In Sight of Stars(27)

“Hey, Mom, it’s me. I’m doing better. I hear you’re asking. So, yeah, when you get this, you can call if you want. Or not. Either/or. I don’t have too much to say.”

I trudge back to my room and sit in the chair by the window, staring out at the brachiosaurus until the gray of the afternoon turns to dusk, and the purple-pink sunset melts toward darkness.

*

“Mr. Alden!”

I’m watching Jeopardy! when there’s a knock on my door, and Sister Agnes Teresa enters, pushing a large metal service cart. She maneuvers it to the far side of the room near the window, then stops and glances up at the television. “Well, I’m glad to see you like a good game show!”

My eyes dart to the shelves of her cart, from which ancient board games jut, frayed boxes of Stratego, Parcheesi, Clue, and some I’ve never heard of: Masterpiece, Mystery Date, and HiHo! Cherry-O. She must have loaded up the entire game room.

“I think we need a few more players for most of those,” I suggest.

“Nonsense,” she says, squatting to peruse the shelves. “And, it’s good to see you in bed right where I left you.” I can’t help but laugh, because it’s hard not to appreciate a wiseass. “So, Mr. Alden.” She rummages. “There’s one particular box I’m searching for.” I get up to help, but she waves me away. “You sit. Relax. I’ll wait on you. Part of the perks of the stay in the asylum.”

“What is it we’re playing?”

She stands with effort, a box clutched under her arm. “We start basic, of course,” she says, placing the chosen box on the table. I stare down at its familiar lid.

King Kandy, Mr. Mint, and Queen Frostine.

“Candy Land?”

Sister Agnes Teresa sits across from me, feet sticking straight out, until she moves forward and readjusts herself sufficiently so that her legs bend at the knees, even if her feet don’t quite meet the floor.

“Don’t scoff, Mr. Alden. I am the undisputed champion of Candy Land. Ask anyone here. And, I won’t go easy on you just because you’re new, or in an alleged weakened mental state.” She winks, then pats the box. “And this is the good version, too, so you know I don’t mess around. None of that Princess Frostine instead of Queen Frostine, or Gramma Glam over Gramma Nutt makeover crap.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. I haven’t seen Candy Land since I was five and used to play with my mother.

And then it slams me. This one little moment when I’m sitting with my mother and father, and we’re laughing, and my mother is holding up a paper crown.

“The crown moves to our side,” she says to my father. “The win goes to me and Klee.” Gleefully, she places the crown on my head and kisses my cheek. “See that? Whichever team you’re on is the one that wins!”

“Mr. Alden, you’re going to have to focus better than that.” Sister Agnes Teresa taps on the spot where she’s lined up the four plastic gingerbread people in the center of the board on the table between us, its simple snaking path split down the center by a groove deepened from years of play. “I suggested you might want to pick your color first. An advantage of sorts. Choose wisely. And may luck be on your side.”

I take the yellow man and place him on the starting square.

“Interesting. Some say the color yellow relates to acquired knowledge, being the color that most stimulates the left or ‘logic’ side of our brains. I might have pegged you more as a blue, but I’m pleasantly surprised. I’ll be purple. A color that stimulates imagination and spirituality. Or, better yet, the color that represents royalty. After all, the first one to reach King Kandy’s Candy Castle wins.”

We play three games, of which I win none, before she says, “Well, that’s probably enough humiliation for one evening.”

“From losing, or playing Candy Land?” I ask, and for the first time since I’ve met her, she laughs.

“Touché, Mr. Alden. That’s for me to know, and you to decide.”

She slides the men from the board into the box and folds the rainbow path away. I take the box and say, “Let me,” and wedge it back onto the cart between HiHo! Cherry-O and Parcheesi. As I get back up, I realize something, and squat back down to study the remaining games.

“Annie, Annie,” I say finally, standing and turning to her. “She likes cherry pie but not fruit pie, likes apples but not peaches, and likes Parcheesi and HiHo! Cherry-O but not Monopoly, right? And she wouldn’t be caught dead playing Stratego.” I dust my hands off, proud of myself, and wait for her confirmation.

“I believe I underestimated you, Mr. Alden, likely because of all the constant napping. You’ve got your wits about you. You might be a formidable competitor after all.”

Day 6—Morning

Nurse Carole rolls a breakfast cart into my room. The white paper cup is there with my pills, proving I’m not ready to leave here anytime soon.

“What time is it?” I ask, wondering if I’ve forgotten some appointment or something.

“9 A.M. Your mother is coming soon.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Saturday, hon. Visiting day. She said she’d be here in about an hour. And not to worry, that she won’t stay.” Nurse Carole gives me a look, though I’m not quite sure what it means. She moves to the far side of my room and opens the shades. Sunlight floods in. “Said she’s just dropping more stuff off for you, though I’m sure she wouldn’t mind spending some time if you want her to … It’s supposed to rain later. They say thunderstorms, so maybe you can take a nice walk before it starts.”