“My toes don’t fit,” Bernice complained, tugging at the goggles so that they slipped too far forward on her face.
“I can adjust them for you,” Hannah reassured her. She settled the goggles more to Bernice’s satisfaction and then positioned her wheelchair next to Dallas.
“If you hold her hand it will help her stay more focused and keep her attention off the goggles,” Dallas said to Hannah, not lifting his gaze from the tablet. “Physical contact is important for her.”
Hannah held the elderly woman’s hand while Dallas selected the app her family had provided for her to use. Bernice and two friends had backpacked around the world together when they were young and fresh out of college. Her daughters said that a safari in Africa had been one of her favorite memories, and as she relived it in virtual reality, she gripped Hannah’s fingers tight.
“Elephants!” she cried. On the TV monitor, a herd of the behemoths lumbered toward a watering hole. “Look at the babies!”
“Are you sure those are elephants?” Dallas teased, touching her shoulder.
“Elephants! A parade,” she insisted, and Hannah teared up. Bernice had gotten her words jumbled up when trying to explain how the goggles didn’t sit properly on her head, and yet, the video brought back to her that the proper word for a herd of elephants was a parade. Hannah scrabbled for her cell phone so she could capture the moment for Bernice’s daughters, who lived out of state.
Marsh, meanwhile, had fallen asleep and the way he slumped in his chair looked uncomfortable. After Bernice finished her virtual experience, Hannah wheeled him back to his room. She rang for someone to come transfer him to his bed.
“You and Doctor Dallie make a cute couple,” Marsh murmured, patting her hand while they waited.
Hannah’s brain shied away from the idea of them as a couple. It would be like switching from peanut butter and jam, two things that went well together, to jam and cheese. What kind of combination was that?
“We’re friends.”
Marsh cracked open his eyes. They were clear and alert and they pierced into her. “I think I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. He comes here on his own time because the thing we need most is the one thing he has the least of to spare. All the money in the world wouldn’t brighten our days half as much as the few hours he spends with us and he knows it. That’s a pretty generous gift on his part. It means something. Bringing you here means you’re someone special to him, and he’s happy to share you with us, too.”
That was such a sweet thing to say, no matter how wrong he might be.
“I’m here because he thinks you’re someone special, not me,” Hannah replied, even though she could tell it was a losing battle. Marsh’s generation didn’t understand how men and women could be friends.
Marsh frowned. “How come you don’t want him?”
She wasn’t sure how to explain. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”
“I’m an old man. I don’t have time left to waste. Each breath could be my last.”
“Don’t say things like that.” She liked Marsh. She hoped he lived to be one hundred and twenty, although she didn’t dare say so, for fear he might disagree.
He read her concern. “Life and I have no unfinished business, Hannah, and I made peace with death a long time ago. Now, are you gonna answer my question or not?”
“Dallas is…” Hannah tried to think of a good description for him and failed. “Too much.” Too unpredictable. She never knew what he would say or do next. He made her feel so… unsettled.
Predictability, on the other hand, didn’t necessarily translate to one hundred percent trustworthiness. She’d learned that the hard way.
“He does have a lot of energy,” Marsh conceded.
Two nursing assistants arrived to transfer him from his chair to the bed. Hannah stayed with him until he was tucked in. He fell asleep again before they could resume their conversation, however, so she returned to the lounge.
The lounge was a pretty space, with lots of windows for light and enormous potted plants to add bold splashes of green. The walls were painted pale blue. Patio doors led to a small, fenced-in garden. A nurse was handing out medication to the residents in the room, along with a mid-afternoon snack. She had her back turned to the stainless-steel serving cart.
“I saw you take that second cookie, Rudy,” Dallas said to a short, heavy-set man dressed in a plaid bathrobe and lime-green slippers. The full white beard and red nose made his resemblance to Santa Claus uncanny, although his mouth drooped on one side. “What did the dietician say to you about keeping your diabetes under control?”
Santa remained unrepentant despite the good-natured scolding. He slipped the plastic-wrapped cookie into a flannel pocket and leaned on his walker. A saucy grin lifted one of his round cheeks.
“She said you only live once.”