Читать книгу Some Choose Darkness - Charlie Donlea - Страница 23

CHAPTER 7

Chicago, October 16, 2019

RORY WALKED INTO THE NURSING HOME AND ENTERED ROOM 121. The lights were dim, and the television cast the room in a blue glow. A woman lay still in the bed, her eyes open but not acknowledging Rory’s presence. Rory approached the hospital bed, which sported tall guardrails on either side to protect its occupant. She sat in the adjacent chair and looked at the woman, who continued to stare at the television as if Rory were invisible.

She reached out and took the woman’s hand.

“Aunt Greta. It’s me, Rory.”

Her great-aunt inverted her lips, sucking them into her mouth the way she did after the nurses had removed her dentures.

“Greta,” Rory said in a whispered voice. “Can you hear me?”

“I tried to save you,” the old woman said. “I tried, but there was too much blood.”

“Okay,” Rory said. “It’s okay.”

“You were bleeding.” Her great-aunt looked at Rory. “There was too much blood.”

A nurse walked into the room. “Sorry, I tried to catch you before you came in. She’s having a bad day.”

The nurse adjusted the pillows behind Greta’s head, placed a white Styrofoam cup with a straw extending out of it on the over-bed table.

“Here’s your water, hon. And there’s no blood around here. I hate blood, that’s why I work in this place.”

“How long has she been like this?”

The nurse looked at Rory. “Most of the day. She was fine yesterday. But, as you know, dementia takes them back to another part of their life. Sometimes just briefly, other times for much longer. It’ll pass.”

Rory nodded, pointed at the Styrofoam. “I’ll get her to drink.”

The nurse smiled. “Call me if you need anything.”

As soon as the nurse was gone, Rory’s great-aunt looked at her again.

“I tried to save you. There was too much blood.”

Greta had been a nurse, and though it had been many years since she practiced, the dementia, which was ravaging her mind, pulled her back to the darkest moments of her profession.

Greta went silent and looked back at the television. Rory knew it would be one of those visits. Her great-aunt was ninety-two years old, and her mental capacity varied widely. Sometimes she was as sharp as ever. Other times, like tonight and over the past two weeks since Greta had learned about the passing of Rory’s father, she was lost in the past. In a world that Rory could not penetrate. The best chance over the last several years to catch her in a coherent state came at night. Sometimes Rory came and went in a matter of minutes. Other times, when Aunt Greta was alert and talkative, Rory stayed into the early hours of morning, talking and laughing like she remembered doing as a child. Few people fully understood Rory Moore. Her great-aunt Greta was one of them.

“Greta, do you remember what I told you about Dad? About Frank, your nephew?”

Greta chewed some more on her capsized lips.

“The funeral was last week. I tried to bring you, but you weren’t feeling well.”

Rory saw her great-aunt’s chewing grow faster.

“You didn’t miss anything. Except me squirming in the corner trying to avoid everyone. I could have used you for cover, old lady.”

This brought a quick glance from Greta and the subtle twitch of a smile. Rory knew she had broken through on a night that had offered little opportunity.

“What better way to deflect attention from myself than to wheel in a little old lady everyone loves?”

Rory felt her great-aunt squeeze her hand. A tear formed on Greta’s eyelid and then rolled down her cheek. Rory stood and quickly pulled a tissue from the box to wipe Greta’s face.

“Hey,” she said, trying for the eye contact she normally worked to avoid. “I’ve got a tough one I need your help with. It’s a Kestner doll with a bad fracture through the left eye socket. I can fix the break, but I might need some help with the coloring. The porcelain is faded and I’ll need to color over the epoxy. You want to lend a hand?”

Greta looked at Rory. She stopped chewing her lips. Then she nodded with a subtle bob of her head.

“Good,” Rory said. “You’re the best. And you taught me everything I know. I’ll bring your colors and brushes next time I visit and you can take a look.”

Rory sat back down in the bedside chair, reached for Greta’s hand again, and spent an hour watching the muted television screen until she was sure her great-aunt had drifted off to sleep.