Crush. Candy. Corpse. (9 page)

My lawyer stands to question Cole’s mother now. “First, I’m sure I represent the entire court when I say we’re deeply sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Demers says.

Michael bows his head, waits for a beat and then continues. “Earlier, Mr. Dougal asked you what the prognosis for your mother-in-law’s condition was, and I’m a little unclear on that. Would you kindly explain to the court what Alzheimer’s disease means in general?”

“Certainly. Plaque builds up around the brain cells and the patient loses reasoning ability.”

“Does it progress beyond that? I mean, the brain controls all our functions . . .”

“Objection,” the buzzard calls. “The witness is not a medical expert.”

“Your Honour, I’m not asking for an expert testimony. I only want to know the witness’s understanding of the disease. It could affect her attitude towards the defendant.”

“Overruled,” the judge answers. “You may proceed, Counsel.”

“Mrs. Demers, more specifically, is dementia the only symptom of Alzheimer’s?” Michael’s eyebrows are up and his head is tilted.

Mrs. Demers frowns and shifts her gaze around the room. Finally she answers. “No. My mother-in-law not only forgot where her keys were, she also forgot who we were. She had recently forgotten how to walk and stopped talking for the most part.”

He cups his hand around his chin. “What about swallowing? Had she forgotten how to swallow?”

“She was having difficulty, but Cole was feeding her so obviously she could still manage.”

Michael nods. “Is it true your mother-in-law loved sweets, in particular, candy?”

“Yes. Even when she lived with us she was always sneaking treats into the house, sharing them with Cole. It was always their little joke on us.”

More nods, he turns slightly to the jury and back. “And do you know if Helen could suck on a candy?”

Her face turns pink. “She was not supposed to have any. She’s diabetic.”

Michael McCann smiles patiently. “Let’s suppose it’s a sugar-free candy, then. Do you know if she could manage one of those or not?”

Claudine stays quiet and turns a deeper shade of pink.

“Mrs. Demers?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it true that the only time you visited your mother-in-law was to see her after Sunny coloured her hair?”

“No!” she shouts. The judge looks at her and she quiets down. “I saw her at Christmas.”

“Is Alzheimer’s disease considered a fatal disease?”

“Yes. But with good care, a patient can live five to ten years, sometimes even twenty after diagnosis.”

Michael flips through his notes. “How long did you say your mother had it?”

“Four years.”

“It seems her disease was progressing rapidly.”

“Objection. Speculation,” the buzzard calls.

“Sustained.”

“Was your mother-in-law in the final stage of the disease?” Michael asks in a louder voice.

“I don’t know,” she snaps.

“Did her doctor ask you to sign for palliative care only?” he asks more gently.

“Yes.”

“And what did you decide?”

“I did not sign. They were to use every measure to keep her alive. Life is sacred to us.”

“But Cole felt differently.” His voice is louder again.

“Yes. No.”

“Which is it, Mrs. Demers? Didn’t he argue for you to sign for palliative care only? No heroic measures?”

“Yes.”

“You said earlier that Sonja broke your son’s heart. Isn’t it true that you blame Sonja for Cole’s accident?”

“The driver was charged with reckless driving. I blame him.”

“But your son left Paradise Manor before Sonja arrived. If he had waited and gone out with her, he wouldn’t have been riding in that spot when that driver answered his cell. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Demers?”

“Yes,” she hisses, eyes burning into me.

“Would he have been wearing a helmet if he hadn’t had his hair styled for his night out?”

“Definitely. He always wore his helmet.”

I shake my head, remembering what I saw about the accident on television on Valentine’s night: the bike with the crumpled frame, the car with the smashed headlight and broken fender. “An accident that could have been avoided,” the reporter had said as he stood in front of the car, “if the driver had not been speaking on his cell phone and the bike rider had just worn his helmet.” Of course Cole’s mom blamed me.

“Earlier you made a judgment about the character of my client. I wonder, had you even met Sonja Ehret before today?”

Mrs. Demers shakes her head. “No.”

“No further questions.”

She made a judgment that affected my whole life. Did the jury understand? All I ever wanted was to satisfy my volunteer requirement.

