In a Book Club Far Away(26)
But what if the caregiver needed caregiving? Caregivers were meant to hang in the background, to make up for the inadequacies of others without fanfare. They were just supposed to do the right thing when called upon. They were the worker bees, though often ignored.
It had never really bothered her, this idea of doing good just because, of sticking to the right road without the accolades. But sometimes…
Sophie felt a hand grip her wrist, bringing her back to the present. It was Regina, a key now in her hand. She looked at Sophie with concern, with care. “You’re a badass, and we love you for it.”
“We love that you don’t give any f… flips at all,” Adelaide chimed in, hugging Sophie and Regina.
“We love that you’re always the voice of reason.” Frank wrapped the three of them in his arms. Then Colleen joined Frank and Adelaide, and their quietest book clubber of all, Evelyn Oh, her arms barely reaching around, whispered, “No fucks.”
The thirty-second warning bell rang, though none of them moved. And Sophie, for the moment, felt seen. Starting with Regina, these people, her friends, noticed.
She softened into this cocoon. For the moment, she didn’t have to be the strong one.
PART THREE
The things of your life arrived in their own time, like a train you had to catch.
—The Passage by Justin Cronin
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sophie
Present Day, Friday
Sophie was back in her world: the sterile environment; among the smell of antiseptic; the big, bright windows; the curtains that squeaked as they swung closed for privacy; and the faraway beeping of someone’s IV machine.
The hospital was Sophie’s second home. This was where she spent most of her days, probably as much time as she’d spent mothering her children. Aside from pockets of time when she didn’t work due to circumstance rather than choice—military-spouse jobs were few and far between, especially in small towns—at every chance she got, she donned her scrubs, and at every new hospital, she earned a quick reputation as an expert in IV insertion.
Hence her annoyance as she watched a young Air Force nurse attempt to insert an IV into Adelaide’s arm for the third time. Third. In her experience, two times was all one got to successfully put in an IV, after which it was time to ask for help. Currently, Adelaide, wearing the faded hospital gown of Fort Patriot Community Hospital, the DC metro’s military hospital, was stiff, posture rigid with an arm out, sporting a tentative look.
Still, Sophie bit her cheek to prevent herself from jumping into the procedure herself. She schooled her expression. She’d hated it when other health-care workers micromanaged her, and her time was better spent calming a tense Adelaide.
“So if something happens to me,” Adelaide was saying, “I have my power of attorney and will in the safe in my bedroom. It’s in the purple folder. The safe’s combination is my birthday.” She sucked in a breath at the puncture of the needle, then continued. “And of course there’s the Genevieve binder I left with Regina that has every bit of information needed to take care of Gen. But the rest of our paperwork, like my address book and passwords, are in the duck room.”
Duck room? “Do you mean your office?”
“Yes, exactly. The room with the collection of ducks on the wall? All from when we were stationed in Alaska. Waterfowl is the more correct term, but Matt refuses to call the room by that name.”
“Right. Waterfowl.” Sophie tried to keep a straight face as she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, instead of hovering over the nurse as she dug for the vein, willing the stick to be successful. To the nurse, she said, “Do you hear this woman? Will you let her know that she’ll be home by this afternoon?”
The nurse visibly relaxed—success?—and flipped the toggle that allowed the fluid to shimmy down the tube from the bag hanging on the pole, and she pressed on the buttons of the IV machine. “She’s right. I’m not sure if you should be telling her your safe’s combination.”
“Hey, don’t expose that part.” Sophie squeezed out a smile. “I want to be halfway to Florida with all of her Origami Owl necklaces before she wakes up.”
Adelaide cracked up.
“What’s Origami Owl?” the nurse asked.
“It’s an MLM company for necklaces that twist open to hold charms. I think we all took a turn at being a hostess. And that lady right there—” She pointed at Adelaide.
“I like to support, what can I say?” Adelaide admitted.
“She bought a lot of necklaces and charms. And makeup. And baskets.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “She’s a sucker for home parties.”
“Collector is the preferred term.” Adelaide lay back onto the bed, cheeks pink at the banter, but finally, relaxed.
Sophie now understood why Adelaide had insisted that both she and Regina come. Neither, alone, would have been enough. Adelaide was uptight, worried about every little detail. She’d stayed up after midnight fretting about Genevieve’s necessities. Anxiety had teemed off her like waves, and it took both Sophie and Regina to calm her. On the way to the hospital this morning, Sophie had held Adelaide’s hand in the car like she’d clutched her girls’ for any of their big moments.