Mitochondrial Curiosities of Marcels 1 to 19 (15 page)

1. For the good side, cut a square of nice fabric slightly bigger than cushion to be covered.

2. For the evil side, cut hideous fabric 5 cm longer on one side than nice square. Transfer the photo onto each side.

3. Decorate each side.

4. Slash ugly side (to make opening for cushion).

5. Stitch sides together all way round.

6. Insert cushion through slash, then safety-pin together.

There they are, evil hospital and bland hospital, like a bully and his nerd. I take a circuitous route to Door 12 of the new hospital, my exit from the last craft-room visit. I'm all stealth, also hunger, two frozen grapes being tragic as breakfast when you're marching up massive hills in a friendless state of acute anxiety.

Blinded by the light. This is how that saying got invented, by walking into a hospital and hoping an evil doctor isn't standing at the other end of the hallway. I rub my shoes on industrial carpet, blink furiously and imagine the encouraging oinks of the display-case pine-cone pigs as I head for the craft room.

‘Well, Dree!' says Louise, queen of crafts.

I want to tell her everything. I want to fall on my knees and beg to stay forever, to be the craft nun or something. But it's packed and Louise is trying to cover five people plus Mrs. Brandt and Bernie the wallet guy. So I stay quiet and breathe in the divine craftness of it all.

‘Are you okay, dear?' Louise says.

‘Totally,' I say and take the only empty chair, next to an origamizing woman. I ask if she'd like some help. She looks at me all gratitude and joy, and I smooth out.

‘Rowena Giles and her fancy piano fingers,' says Mrs. Brandt.

‘Oh, give it a break,' says Bernie.

‘So why's this called the Tim Letorneau Centre?' I ask. May as well jump right in.

‘Real artist, that guy.' Bernie looks at me.

‘You knew him?'

‘Painted a whole wall. How d'ya think he got the paint, that's what we want to know.'

‘An entire wall? Where?'

Louise rolls a cart to the table. ‘Bernie, let's get you – '

‘Did the whole thing one night, next day – ' Bernie sticks out his tongue, holds his neck.

‘You were there?'

‘Dree, could you help Sandra please?' Louise gives me the look. The shut-the-hell-up look I know so well.

As soon as I get up, Mrs. Brandt starts the Fancy Rowena thing which probably I shouldn't ask about either. Sandra is two people down from her, so once I sit back down, out of sight, out of mind.

Really, crafts are the best way to process information. You get a steady weaving, sewing, whatever thing going and the brain clicks along. Leonard worked a double shift that night. Leonard got Tim that paint. These thoughts bounce around with a few others as Sandra and I roll Fimo snakes. When the thoughts settle into facts, it's time to go. Please, craft gods, let me return to this temple. Seriously, I am
praying
. The origami lady gives me a paper crane which causes emotion, so I say a global ‘Bye, take care,' and move on out.

‘Oh! Dree!' Louise calls. I do an over-the-shoulder wave, my face being too hot and prickly for full frontal.

And I've gone out the wrong door, the main one, which means main hallway. I merge with a post-lunch group, imagine snatching lunch bags from skinny people most likely to have leftovers, and hear the second-worst thing possible.

‘Ohhhh!'

‘Grandma!'

‘That
is
you,' says Grandma Giles. ‘What on earth … ' She waves her friend Brenda away, and repeats, ‘What on earth?'

‘Well, the craft room, Louise says maybe I can get a job sometime.'

Grandma Giles cocks her head and says, ‘What?'

‘Just thought, you know, I'd check it out. But wow, what's up with Mrs. Brandt?' I keep babbling, can't stop, need more words to cushion that question and the next. ‘What does she mean by
fancy fancy Rowena Giles in
54
E
?'

‘Ohhhh.' Grandma doesn't notice the kitchen people saying hello as they wheel a metal cart by. She looks past them, scanning the hallway.

‘Rinkel,' I whisper. ‘You're afraid of Rinkel, right?'

‘You shouldn't be here,' she says but motions me to follow her to her office. ‘You don't want to know about all that, have something to eat, poor little Dree.' Grandma roots through her desk then her purse, and hands me packets of crackers crumbled enough to call sand. ‘People should leave the past alone.'