The Fourteenth Visit — twelve hours left

Turns out Paradise Manor is not just for seniors. A man my dad’s age checked into the room that used to belong to Johann Schwartz. I think he was a biker because his first visitor rode up on a Harley Davidson. He brought a box of doughnuts and Jeannette said she never got any. So guess who walked over to the coffee shop and bought another box, Mr. Brooks?

As I walked to the front entrance of Paradise Manor on that Monday, a black and chrome motorcycle roared up, the cold air making the exhaust freeze in a huge cloud around it. Geez, did they make those things with snow tires? I couldn’t help staring as the rider parked it. He took off his helmet and what little hair he had flattened around a bald spot and hung down his back in a ponytail. He was a big guy, the size of a fridge, and he wore a leather jacket and chaps over faded jeans. Bending down, he removed a coffee-shop bag from the hard, black box attached to the side of his seat and followed in behind me.

I signed the visitor book at reception as usual, but he swaggered in ahead. Nobody stopped him. As dirty as he could have been from riding, no one nagged him to sanitize his hands either. Was it because they didn’t bother adults, or were they afraid of bikers? As I looked back to check Katherine’s reaction I saw that she was just returning to her seat at that moment.

The biker keyed in the code and then held the door open for me. He strode ahead when I stopped to chat with Jeannette. She sat in a chair along the corridor near the dining room, her shoulders hunched. “Hi, how are you?” I asked her, dumping my coat on the chair next to her.

She barely glanced up; her lips moved but I didn’t hear what she said. It was easy to see she was feeling miserable.

That’s when I noticed the cast on her foot. “Hey, what happened there?”

She looked at me, sneering. “You kicked me.”

I thought about that one for a second. Did she really think I had hurt her or was she teasing? Would she snap if I denied it?

I didn’t want to take a chance. “Well, I’m sorry about that.” I quickly moved on. A lot of the old folk already hovered near the dining room, but I went to see if I could help the staff bring the rest out. I saw that new Mexican nurse, Ambrose they called him, pushing Mrs. Demers. Where was Cole today?

I went into Marlene’s room and helped her down the hall till Fred joined us. Then I coaxed Susan to dinner by asking her if her baby was hungry.

I didn’t even look in Johann Schwartz’s room; I couldn’t bear to see it empty. But then I saw the biker dude pushing a wheelchair out. The guy sitting in it looked in better shape than the biker. He had lots of dark hair, and appeared slim — though it’s hard to tell in a wheelchair sometimes. He wore a long-sleeved shirt tucked into some wrinkle-free Dockers. The biker’s arms were bare to the shoulder now that he’d removed his jacket. On his left arm he had a tattoo of some kind of wizard, on his right a castle tower.

He wheeled his buddy into the dining room and sat with him as he ate.

Meanwhile, Cole had finally arrived. “Hi, Sunny!” He smiled at me and then bent over to kiss his grandmother. “Sorry I’m late Grandma. Mom made me take the bus because of the ice today.”

“Sunny, can you see if you can get Jeannette in?” Gillian asked me as she sat down with Marlene and Fred.

“I don’t know. She was mad at me before,” I told her.

“Please try. You know you’re her favourite. Pretend you just arrived. She won’t remember that she was mad.”

I stood up and headed out to the hall. To my surprise she wasn’t at her spot by the window. I kept walking. She wasn’t in the common room or along the corridor anywhere. I checked her room. Not there.

Had she escaped? She seemed bright enough to figure out the exit code by watching visitors punch it in. I turned back to report her missing. But just then she rolled out of Johann Schwartz’s room holding what looked like a box of doughnuts.

“Jeannette. Don’t eat any of those. It’s time for dinner,” I told her.

“There’s none left. He gave everyone a doughnut except me. There were honey crullers and sour cream glazed. Even a chocolate double dip.”

Interesting that she could remember them in such detail. I shook my head. “You don’t want any of those anyway. They’re so bad for your figure.”

Jeannette’s head drooped and she started to cry.

I wasn’t sure how to handle this, so I tried to distract her. “Hey, Jeannette, you never said anything about my new dress.” It was the earth-toned gypsy skirt that went so well with my coffee-bean necklace. She had loved it the last time I wore it. I did a little twirl in front of her. “What do you think?”

“We never get doughnuts here.”

“What are you talking about? You get stuff that’s way better. Remember all the squares and cookies at the party?”

