Coach announced we were all going to Pizza Piazzo, where Brittany’s mom was going to generously treat us all to dinner. Mrs. Davis stood up and waved like she was Miss America when he said that. Then Coach said we’d be electing this year’s captain at dinner.
I wanted nothing more than to dash into school and greedily gulp from the water fountain, but I grabbed my backpack and headed to the parking lot along with everyone else. Brittany’s mom announced she had room for six girls in her giant SUV that I’m pretty sure fit eight and Coach said he could fit five in his pickup truck.
Magic number eleven again.
I’m sure Brittany thought she’d screwed me over, but I didn’t care that I was odd man out. Timmy was waiting for me, and I needed to drop him at home before I went to the restaurant.
I pulled the keys to my Dodge Dart out of the inside pocket of my backpack, then slid behind the steering wheel and drove the half mile to the middle school. Timmy was on the front steps, reading a comic book. When I tooted the horn, he looked up with a big smile.
Timmy never complained about anything. He may have looked more like our mom, but on the inside, he was our dad.
I asked how school was as he climbed into the back seat. Apparently, he’d gotten extra Tater Tots at lunch, which was all it took to make his day a win.
Then I told him I had to go out, but that Dad would be home soon. His smile disappeared. I quickly said he could just hang out in the backyard until Dad got home. He told me he would, and that he’d be really quiet.
I glanced at Timmy’s profile in the rearview mirror. In that moment, he seemed to be suspended between a kid who liked cartoons and someone much older.
By the time we got to the house, my dad’s car was in the driveway. I breathed out in relief and waved to Timmy as he slipped in through the kitchen door.
I wanted to skip going for pizza, especially since I’d arrive twenty minutes late, but I’d already learned the hard way that any sign of retreat only emboldened Brittany.
When I walked into Pizza Piazzo, the girls were seated around a long rectangular table, with Coach Franklin at the head and Mrs. Davis to his right. Brittany was reigning over it all from a spot in the middle. I heard her laugh spill out as I approached. Brittany had piled her backpack and purse on the lone unoccupied chair. I knew she wouldn’t move them until I’d asked at least twice.
I was hot and tired and still so thirsty. The last thing I wanted to do was sit there for the next hour, faking a smile and enduring whatever else Brittany and her mom had cooked up for me. I felt my tears rise and I quickly blinked them away.
Then I heard a low, soft voice asking if he could help me.
I turned and found myself looking at a guy who was a little older than me—maybe nineteen. He was a dead ringer for James Spader, who’d starred in this movie called Sex, Lies, and Videotape I’d seen a while back. Most of the girls in my class were obsessed with James Van Der Beek or Leonardo DiCaprio, but James Spader was my current crush.
My mouth was probably hanging open as I stared at him.
He moved closer, repeating himself a little more loudly as he asked again if he could help me.
And I swear, Catherine, he did.
That night, the waiter with kind eyes did more than help me. He saved me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CATHERINE
Sunrise Senior Living is divided into three levels: Daily Assisted, Extended Care, and the Memory Wing.
When I began working here right after I graduated high school, I was assigned to the Daily Assisted tier. The people in Daily Assisted are mostly independent, though some use walkers or require help getting dressed. They read large-print books, FaceTime their grandkids, and invite each other over for cocktail hour. A few of them still drive. For those who didn’t, I often used the Sunrise van to take them to a nearby strip mall so they could shop or enjoy lunch.
As I gained experience and drew closer to earning my nursing degree, I moved to the next tier, Extended Care. These residents need help transferring in and out of bed and with medication oversight. Most have lost spouses and friends. Their worlds are inexorably shrinking. When I entered their rooms, their faces lit up, even if I was just coming to bring them a glass of Ensure or close their curtains.
I began working in the Memory Wing a year ago.
It’s a different universe.
After I drop my mother at Sam’s and arrive at Sunrise, I reach for the bag in the back seat that contains two pairs of socks, a set of stackable measuring cups with one missing, a baby doll dressed in a onesie, and—the treasure from my latest Goodwill run—piano compositions by Claude Debussy on an unscratched CD.
I walk through the lobby and greet the front-desk attendant as I flash my ID and use the computer to sign in, then head to the main floor employees’ locker room to slip on the extra scrubs I keep there. The locker room is empty, but in the attached kitchen there’s a loaf of banana bread on the countertop next to a card with the words Thank You written in blue shimmery script.
I’ve only had coffee today—my stomach was too twisted before my mother’s appointment to accept solid food—so even though I’m not hungry, I walk over and peel back the Saran Wrap and cut a slice. If I’m going to work today, I’ll need the energy.
The card is from the daughter of a resident, expressing her appreciation for our help in caring for her father.
I finish the banana bread without really tasting it and rewrap the loaf. As I’m trying to think of what to do next, my supervisor, Tin, comes through the door, holding an ice pack to her forehead.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
“Just a little bump.” She removes the ice. “How does it look?”
I scan her smooth skin. “No swelling I can see. What happened?”
Tin walks to the cupboard and finds the bottle of Advil, then swallows two. “Mr. Baxter rushed the door and I got a knock in the head trying to block him. I’m fine, I just need to sit down for a few. I’m going to take my lunch break now.”
I pour Tin a glass of water as she settles into one of the chairs encircling the round table in the middle of the room. Part of the reason I came in early today was to see Tin, but I don’t want to rush her.
Before I can say anything, though, she frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be in later?”
“Yeah … I was actually hoping to catch you.”
Tin must pick up something in my voice. Her face softens and she gestures for me to sit down.
“I know I gave notice … but I was hoping I could withdraw it. I need to keep working here a while longer.”
Tin knows all about my plan to move to Baltimore. When I began applying for jobs five months ago, I asked her for a reference. The offer came in quickly from Hopkins, and Tin was the second person I told, after my mother. Tin knows how excited I was to move to a fresh city and construct a whole new life, one that’s all my own.
Mercifully, Tin doesn’t bring any of that up. She tucks a stray lock of shiny black hair behind one ear. “How long would you want to stay?”
“A couple years. Now that I’m done with school, I was hoping to pick up a few extra shifts.”
My mother may not be ready to plan, but one of us needs to. I have to work as much as I can now, because as her memory recedes and her needs grow, I’ll have to scale my hours back. And without my mother’s waitress income, money will be tighter than ever.