So Long, Chester Wheeler(89)

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

“I want to move forward. In my professional life, I mean. I love working with people, but I want to take a step up. I want to start nursing school.”

“You’re going to be an RN?”

“LVN.”

“I forget what that stands for.”

“Licensed vocational nurse.”

“Is that not as good?”

“It’s more attainable. It requires less education.”

“So not as good.”

We drove in silence for a time. Her face was set like stone, so I pulled over, because I was afraid she’d have a seizure while I was driving. We sat there on the shoulder of the highway, on a stretch that I’m pretty sure was emergency stopping only.

“When I die,” she said, “you’ll do that.”

“Actually, the semester starts soon.”

“If it starts soon, it also starts a year from soon. It’ll wait for you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.

“Look, Lewis. I don’t know if you know how hard it is for someone like me to open up and trust someone like you. Think about a year from soon. Please. I’m down on my knees, figuratively speaking, begging you. Just think about it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

But part of me already knew. In fact, part of me had known since she shouted at her own daughter that “Only Lewis” was allowed near her postseizure.

Now I just had to break it to Brian.

I pulled carefully back into the traffic lane.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time,” she said.

“Okay. Go.”

“Why is there a paper bucket full of quarters in the map pocket? I can see if they were over in the console, where you could reach them. For parking meters or tolls. But they’re not much use to you over here.”

“They’re not for parking meters or tolls,” I said. “They’re not for spending at all.”

“I’ll bite. What are they for?”

“They’re . . . a type of monument. In their own way.”

“Well, they’re no Mount Rushmore,” she said.



We pulled over for the night in a highway rest stop. Nothing better was available.

I fixed us a little dinner. Pulled all the curtains. Made up Estelle’s bed with fresh sheets.

“What were you going to talk to me about?” she asked while we were eating.

“What do you mean?”

“After we left the monument you said you had something to talk to me about. But then we never did.” She paused. Looked ceilingward, as if trying to find something in the air. “Did we?”

“We did, actually.”

“What did we say?”

“Never mind. It’s really not important.”

I finished my food and got up to take my phone into the back bedroom. I wanted to call Brian and get the tough talk behind me.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“I have to make a phone call.”

“You won’t leave me, right, Lewis?”

Which made it clear to me that she did remember our talk. Maybe not consciously. But it was in there somewhere.

“No. I won’t.”

“Good. Because I don’t know if I could get somebody else. They all leave. They think I’m too hard to get along with. Bunch of lightweights. Do you think I’m too hard to get along with?”

“I think you’re hard enough,” I said.

And she brayed with laughter.

Even the darkest circumstances come with some sort of upside. When you’re working with dementia patients, life is hard for both of you, but at least you don’t have to keep coming up with new repartee. And I really don’t say that to make light of the situation. I say it to find light in the situation, which I honestly think is a favor to all involved.

I closed myself into the bedroom in the back of the Winnie and called Brian.

“Hey,” he said.

I jumped right in.

“I don’t think I can start nursing school this year.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “I knew that.”

“You did? Then why did you push me to tell her?”

“It was worth at least hearing her reaction. Maybe she would have been okay with it. And, if not, she’ll know to appreciate you more.”

“You’re amazing,” I said. But it might have been hard for him to understand me, because I was laughing. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“For putting your patient first? Never. Nursing school will wait for you. It isn’t going anywhere.”

Then we talked about nonweighty topics for a long time. It was a big relief after my weighty few days.



I wouldn’t be entirely honest if I didn’t report that I was sure Estelle would die on the way home.

The human subconscious is a funny thing. If it never happened before, it tells you it never will, which is why I was so shocked when Chester died. If it happened once, it tells you it will happen that way every time.

I woke the following morning, and the morning after that, in a state of utter dread.