Angels Walking (17 page)

The kid looked worried. He entered the office and stood, waiting.

“Two things.” Harrison rose from his chair so they were face-to-face. “First, you’re doing a good job, Tyler. We needed someone like you.”

Relief flooded his eyes. “Thank you, sir. I . . . I really need the work.”

“Yes.” Harrison nodded. “And second, you deserve a
raise.” He handed him the check. “This is for your first five days. After this you’ll get paid every other week.”

Tyler’s hand shook as he took the check. “This . . . this is great, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harrison wasn’t quite sure how to approach this next thing. He decided the simpler the better. “By the way. You didn’t give your address on your application.” He hesitated. “Do you have a place to live?”

At first the kid opened his mouth as if he might come up with an explanation. But after a few seconds his eyes found a spot near his feet. “No, sir. Not for a few weeks now.”

“I thought so.” Harrison dug around in the top drawer of his desk. He found a small ring of keys. “There’s a room at the back of the building. Caretaker unit. Small place—just a bed and a chair. A bathroom. Small kitchen.”

“Thank you, but I”—Tyler shook his head—“I couldn’t afford it, sir. I’m fine. Really. I can just—”

“Tyler.” Harrison stared at the young man. “No charge. Just keep doing a good job around here. As long as you work here, you can have the room. It’s yours.”

Tyler took the keys. He started to say something and stopped. His eyes moved from the keys to Harrison and back again. Finally he managed a quiet, “Thank you. I . . . don’t know what to say.”

“Turn it around, son. You’ve got a start, now just turn it around.”

Tyler nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll get back to work.”

Something unfamiliar stirred in Harrison’s heart as he sat back down at his desk. Something new and fresh, that had
come as a direct result of helping Tyler Ames. It took five minutes before he recognized what it was.

A sense of purpose.

TYLER NEEDED A
few minutes, a chance to grasp what had just happened. He slipped into the restroom just off the lobby and locked himself in a stall. He leaned against the door, his heart pounding. Was Mr. Myers serious? Through absolutely no effort of his own Tyler now had a place to live? He closed his eyes and covered his face with his good hand.

So many things he had taken for granted were possible again. He could take a shower and go to the Laundromat and wash his clothes. He could buy milk and chicken at the store and he could sleep lying down. On his back. Like a regular person.

Tyler breathed in deep. He would take his check to the bank, open a new account, and start life over. The evening would be spent washing his clothes and his brace and then he’d stop at a market. Not the Publix where everyone knew him. Somewhere at the other end of town. He’d move out of his car and into the apartment out back.

He was going to be a winner yet.

Tyler finished up the hallway, thinking about the turn of events, the way he didn’t deserve any of them. His shoulder hurt and he was dying for a few pain pills. But as he left work that day he was high on something more than Oxycodone. He was high on hope.

He could practically feel the ball in his hand again.

15

I
T WAS THE THIRD
Saturday in September and Cheryl couldn’t put off the phone call another moment. The grandchildren were coming over this evening, and before that she was going to Merrill Place to visit her mother. But yesterday in the mail she’d gotten an official notice.

The most serious bit of news since her mother’s decline.

Cheryl had felt nervous from the moment she saw the Merrill Place envelope. The letter was from Harrison Myers. Cheryl’s hands grew clammy as she opened it and quickly read:

Dear Ms. Conley,

I’ve been meaning to give you official notice about your mother, Virginia. This isn’t a letter I ever want to write. But it’s my job to inform you that if we find your mother trying to escape, or if we are forced to continue medicating her in order to keep her behavior under control, Merrill Place will no longer be an option for her housing needs. As you know, there are other facilities in Destin with more stringent safety controls.

Cheryl had lowered the letter and caught her breath. She couldn’t move her mother to Destin. They would hardly ever see her. Either that or she’d have to give up time with her granddaughters. Neither option was something Cheryl wanted. She read the rest of the letter.

Since Alzheimer’s is a progressive disease, I encourage you to look into those options. Please feel free to contact me if you have questions about this notice, or look me up next time you come in. I’d be happy to talk about this. Again, I’m sorry, but this letter is necessary. Your mother’s contract says we must notify you in writing if it appears a move might be imminent.

Sincerely,

Harrison Myers

The letter was in the kitchen drawer now, in a pile of things that needed her attention. This issue was easily first on the list. Chuck was at the grocery store getting spaghetti ingredients for tonight. The girls’ favorite. It was their turn to babysit again—a highlight of the week for both Cheryl and Chuck.

But before she could think about that, she had to think about her mother’s situation. She dialed the number for the center in Destin. The operator connected her with a serious-
sounding young woman. “Yes. We’ve spoken to Mr. Myers at Merrill Place. Your mother would be welcome here.” She paused. “Let me tell you a little about our facility.”

