Remember (41 page)

She’s acting like Laura Jo! How could this happen?
Anger built up in Ashley, but she contained herself. Irvel didn’t need her outrage; she needed her sympathy. And her help.

“Irvel, it’s Ashley. I’ve been gone awhile, but I’m back.” Ashley’s voice cracked, and she blinked back tears. “How are you, Irvel?”

“Where’s Hank?” Her words were dry and pasty, and her eyes darted from Ashley to other spots around the room. Irvel let out a loud moan. “I can’t find Hank.”

As confused as Irvel had always been, she’d never acted delusional, the way a person with more advanced Alzheimer’s might. But now . . . were pain pills making her act this way, or had something snapped inside her? Maybe she had a fever. . . .

Ashley lifted her other hand to Irvel’s forehead, but the movement made Irvel cower deeper into her pillow. “Don’t hurt me!” she shouted. She winced, closing her eyes and waving her hands in Ashley’s direction.

Immediately Ashley withdrew. “It’s okay, Irvel. It’s okay.”

What had Belinda done? Irvel had never acted this way before. Ashley clutched at her waist, willing away the growing nausea. “I’m sorry, Irvel. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now.”

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. . . .”

Tears filled Irvel’s eyes as the Twenty-third Psalm tumbled from her lips. When she’d recited it twice through, her voice fell to a little-girl whimper. “I want Hank.”

“Hank’s all right, Irvel.” Once more Ashley struggled to keep the anger from her tone. It was crucial that Irvel hear only kindness. Whatever had happened, she’d obviously been terrorized enough. “Everything’s okay.”

“I’m in trouble.” Her moaning stopped suddenly, and Irvel attempted to focus on Ashley. “Hank’s looking for me. He wants to help.”

With all her heart, Ashley wanted only to cradle Irvel in her arms and rock away the pain, assure her that she and Hank would be together soon and that no one would ever hurt her again. But she couldn’t even do that. Right now Irvel was too frightened to be touched at all.

“You’re okay now. It’s all right.”

Irvel narrowed her eyes once more and held Ashley’s gaze longer than before. “You know Hank?”

Ashley lifted her gaze to the photos still hanging on the wall. And to the portrait she’d painted of the man. “Yes, Irvel.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I know Hank.”

“I thought so.” Like a summer breeze, peace blew across the old woman’s wrinkled features. For the first time that morning, Irvel looked more the way Ashley remembered. “Is he coming by this afternoon?”

“Did he tell you he was coming by?” Ashley kept her voice as unthreatening as possible.

“Yes.” Irvel smacked her lips again, and for a moment her eyes darted about. Then they found Ashley’s once more, almost as though a battle were going on in Irvel’s mind—a battle for her sanity. “He said he was coming.”

“Hank’s never let you down before, has he?”

“Never.”

“Well, then.” Ashley rubbed her thumb gently down the length of Irvel’s bony fingers. “I’m sure he won’t let you down now.”

“Yes.” As though someone had flipped a switch, the oppression seemed to lift from Irvel. Her countenance grew pleasant and confident, almost the way it had been before. “Of course.” She smiled and nodded, her body visibly more relaxed. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She looked at Ashley. “I don’t believe we’ve met, dear. My name is Irvel.”

“Hi, Irvel.” Ashley fought another wave of tears. “I’m Ashley. I think we’re going to get you a bath and wash your hair. Get you cleaned up.”

Light flashed in Irvel’s eyes, and her smile crept higher up her face. “Hank would like that.”

“I’m sure he would.” Ashley gave Irvel’s hand a gentle pat. They’d talked long enough. Irvel needed her rest. “Then maybe later we can have tea.”

“Peppermint tea?” Irvel’s eyes grew wide.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, my dear.” Irvel brought her other hand across her body and clasped it over Ashley’s. “That would be lovely. How did you know? Peppermint is my favorite.”

It was seven-fifteen, and Ashley was supposed to meet with Lu in five minutes. “Tell you what, Irvel. It’s still pretty early. You get some rest, and we’ll start our day in about an hour.”

“All right.” Irvel’s eyelids opened and shut a few slow times, and she yawned. “You know, dear . . .” She lifted her bruised arm and gestured in Ashley’s direction. “. . . you have the most beautiful hair. Just beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?”

