The Great Escapee Series

Chapter 12

Twelve

Carol glanced at the chart. More med changes? What was Miss Henningway thinking? Residents were already nodding off in their mashed potatoes.

She searched the dining hall again. Each empty chair should have a definite reason for being vacant. Mrs. Samuelson was still at physical therapy. Andy had checked out to spend time with family. Mr. Butress's empty chair hadn't found a replacement resident.

Carol rotated.

Clarence's chair was empty. Bib draped over the back, table set for lunch. Water in the glass. Coffee cooling in the cup.

"Where is that man?" she muttered. Her inner alarm went off. AWOL. She wasn't sure if she'd rather have him depressed in his bed or ... missing.

She replaced the chart in her med cart and spun slowly. Scanned again. Maybe he'd sat in the wrong chair. Eyes on each resident.

Mrs. Samuelson tottered in, slowly placing her walker a step ahead and walking into it. Each step careful and measured. Determination on Mrs. Samuelson's face—never to fall again. She stepped over and over until she reached her table and lowered herself down.

Staff hurried to serve her, leaning into her good ear, yelling, "It's baked chicken breasts, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn and cole slaw today, Mrs. Samuelson." The aide shook out her bib and attached it around her neck. "Then for dessert, we have apple crisp."

"Oh, that all sounds good, dear." Mrs. Samuelson fussed with her bib and patted her tummy. "I'm hungry today."

Carol continued around the dining room.

Mrs. Getty's head nodded into her food. Carol gently lifted it and squeezed her shoulders, wiping cole slaw off her nose with her bib.

She kept scanning the room.

Harold's eyes caught hers, and he smiled. His attire looked out of place among the flannel shirts and sweat pants the men usually wore: open suit jacket—the lapel sporting an American flag pin, dress shirt and snagged dress pants. "He's gone, I bet." Always the detective on the job.

Carol grinned. "You read minds, don't you, Harold."

He grinned. "Naw, just goin' on past experience."

She nodded and adjusted his bib and napkin. "Sorry you have to wear this, but—"

"Regulations," he finished her sentence. "It's okay. Somedays I don't spill a drop. Others?" He rolled his eyes and lifted the bib to reveal several spots of pink yogurt from breakfast, smudged on his shirt pocket. "I missed."

"Uh-huh. I know. Me too." She opened her white nurses jacket and licked a finger, sampling an imaginary spot on her shirt. "Yup—mmmm. Me, too. I had chocolate yogurt. What flavor's yours?"

He laughed. "Strawberry."

She patted his bib. "I'd better go check his room. See you later." She passed him, backed up beside him again and rubbed his shoulder. "You're a good man, Harold."

He bowed his head, then lifted his eyes to Carol's and whispered. "You're a good woman and nurse, Carol. You listen to our words ... but you listen to our hearts."

She hugged him. "I only hear what God gives me, but thanks." She straightened and extended her imaginary sword. "Now, onward. On to be the vigilante, the detective." She glanced at him. "The warrior, to search out this nursing home kingdom for Sir Clarence."

He burst out laughing, cupping his bib to his mouth. He coughed and swallowed. Cleared his throat and sputtered.

"You okay, Harold?" She knelt beside him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make you choke. That's kinda frowned upon here. I don't want to have to chart you up."

"Naw. You made me laugh. That's always good for spitting food." He wiped his mouth. "I'm fine. Hope you find your missing kid."

"Yup." Carol nodded as she stepped away. "Me too." She waved as she headed down the hall, past residents wheeling and walking back to their rooms.

The nurse's station was first on her list. "April, have you seen Clarence?"

The aide looked up from charting on the handheld computer, squinting, glasses slipping down her nose. She rubbed her temples. "What?"

"Ha. You'll catch on to that monster machine. If I can do it, you can." Carol drummed on the desk beside her. "Clarence. Have you seen him?"

"I got him another plate of eggs this morning. He seemed extra hungry for some reason. But that's the last time I remember seeing him."

"Okay. Could you help search the place? Then let me know what you find and we'll put it out on the radios. Just a hunch."

"K." She rose, pocketed her computer and followed Carol.

Carol took one direction. April went the opposite.

Carol surveyed the common living room right outside the nurse's station. Several wheelchairs were already in place. Only one little lady intently watched TV—the only one sitting in a straight back chair. She glanced up and reached out her hand as Carol passed her.

"You'll find him."

Carol stopped in her tracks. "Who, Mrs. Hatly?"

"Why Clarence, of course." She smiled sweetly. Chin-length, gray hair curled around a pink ribbon. A flowered dress and matching sweater hid bony flesh. Skinny sup-hose-clad legs dangled from the chair. "He seems to be a nice man. When I first moved in here, I wanted to run away, too." She patted the arm of the chair. "But something kept me from doing just that."

Carol hugged Mrs. Hatly's thin shoulders and kept on maneuvering and squeezing between each chair and wheelchair, making a note to herself: spend more time with Mrs. Hatly. Such wisdom tucked in there. She always felt good after talking to her.

Last chair.

No Clarence.

Down another hall.

She opened the laundry room door and walked in, pushing hanging sheets aside. Washers and driers chugging away in some kind of Indian drum cadence made her want to dance along. She pushed aside one last damp sheet to see Rosita, one of the newest employees, folding towels at a large table.

Rosita's face was flushed. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and dripped from her forehead, her dark hair wet in ringlets.

"Do you always hang sheets to dry?" Carol asked, still grasping a sheet.

"Sí. The dryers don't keep up."

"It's hot in here." Carol fanned her jacket out and in, shaking her head. "Is it always this hot?"

Rosita wiped at her forehead with a tissue. "Sí. And this is spring." She nodded toward the open window, a last snow bank right outside. "Snow air cooled."

Carol could feel the breeze where she stood. "Don't catch cold, Rosita."

"I sweat so much, no germ could live in here." She patted her chest. "And I pray."

Carol stopped short, her hand on the table. "What?"

Rosita stopped folding. "I pray." She eyed Carol and added the towel to the pile.

Carol stared.

Wow. "Me, too."

Rosita smiled. "Now, what'd you come into my little office for, Miss Head Nurse Carol?"

Back on task. "I ... oh, I can't find Clarence. You know, the new guy from Chicago? Have you seen him?"

"Naw. The lady reses sometime come in to help fold, but a man has never come in."

"Yeah. Okay." Carol laughed and stepped through the open doorway and paused. "Thanks, Rosita." She started to close the door, but opened it again. "Keep on doing that praying stuff, okay?"

"Sí, Miss Director, Ma'am."

Carol paused outside the closed door and made another note to herself: go fold clothes with Rosita on breaks. She could rub against that stuff all day.

She knocked on Clarence's open door. "Clarence, it's me, Carol." She shook her head. Nobody home. The bed was empty. The bathroom was empty. She poked into the closet. His jacket hung on the hook, and his flap hat sat on the shelf.

She punched the button on the radio. "Hello all. Keep an eye out for Clarence. He isn't in his room or bathroom and his jacket and hat are still here. Check all halls, gardens, conference rooms—all rooms. Chapel. Report back ASAP. I do not want to call the Sheriff on a resident, again. We all know what happened last time."

Various voices chattered from the speaker.

"Right on."

"Okay. On it."