One of the things I love most about being ‘Riley Sunshine’ is that I have the chance and the time to help out. I can ‘spread the Sunshine’, as I like to put it. Sometimes, I volunteer at an animal shelter, which makes Raffy so jealous when I get home that he’ll literally turn his back on me, and I have to apologize by squeezing shots of canned whipped cream straight into his mouth. Sometimes, I go to the hospital where I get to play games with the kids in the children’s ward.
But one of my favorite ways to spread the Sunshine is to spend the afternoon with Arielle at work.
How the tall caramel-skinned sass machine, who spent her time at the Briar Rose Mall telling off customers and somehow not getting fired, became a healthcare provider is still beyond me. Back in the day, she was the sort who had very little patience for foolishness and more than once threw it right back at a customer if they came in with a ‘the customer is always right’ attitude.
But now, she spends all day dealing with people at the end of their lives. And no matter how many times they snip and snap at her, lashing out in pain or boredom or from dementia, rarely, if ever, does she snap back. Oh, she still has plenty of sass, but it’s the kind of funny bite that has her patients taking their medications, getting out bed for physical therapy, and eating two more nibbles of dinner before digging into their pudding. All without argument.
She’s like a people whisperer.
I’m both sorry and thankful to admit that she’s used that feisty ‘oh, no, you didn’t’ tone with me too, keeping my sweetness and naivete protected, even from myself.
But her talent with people is one of the reasons I like to volunteer at the retirement center and nursing home where Arielle works. I get to see her in action and spend time with residents doing what I can to help them feel appreciated, respected, and loved.
Which is what I’m doing now, with Viktor. He’s in his seventies and has lived here since his wife died five years ago. His children felt like their homes weren’t safe for his limited mobility since he uses a cane, but I think they were mostly unprepared to handle his unlimited mind. Because, though he likes to feign being a daft old guy, he’s sharp as a tack and beats me every time we play checkers, swearing it’s the game that keeps him mentally sharper than the ‘Jell-O pudding heads sitting around watching Ellen all damn day.’ I’d say he’s on to something because he’s already on his way to beating me . . . again.
“When are you going to let me teach you chess?” Viktor complains as he slides a piece. “You keep coming in and are a pretty decent checkers player now, but you refuse to learn chess. Why’s that, missy?” I don’t miss the sly back pat as he takes credit for making me a better player.
“Sorry, Viktor, but I know you’d just mop the board with me. My ego can’t take it,” I tease back, moving. I actually do know the basics of chess, but I’ve seen Viktor hustle people. He draws them in, looking to all the world like a slightly befuddled old man with a cloud of white hair around his head, big glasses, and a sunburned nose regardless of the time of year. Ten minutes later . . . you owe him money and your brownie on Friday at dinner. And brownies in here are like honey buns in prison. Pure gold.
“You still pouting over last week?” Viktor asks, sliding another piece into position. He thinks I don’t notice that he’s setting me up for a triple jump, but I see it. I’ve just got to figure out how to stop him while he’s distracting me from studying the board. “I told you, when my gout gets flaring up, I’m going to sit down.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I counter with my own move that stops his play. This time. “Viktor, you plunked your stool walker or whatever it is they call that contraption right in the middle of the hallway. On a blind corner.” His cane is one of those fancy ones that has a fold-up stool attached to it so he can sit when he needs to and lean on it as he walks. It’s a mobility aid, but he manages to make it seem like the ultimate in swagger when he struts around with the cane and then plops down to sit like a king surveying his domain, one leg crossed over the other and managing to not fall from the precarious balancing act.
“My gout don’t know it’s a blind corner. You’re the one who fell on her tuchus,” Viktor replies matter-of-factly, and I laugh. He’s ornery, he gives zero fucks . . . there’s a reason I like him. “If you hadn’t had on those heavy boots, your legs wouldn’t’ve been splayed up to the heavens. Ahh!” He throws his voice high, mimicking the sound I made when I fell, and spreads his arms up wide in a V the way my legs were. Thankfully, I’d had on jeans that day or Viktor would’ve gotten more than a close-up of the soles of my boots. “Damn shame you like those ugly things.” He leans to the side, glaring at my Docs like they personally offended him.
“Be nice or I’ll let Riley introduce you to one up close and personal,” Arielle warns with an evil smile, coming up to the table to stand beside Viktor. She places her arm around him, resting her palm on his shoulder. It’s affectionate, but I know she’s also checking his breathing to see if he’s struggling or breathing too slow or fast. “How’s he treating you, Riley?”
“Let’s see . . . grumpy, snarky, a good dose of leering thrown in for good measure . . . all in all, a good day with Viktor,” I joke good-naturedly.
Viktor laughs but mumbles under his breath, “I don’t leer.”
“What? You do too!” I might as well be arguing with a brick wall for all the good it’ll do me, and I really don’t mind Viktor’s flirty ways because he’s as harmless as can be. He’s lonely and sweet and makes all the female residents feel like they’ve still got it going on despite the fact that they’re no longer young and beautiful the way they once were.
“I only leer because you two are like a candy shop, look but don’t touch!” Viktor whines, fighting to hide his smile. “Just one little touch, that’s all!” He wiggles his fingers toward Arielle but stays far enough back that we all know he’s not really going to touch her. He’s just messing with her because this is what they do for fun. And sport.
“You touch, and you’ll wake up tomorrow with mittens duct taped to your hands,” Arielle mock threatens. “Then what are you going to do? Besides, Riley here needs someone her own age.”
“Arielle!” I protest as Viktor guffaws loud enough to wake Mrs. Johnson in the corner.
“Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. Jeopardy’s not on for another hour,” Arielle tells the frowning woman who nods her chin once and drifts back off to sleep. As though the interaction never happened, Arielle turns back to Viktor and me. “What? It’s true, and you know it,” Arielle says, grabbing a chair and sitting down. Looking at Viktor, she confides, “Riley hasn’t had a date in so long, Mrs. Johnson could still remember it!”
Viktor frowns. “That’s a long time, missy. Mrs. Johnson don’t remember much past the Reagan days.”
“I wasn’t even alive during the Reagan days!” I hiss.
Viktor cocks his bushy white brows at me, offering, “You know, Riley, I might not be as young as I once was, but if you want, I’ll be your boyfriend. You too, Arielle. I know your dance card isn’t full because you hang out with us old folks all the time. When was the last time you took a day off?”