* * *

The story came out the moment Ashley was alone with Lu.

“Have you seen her?” Ashley was on her feet, pacing across the small office, her eyes locked on Lu. “The police need to be called about this.”

“I’ve called them.” Lu’s voice was calm and somewhat defeated. “I took pictures. The police are talking to Belinda today. Her attorney is claiming it was an accident—that Irvel fell and that’s what caused the bruises.”

“I saw finger marks up and down her arms, for heaven’s sake.” Ashley had to work to keep her voice in check. “The woman should be in jail.”

Lu drew a long breath and stared at a document on her desk. “With Alzheimer’s patients it’s often their word against a caregiver’s. Since the patients have a tendency to fall or act out, most of the time it’s difficult to prove abuse.” Lu gave a weak shrug. “Besides, elderly people bruise very easily. A single fall can leave a person Irvel’s age black-and-blue over half her body.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

“If the police don’t have enough evidence, they’ll drop the case.”

Ashley clenched her jaw and groaned. “How’d you find out?”

“I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Krista. She worked the morning shift that day, but she left for a doctor’s appointment. She got back quicker than she expected. When she walked in, she found Irvel on the floor and Belinda standing over her, shouting at her.”

Lu rested her forearms on the desk. “Krista said Irvel had been more restless than usual that morning. Talking constantly about Hank, that type of thing. Krista didn’t know how to handle her.”

Ashley felt her heart sink. “So Krista left for her appointment, and Belinda took over. Is that it?”

Lu nodded. “Apparently Belinda was in a foul mood. Several times—even before Krista left—Belinda yelled at Irvel and ordered her to stop talking about Hank. That afternoon, Irvel refused to sit in her recliner. Instead, she shuffled back and forth from the window to the door, watching for Hank. Several times she tried to leave through the front door. When Krista left, she warned Belinda that Irvel might try to escape.”

Lu hung her head for a moment. When she looked up, there was anger in her eyes. “Belinda laughed and told Krista, ‘Not on my shift, she won’t.’ ” Lu hesitated. “From there it’s pretty easy to piece together what happened.”

“You think Irvel tried to leave?”

“If she wanted to see Hank bad enough, yes.”

Ashley closed her eyes and pictured what might have happened. Poor Irvel would have been desperate to find Hank. Each time she tried to leave, Belinda must have grabbed her by the arm and forced her into her chair. Eventually, Belinda probably became crazy with frustration. That last time, she must have grabbed Irvel and threw her to the floor.

“At any rate, that’s where Irvel was when Krista returned.” Lu was clearly devastated by the details of the story. Telling it appeared to have sapped her strength. “By that time, Irvel was writhing on the floor in pain, and her arms were already discoloring. Krista heard Belinda say, ‘Serves you right, you crazy old bird. You better get to your chair and stay there. You try to leave again, and next time it’ll be worse.’ ”

Ashley was horrified. If Belinda had been there, she would have gladly pulled the woman’s hair out and thrown her through the window. “What happened then?”

“Let’s just say Belinda was very surprised to see Krista. She stumbled over her words and finally explained that Irvel had fallen.” Lu exhaled hard. “Krista had the good sense to find a private phone and call me with the story. I called the police and met them in the living room fifteen minutes later. A doctor was here within the hour.”

Ashley shook her head, her fists tight. “I barely recognized Irvel this morning.”

“The doctor says her wounds are mostly superficial.”

“Right.” Ashley huffed. “Did you see the fear in her eyes? She’s afraid of her own shadow.”

“I know.”

There wasn’t much else either of them could say about the incident. Lu went over the details of Ashley’s new job title and pay increase. She had hired a bookkeeper who would begin the following Monday. Until then, Lu would stay each day and run the office.

By eight-thirty, Ashley and Lu were finished talking, and Ashley set about making breakfast. Edith and Helen joined her at the table and introduced themselves. Before the meal was over, Ashley remembered the bathroom mirror. She slipped away, covered it with a sheet, and returned to the table.