“I like doughnuts.”

“Maybe you’ll have a nice dessert with supper today. C’mon, let’s check together.” I pushed her wheelchair towards the dining room, stopped just outside the door, and read from the bulletin board menu. “Lime Jell-O or orange sherbet. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“No. I want a honey cruller.” She suddenly jabbed her good heel against the floor and the wheelchair stopped.

“Can you warn me when you’re going to do that? Otherwise you could break your other foot.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“Listen, I’ll walk to the store and pick up a dozen. But you have to go eat dinner first.”

“You promise me?” Her tiny, dark eyes focused on me like a hamster’s on a sunflower seed.

“Fine, sure. I just have to tell Gillian where I’m going.” I pushed Jeannette to her normal spot. Gillian wasn’t in the room anymore, so I told Cole and took an order for his favourite doughnut as well.

Off I went, grabbing my coat from the chair as I left. The coffee shop was about four long blocks away and the roads were icy. I couldn’t believe Cole needed to be told not to ride his bike today. Couldn’t believe that biker either. It took me a while to baby-step my way over there.

The doorbell tinkled as I walked into the coffee shop. There’s nothing quite as good as the smell of coffee and doughnuts. Sweet and light, rich and mellow. Both smell way better than they taste. I don’t even like eating the doughnuts, never mind drinking the pencil-shaving coffee, but choosing the doughnuts relaxes me. It’s like arranging a flower bouquet or decorating for a party.

As I stood by the counter gazing at the rows of doughnuts through the glass, I suddenly remembered doing this with Omi. She liked the apple fritters. She gave me bites of hers and asked if they weren’t the most delicious thing. Just looking at them made me feel loved again.

When the line shifted so that it was my turn, I ordered four apple fritters (in case the other old people liked them too), four crullers, two sour cream glazed, and two of the new cherry chocolate flower-shaped ones Cole said he liked.

Back I went, slipping and sliding all the way. By the time I returned to the dining room, most of the residents were finishing their sherbet. Jeannette had fallen asleep in her chair. I didn’t see the biker or his friend anywhere.

“I’d like a doughnut,” Marlene said.

“Heck, so would I,” Fred agreed.

I passed a few around. Cole snuck an apple fritter for his grandmother. Then I placed the rest of the box in Jeannette’s lap. Maybe she’d forget or maybe she wouldn’t, but a promise is a promise, and I wanted her to wake up to the little party I had arranged for her on her lap. I wheeled her to a spot by the courtyard window and Cole wheeled his grandma alongside of us. She was asleep, too, by now.

“Hey, that reminds me. Have you seen
Insurrection II
?” Cole asked.

“Don’t tell me there’s another one out.” With the two old folks dozing, it was nice to just talk at a normal voice level with each other. “I don’t like action flicks.”

“You like comedy and romance?
Just Not Into Prom
’s going to be at the Silver Screen next Friday.” He looked at me hopefully.

I could see where this was going. He was working up the courage to ask me out. Too bad he was so easy to dodge at this point. “The mom dies of cancer in that. How’s that a comedy?”

“I dunno. The trailer showed some funny bits.”

“Cole, my mother’s in remission.”

“Oh my God, Sunny! I’m sorry.” He slammed his forehead with his hand.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. And she’s doing pretty good now.”

“Forget the movie idea.” He turned to face me then and I could tell something serious was coming. “February 18 we have a Valentine’s dance at our school.”

“Is it a formal?” I asked.

“Semi,” he answered. “You saw me at Halloween. You know I’m a great dancer.”

I giggle. I knew I could have a lot of fun with him. “Look, Cole, you know I’m still going out with Donovan.”

“I don’t mind. I mean if we just go as friends. You don’t have to tell Donovan.”

Just as friends, which we definitely are,
I thought
.
That would work for me. Would Donny agree? I mean he wouldn’t see Cole as a threat, scrawny and messy haired as he was. Donovan would recognize instantly that Cole wasn’t my type. My usual type, anyway. “Can I just think about it? If I broke off with Donovan, I’d go out with you for sure. But I’m not a cheat, you know?”

“Of course not.” Cole smiled. “Well, doesn’t look like these two are waking up. I’ll just put Grandma in her room and go.”