Chapter 16
1076 Words
Sixteen
Clarence hid behind a tree right off the nursing home parking lot, hugging his arms. Chilly this evening.
Miss Henningway slammed her car door—hard.
Hurry up and leave Administrator Lady. The bathroom beckoned.
On with her sunglasses.
Clarence checked the level of the sun and doubted she'd need them past the parking lot exit. She didn't look happy ... but then she never looked happy unless she was bragging about nursing home award she had achieved.
Oh, and when she came onto him. Flirt. No, there were other words for women like her. It'd been less than a week and she had: brought him coffee, made herself his tablemate in the dining room, offered to help him get ready for bed. What the hell? He'd been sixty years without a woman and he sure as hell didn't want to jump back in the game with her. Something stinketh in Hillcrest Homes and it was only a matter of time before the stink erupted.
She drove away. Finally.
Having a room on the parking lot side of the old people's home had its advantages: it was easy to escape, easy to keep an eye on the coming and going of the enemy, and a cinch to get to the bathroom.
He picked up the pipes and watched the side entrance door and windows. No one coming or going. He needed a spotter inside. He made a run for it as fast as his old legs could carry him. Dropped a pipe. Not going back. He crouched beside the tan brick building.
Almost home.
The windows in this wing opened into resident rooms, his included. He shoved the pipes under a bush, reached the door, pushed the automatic door opener and peeked in. One hallway—clear. He couldn't see down the other. TVs blared. Someone dropped a bedpan. The sound echoed over background voices and TV chatter.
He slipped inside and tiptoed straight to his room. Nice and handy.
He hustled to the bathroom but froze when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He swung around face-to-face with the dark-skinned woman, huge in stature and girth, grinning at him. Lots of big teeth. Dreads sticking out from the back of her head.
He pointed. "Uh, I gotta go in here. It's been too long."
She never stopped grinning. "Uh-huh. It has been too long. You go somewhere, Clarence? Did you have a date? How'd you git your shirt so dirty?" She brushed at it.
"You are mean. I gotta go." He slipped into the bathroom and slammed the door against the visual of her. "She better think twice about pushing me around."
"What you say, Clarence?" She cracked the door open. "Sorry, couldn't hear."
All he could see was teeth.
"What'd you say again?"
He grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door, shutting her name tag lanyard in the door jamb. He could read her name as he relieved himself. Lisha. He chuckled. A visual of her hanging by a cord to his bathroom door made him burst out in laughter. He opened the door.
"Oh, you think that's funny, Mr. Clarence?" She tucked her lanyard under her white uniform jacket covering the little yellow duckies, cupped his shoulder, and steered him in front of her—eye to eye.
Black eyes. An inch from his blue ones. Freckles. And large pores on her nose.
"Yeah. I thought that was funny. Didn't you?" He laughed his best fake laugh, then stopped and sneered his best fake smile.
She scowled. "You are in so much trouble Mr. Clarence. We might get to chain you to your chair. Or at least to your bed. Maybe torture you with, I donno, drops of water or sumthin'."
Clarence raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?" He squinted. "Iss on."
Her right eyebrow quivered. She slowly released his shoulder. "You missed din-ner. I 'spose you're spectin' dessert? Are you all washed up?" She headed down the hall, laughing.
Ha. Ha.
He walked to his window and stared at the trees waving in the wind. Even the leaves seemed to taunt him. He sighed and shook his head, hands slipped into his pockets, and muttered, "Bastard judge. Had this all figured out, huh?" He jingled his coins then patted his back pockets. What the f-? He patted his shirt pockets. "Where is ... my f-n wallet?"
"Clarence." A female voice spoke behind him. "How did you get back in here and where did you go and why did you put me through all this and ... and ... ? You are in so much trouble."
He turned to face Carol, red-faced, huffing and puffing.
Clarence started in. "You need to lose weight," he snapped. "You're out of shape and breathless. You can't even walk down the hall without overexerting yourself."
Carol stomped her foot. "Stop. Shame on you, Clarence. Shame on you for putting me through ... no, for putting all of us through this. You've been gone all day! We were worried sick!"
He swallowed. "You were just worried because you would have to call the Sheriff. You were just worried about your record with the home office. Your point system or whatever it is." He grimaced as he patted his back pocket. "You weren't worried about me. Just your job."
Carol stopped. "Yes, I was worried about all that. Of course. It's my job to be on top of all that. That's what I do." She took a step toward him. "But I was also worried about you, Clarence." She poked his chest and backed him to the window. "Because I care about you. I care about each and every resident. So when you pull a stunt like you did today, I worry. Are you all right? Did you get hurt? Did you fall?"
Silence.
There was so much in those brown eyes of hers. "That's not my job, Clarence. That's my heart."
He stared. "You still need to lose weight. All of you do. You eat too much here. And where the hell is ... " On second thought, she didn't need to know about his wallet. He'd find it—without her or anybody else's help.
"Where's what?"
"Never you mind."
Carol's chest rose and fell. She squinted and her chin quivered. She left the room.
Clarence turned to the window, hands in his pockets, as a tear started down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away.
"So you're back. You're in so much trouble." Yet another voice from the open door.
Clarence turned and slammed the door in Harold's face, but not before he heard Harold say, "Hey, you're crying. I'm sorry. You okay?"
He leaned against the door and choked back the tears.
- Writer
