So Long, Chester Wheeler(5)

I said nothing. I was still half-asleep, and I mistakenly thought if I gave him enough time, he would see his transgression as clearly as I did.

“You know,” he added.

“What do I know?”

“Well. Just that . . . I didn’t want to be late.”

“Or early,” I said, trying for a voice only damp with sarcasm. Not actually dripping.

Just then we heard the dreaded voice of Chester, calling over from his front porch.

“Filling up the fruit bowl, I see.”

Rick turned around to look. I looked past Rick. Apparently Chester had found a new caretaker after all, because there was an oddly short fortysomething woman with a bobbed haircut, and she was sweeping the porch behind him and his wheelchair.

“And nuts,” Chester added. “A fruit and nut bowl. Because if you’re a fruit, it goes without saying you’re a nut.”

We all just stood there in awkward silence for a time, because it’s hard to know what to say in response to such an embarrassingly childish attempt at mean-spirited humor.

Finally Rick turned back to me.

“Why did he say that?” he asked.

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Are you gay?”

“Yeah. Does that make a difference?”

“Not really. I mean . . . maybe just because you didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you when? In my ad? We haven’t even had a conversation yet.”

“Right,” he said. “Right.” Then, inexplicably, he said “Right” a third time. “Well, it’s not really that so much. But I don’t want to move in someplace with nasty neighbors. Who needs it, am I right?” he added, extending his love affair with the word “right.”

He turned on the heel of one gray snakeskin cowboy boot and walked to the curb and his car, which was a vintage fire-engine-red Chevy. It was a convertible with the top down on a chilly morning, and it had one of those bizarre chain steering wheels.

I looked back at Chester’s porch, ready to read him the riot act about chasing my prospective roommate away. Granted, that one had been an unusually poor prospect. Still, it was the principle of the thing.

He had apparently gone back into the house. Only the elfin fortysomething woman was still outside. She looked up at me with something like an apology in her eyes.

“You the new health-care worker?” I called over.

Of course I had it on good authority that Chester had burned through every single health-care worker at that agency, but I figured there were other agencies.

“I’m his daughter,” she said. “We’re having trouble getting somebody new.”

“My condolences,” I called back.

“On having trouble getting somebody? Or on being his daughter?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Never mind. Forget I said it, please. He brings out the worst in me, but I don’t need to take it out on you.”

“It’s not like I’ve never met him,” she said. “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”

She came over to my side of the porch and leaned on the railing, where we were only about twelve feet apart.

“You know somebody who needs a job?” she asked.

“Yeah, me. But not if you mean . . . No, never mind. It doesn’t matter. I have no experience in home health care anyway.”

“No experience required. At one time we thought it would be nice, but we’re way beyond that now. We just need somebody to do his errands and make sure he takes his meds and call 9-1-1 if he’s in trouble. At this point any sentient human being will do. And having someone who lives right next door would be a big plus. We can’t afford a live-in, but this would be nearly as good.”

I took a deep breath and tried to remember to be kind.

“Look,” I began. “You’re probably a perfectly nice person, and I expect you’ve been through enough without me being rude to you. But, honestly, I only lost my job a few days ago, and I’m not nearly that desperate yet. I’d rather flip burgers. I’d rather sleep on a friend’s couch. Hell, I’d rather sleep under a bridge. I’m sorry. Life is too short for Chester Wheeler.”

“Okay, got it,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind,” I said.

Then I went inside and put myself back to bed.



It was the following Friday when I came home from my two lackluster job interviews and walked in on something that looked suspiciously like a surprise party. In my own house.

It wasn’t literally a surprise party. Well. It was literally a surprise. But it wasn’t the sort of thing where everybody hid and then jumped out and yelled “Surprise!” at the same time, at a coronary-inducing volume.

Still, I walked in, and there were a dozen people in my house.

I knew them. But . . . still.

They were all standing around, ignoring perfectly good places to sit, holding cocktails and talking in low voices. It vaguely reminded me of the wake after a funeral.

All eyes lifted toward me as I walked in the door. A few people looked mildly surprised to see me, as though they’d forgotten who lived in my house.

Anna was the only one with an outsize reaction. She raised her arms, then flipped them over with palms up, as though about to raise the roof. Then, her face twisted wryly, and in a fairly deadpan voice, she said, “Surprise.”