, not him. He can be whatever he wants, but I’m not going to be someone who leaves a dying man without basic sanitation once I’ve made the commitment.”

“And the part about playing referee between Chet and me?”

“Same thing, I guess. I said I’d do this thing for him. Help him get closure. So that’s what I’m doing. It has to be more than just driving. Any idiot can drive.”

She didn’t answer at first. After a few beats I glanced up to see her watching me. It made me feel uneasy, so I reached over and took two cookies, even though I’d said I was too full.

“You’re a good person,” she said.

“Just like everybody else, I think.”

“No.” She sounded quite firm as she pronounced that word. “No, you’re not just like everybody else. You have a greater sense of . . . responsibility? I almost want to say honor. It’s inspiring. You’ve inspired me. If you can do all that for Chet, no matter how awful he is, then I can hear him out. Bring him by in the morning. We’ll have breakfast out on the patio and we’ll give the damn thing another try.”



Chester was sleeping when I got in, but he stirred and struggled up into a half-sitting position immediately.

“How’d it go?”

“Fine,” I said. “Here. I brought you some cookies.”

I held them out to him wrapped in a heavy paper napkin.

“Oh, that’s good. Thanks. But what I really want is for you to tell me she’ll talk to me again.”

“Tomorrow morning. Breakfast on her patio. She’s prepared to hear you out. Don’t mess it up this time.”

“Oh my gosh,” he said, which sounded a bit tame for Chester. “Lewis. You’re a miracle worker.”

I must admit I basked in the glow of that for a moment before brushing it away.

“She’s a reasonable woman,” I said. “It didn’t take a miracle.”

But somewhere in the back of my soul I questioned whether or not the second part of that statement was true. It was a little everyday miracle, if nothing else.