‘Grandma, c'mon.' She looks at me all sadness and shock and yes, I am a terrible person. Nothing new there. Her phone beeps, she doesn't answer, and we hear the receptionist say, ‘Yes, Mrs. Giles is here today, did you try voicemail?'

‘Okay, Grandma, I'll go right away, but how about a timeline?'

‘So long ago.'

‘Basically, we've got three things: 1) Thirty years ago, your house burned down, which creepy Mrs. Brandt knows about; 2) Twenty years ago you land this job, which evil Dr. Rinkel supervises; 3) Fifteen years ago Tim Letorneau kills himself and my dad gets blamed. 1, 2, 3. They're all connected, and why won't you tell me how?'

The photocopier kicks in, giving us noise cover and maybe a better pace.

‘I had no choice,' Grandma snaps. She stares at the filing cabinet and talks in a low whisper, kind of like Rita doing an
omi gomi
chant. But Grandma's on the wrong story. ‘One minute you have
a beautiful house, everyone envies you, then one cigarette … Joanie ran to the Brandt house, smart little girl, but that crazy cow didn't tell anyone Joan was there. Can you imagine? I thought she was inside the house.'

Oh. I stop fiddling with paper clips. ‘Mom was missing?'

‘For hours. That's what froze me up. I couldn't move or speak for days. Grandpa was beside himself.'

‘So he brought you here.'

‘Nobody knows except Brenda,' Grandma whispers.

‘We're talking thirty years ago, as in my life times two?'

‘Patients are patients, staff are staff. He was very kind to hire me.'

‘Rinkel?'

‘Dr. Rinkel.'

‘Oh, don't tell me.'

Her phone beeps again and she stands up. ‘Ohhh, so much work to do.'

‘Okay, sorry.' I stand in the doorway, put my scarf on and whisper, all urgency and regret. ‘So Rinkel was your doctor thirty years ago and for the last twenty he's been your boss which means what re: Dad, I'm sorry, but what?'

‘Please, Dree.' Grandma holds up a stack of papers. Repeat: I am a terrible person. Nonetheless, there's one last unstoppable question.

‘Were you working the day Tim died?'

‘Ohhh.' Grandma adjusts one of the fish magnets on her file cabinet, one of a set I made her last year. ‘I came in Christmas Day to cover for the little reception girl, she had a new baby, and when I smelled smoke, ohhh – '

‘You pulled the alarm.'

‘Dr. Rinkel was on the men's ward and I ran up.
Don't worry
, I was going to tell him,
only smoke
.'

‘I heard Dr. Rinkel tell Leonard to leave Tim,' Grandma says softly. Oh, god. I lean against the wall. My legs don't have bones anymore. I have no words.

And you never told anyone, I think,
OMG
, not even Joan?

‘Why did Leonard listen?' Grandma continued. ‘Would you leave your friend alone? Would you make friends with a patient in the first place? Would you?' Grandma's voice is all about accusation, not asking, and she doesn't look at me. ‘Where else could I work? The pizza place? The bowling alley?'

She glances at me, measures my reaction, and I say ‘Grandma?' That's all. I don't know what I mean: maybe
Grandma, is this really you?
or
Grandma, is this really reality?
or
Grandma, are you okay?
She nods to who knows what.

‘Hello, Dr. Rinkel,' the receptionist says, and before I can move, there he is. ‘Rowena. I've been calling.' A voice like stomach cramps.

‘Ohhh, Doctor. My granddaughter, Dree.'

‘We've met,' he says, trying to stare me down, clearly not knowing that staredowns are the primo survival skill of today's youth.

‘This is no joke, young lady. Trespassing – '

‘Manslaughter,' I say. Grinning. Legs shaking.

‘Rowena, this is a serious breach. Rowena – '

Grandma Giles is back in her chair, arms crossed, head down. I crouch in front of her, say ‘Grandma?' and she pets my head.

Rinkel yells, ‘Brenda, Brenda! Call Security.'

Brenda appears, winding an overpermed curl around her finger. Otherwise, she doesn't move.

‘This will be documented,' says Rinkel.

‘Damn right it will.' Brenda plants her feet apart like she's aiming a rifle. Possibly she's been practicing for this moment. Even
Grandma stares. ‘Excuse me, folks, but we have a union, Rowena has rights.'

‘Oh, how noble,' Rinkel tries to snarl, but he's shrunk from Doberman to chihuahua.