Ashley spent the next two hours bathing Irvel and the others and making sure everyone had tea. Then, when the residents were all napping, Ashley went out to her car and brought in the saddle and sawhorse. At lunchtime she lugged them down the hallway into Bert’s room. He was nibbling crackers and sipping soup from a small bowl, and he looked up when she entered.

“Hi, Bert.” Ashley slid the sawhorse across the room and positioned it near the foot of his bed. “I’ve got something for you.”

Bert said nothing and directed his attention back to the soup.

Ashley took hold of the saddle and swung it over the sawhorse. Then she reached into a bag and pulled out an oilcloth. She sat on the edge of Bert’s bed and waited for him to finish eating. Every day for the past two weeks she’d regretted not being able to carry out this plan. Now that she was here, no one could stop her.

Ashley couldn’t wait.

Finally, Bert finished and pushed his tray aside. As he struggled to his feet, Ashley came alongside him. “Look, Bert. I brought you a saddle. I wondered if you could shine it for me.”

Bert stared at the floor and resisted some. But after a moment, he allowed Ashley to lead him to the sawhorse. She positioned him directly in front of it, facing the saddle. Then she tucked the oilcloth into his hand, lifted it, and set it squarely in the middle of the saddle. “There, Bert. You can shine it now.”

All the time she’d worked with Bert, he’d never expressed any emotion whatsoever. Not anger or sorrow or loneliness. Nothing. Now, as Bert felt the oilcloth connect with the saddle, he stood utterly still. Ashley took a step back, staring at Bert’s hand, holding her breath while she waited to see what he would do next. She half expected him to sidestep the sawhorse and return to the edges of his bed, where he’d been making circles as long as anyone could remember.

But he didn’t move.

He fixed his gaze on the saddle, and then it happened. He began to rub small, tender circles up and down the length of it. After a few seconds, his other hand came up and gripped the saddle. His fingers moved over the worn leather in a practiced manner, as though they were coming to life after years of being dormant.

Ashley could barely keep quiet. Bert understood what the object was! He recognized the feel of the saddle beneath his hands. With each passing minute, his shoulders grew straighter and his movements less trancelike, more purposeful.

She was still staring at the saddle, watching Bert’s hands as they rubbed circles on the leather, when Ashley saw a tiny water drop hit the surface. Then another. What was this?

She shot a look up at Bert’s face. Only then did she understand exactly how much Bert had needed a saddle. His eyes told Ashley everything she needed to know.

Because now, as he rubbed a saddle for the first time in decades, Bert was doing something Ashley had never seen him do before.

He was crying.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ryan Taylor had made his decision.

Now he stood in the middle of the Giants’ practice field and stared at the stadium’s lighted American flag billowing at one end. It was twenty-two degrees that night, and the skies were clear. Still, the winter wind cut at Ryan, and he wrapped his parka more tightly around his neck and face.

What a ride it had been, coaching in the NFL—minicamps and summer camps, the preseason and every hard-fought game since then, the emotional jolt of being so close to Ground Zero after September 11, then a disappointing season that had left them a dismal seven and nine in league.

Ryan studied the flag. No matter what the record showed, the New York Giants were winners. And so were their fans—the people of New York City. Long after wins and losses were forgotten, the tragedy of September 11 and its horrifying impact on the people of this town would resonate deep in Ryan’s heart. He would never again look at an American flag without seeing the tattered one that had been pulled from the rubble of the twin towers, never hear mention of the terrorist attacks without picturing the way those flaming buildings looked through the window of his own apartment.

In fact, even as late as three weeks ago, when the Giants were on a winning streak, Ryan had spent hours wondering how he could convince Kari to move to New York and tag along behind him while he coached.

He had kept his thoughts to himself whenever he and Kari talked, careful not to bring up the subject. What could he say when most of the time he’d been too confused about the future even to guess at what he wanted to do?

I love Kari, God.
He would pray the same way several times each day.
Show me what I’m supposed to do. Tell me where you want me and whether the timing’s right for us.

In the end, the decision had been made for him. Ryan smiled and dug his hands deeper into his pockets. Not by the coaching staff—although it appeared that way—but by God himself. The Lord had peered into his heart and known there was only one way Ryan Taylor could be happy. Even now Ryan was certain that what happened at the end of the season had been a direct answer to his prayers.