Facility? Is that what this has come to, Lord?

The word turned Cheryl’s stomach. She found paper and a pen and started taking notes. Thirty minutes later when the call ended she felt utterly defeated. She looked over what she’d written. Yes, they had a room reserved for Virginia Hutcheson—though they couldn’t guarantee it without a deposit. Yes, patients at the Destin facility were often combative and hysterical. Cheryl’s mother would fit right in. There were locks on the doors to each bedroom—on the outside. Locks also secured the windows and of course the main entrance.

Tie-downs were a part of every bed. Used only when necessary.

Cheryl wondered if she would survive what lay ahead. Her mother had been the most beautiful, active woman any of them ever knew.

Her mother was funny and animated, quick-witted and kind. She set a high bar for Cheryl and her brother, Ben, but gave more than enough understanding and forgiveness when either fell short. Her knees must’ve been calloused from how often she prayed. When Cheryl was little she was pretty sure her mother was the most fun-loving woman in all the world. She and their dad would dance in the kitchen and kiss on the couch when they thought Cheryl and Ben weren’t watching.

How could she even think about sending her mom to a facility with bed tie-downs? There was only one way to handle the despair spreading through Cheryl’s heart. She kept her eyes open, the sky a pure and perfect reminder of the God
they served. The One who had not abandoned them even here on a day like this.

Father, we need a miracle for my mom. She’s not going gently into Your arms the way we had always expected. Please, fill her heart with peace. Help her remember me and You and Ben . . . all that matters to her.

My daughter, do not be afraid. I go before you always.
The gentle whisper came on the breeze and filled her soul. As if God Himself was speaking to her through the confusion of all that lay ahead. God would go before her. Even if she had to remind herself of that truth every few minutes in the hours ahead.

The words soothed her anxious spirit and gave her strength. Strength to move into an unknown future and drive to Merrill Place today and talk to the mother who no longer knew her name. Strength to talk to Harrison Myers about his letter and the facility in Destin. And something she could never have done on her own.

Strength to consider the impossible.

TWO HOURS LATER
Cheryl’s first stop was at Harrison Myers’s office. He needed to know she took the letter seriously. The man was in the lobby helping one of the elderly residents to a seat.

“You can wait right here.” He made sure the man was secure. “How’s that sound?”

“The bus picks up here? You’re sure?” The older gentleman looked uncertain, lost to a time gone by.

Cheryl walked in without making too much noise. She took a spot several feet away and watched. Whenever Harrison Myers left this place, there would be no write-up in the paper, no parade or mention on the Internet. But the man was a hero. Cheryl was sure of that. The problems she faced now were not his fault.

Harrison was convincing the man that the bus indeed picked up at that exact spot. A tentative peace settled in along the old man’s shoulders. “Good.” He nodded, his eyes distant. “I need to see my fiancée. I take the bus every Saturday.”

“I tell you what.” Harrison reached for a copy of one of the large-print Bibles available in every common space at Merrill Place. Harrison flipped the pages. “How about you read the book of Philippians? That’s a good one.”

“Yes!” The man took the Bible, suddenly more alert. Eager, almost. “I love Philippians. My grandson loves it, too.”

“Perfect.” Harrison took a few steps back, making sure the man’s mind was settled. He spotted Cheryl and gave her a sad smile. He pointed to his office, and the two of them moved together through the lobby.

“That was very kind, the way you were with him.” Cheryl looked over her right shoulder at the gentleman. He was leaning back in the sofa, reading the Bible.

“As long as I work here I’ll never get used to seeing people slowly lose their minds.” Harrison pressed his lips together. “Usually all they need is someone to go along with them. If Elmer out there wants to think he’s waiting for the bus to take him to see his fiancée, so be it.” He glanced at the man, then back at Cheryl. “Soon enough he’ll get hungry and shuffle off
to dinner with everyone else.” He folded his hands on the desk. “Crisis averted.”

“One minute he was headed out to see his fiancée, and the next he’s talking about his grandson.” Cheryl set her purse down and settled into the chair. “Like yesterday is constantly stealing them away.”

“Hmmm. Exactly.” He reached behind him and pulled out what looked like her mother’s file. “I assume you received the letter?”

“I did.” Tears tried to come, but Cheryl refused them. “The place in Destin . . . It’s very . . . different from this.”

“It is.” He looked through the chart for a moment. Then he raised his brows. “One bit of good news. Your mother’s nurse said she hasn’t needed as much medication. She hasn’t tried to escape, either.”

A single ray of hope shone through the darkness of tomorrow. “That’s wonderful.”

“Yes.” Harrison frowned. “Unfortunately the decline with Alzheimer’s can be streaky. Sharp turn for the worse, which can last weeks or months. And then something can level it out or cause a patient to actually do better.” He sighed. “If only we could bottle up whatever that is.”