So Long, Chester Wheeler(83)

I ran back to the Winnebago and got soap, shampoo, a towel and washcloth, one of her nightgowns, and a folding camp chair.

I hauled all that back to where Estelle stood leaning, one arm on the building, as instructed.

“What’s the chair for?” she asked.

“I want you to shower sitting down.”

“The chair’ll get all wet. It’s a fabric chair. Who showers in a fabric chair?”

“So? Let it get wet. Who cares? We’ll leave it outside to dry overnight. Small price to pay for keeping you safe.”

I pumped quarters into the lock on the door, and opened it.

I set her up inside with her oxygen tank, nightgown, and towel over in the corner where they would stay dry. I put the soap, shampoo, and washcloth on the floor near her chair, which I set up right under the showerhead.

I did not instruct her on keeping her oxygen equipment dry, because she’d been doing it for years.

“Okay,” she said when I led her over to the chair. “Now go away and leave me alone.”

“I’ll be right outside the door.”

“You’d better be.”

I stepped out and leaned my back against the door, and waited until I heard the water turn on. The sun was no longer shooting rays through the trees, but I could see a strong orange glow of it back there, behind their massive trunks.

I knew this was the most crucial time, while she was getting undressed and seated.

I briefly rehearsed what I would say to her family, whom I had never met or spoken to, if it turned out I’d made an unwise bet.

When I heard the water come on, I breathed out a boatload of tension.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called Brian.

“Hey,” he said when he picked up the call.

“Hey.”

I felt more grounded just hearing his voice. So much less lost. Not so far from home.

“How’s it going?”

“Estelle is absolutely maddening, as always.”

“If you made it through Chester Wheeler . . .”

“Right, but at least Chester knew what he couldn’t do. She’s constantly asking to do things by herself that I know are questionable, and it’s really hard to know where to draw the line. I mean, I understand the need for independence. But I’m responsible for her.”

“I know. You just need to do your best walking that line. It’s all you can do.”

We allowed a brief silence.

I looked back at the trees, and saw that their glow was less orangey. The sun was going down fast. Maybe it had been a mistake not to bring Estelle a coat to wear over her nightgown for the walk back. But it was too late. I needed to stay right by the door.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Past Chicago. Somewhere in Wisconsin.”

“You made miles.”

“We did.”

Another silence.

Then he said one of the many things he tended to say that underscored why I loved him so much.

“Look, Lewis. It’s hard. I know it’s hard. You knew it would be hard. It’s one of the reasons you got certified. So you could do the jobs that were too hard for most.”

I didn’t even bother to affirm that he was right, because we both knew it.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too, Lewis.”

Just then the water turned off. Estelle’s showers ran very short. It was another thing that made me feel she might be channeling Chester Wheeler.

And wouldn’t it be just like that man to come back and haunt me?

“Gotta go,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”



Chester and I had made a habit of sleeping directly on the ugly orange plaid upholstery. In that regard, Estelle was no Chester.

I’d been warned in advance that I had to make up her bed with real sheets—that there was no way she was bedding down for the night without proper linens.

She went to bed at 9:00 and fell asleep right away, despite having slept all day.

I, on the other hand, was not nearly so fortunate.

Estelle slept exclusively on her back, which I couldn’t blame her for. She did it so she wouldn’t have to worry about tangles in the oxygen line as she rolled back and forth. But the problem—for me—was that her mouth fell open, and holy cow could that woman snore! The sound made Chester Wheeler’s snoring seem dainty. It had a rattle to it. Not a congestion rattle. More like some kind of loose skin flapping. I didn’t know the details. I didn’t have any kind of medical degree—yet. I only knew that sleep was going to come hard if it came at all.

I miraculously managed to fall asleep for an hour or so, but I woke up because I needed to pee. I got up, headed for the bathroom . . . and dislocated my toe on Estelle’s oxygen tank.

I howled in pain, and jumped backward to sit on my own bed. I turned on the overhead light to see my second toe literally pointing in the wrong direction. I had to bite the bullet and pop it back into place, which was not fun to say the least.

Through it all Estelle only snored.



In the morning I woke to see her hovering over me, her face just inches from my own. A glow through the Winnebago’s curtains told me that the sky had grown light.

“Lewis,” she barked. “What’s with you, anyway? You gonna sleep the day away?”