A Tragic Kind of Wonderful. Eric Lindstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ me know when the mail comes? I’m expecting a letter from my grandson. I’m knitting this muffler for him.”

      “I’ll keep an eye out. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

      “No, thank you. Or, maybe a small glass of orange juice?”

      She smiles when I hand it to her. She doesn’t ask why I had it ready. The fact that her letter will never come pops into my head. I push it right back out and leave her to her knitting.

      Some days I avoid the Beachfront Lounge for as long as I can, but not today. The Hanniganimal is Up! As soon as I walk in, Mr. Terrance Knight sees me and grins. He sets down his book—today it’s his Bible—and struggles out of his usual chair by the heater vent. It’s a battle he wants to win without help, and it usually takes a full thirty seconds.

      I don’t remember how old Mr. Terrance Knight is exactly, but he’s at least eighty and still a few inches taller than me, maybe a full six feet. I wait till he’s standing and balanced, and then I look up into his eyes, his curly hair shockingly white next to his rich black skin.

      “You just get here, Mel? You need to settle first?”

      His voice is like thick melted butter; I want to swim in that voice. I squint at him and smile with the right side of my mouth. “Mr. Terrance Knight, I’m never gonna settle!”

      “That’s what I want to hear!” he says.

      We head for the piano.

      My boss’s door opens. A wispy ball of white hair like a dandelion pops out—it’s Judith.

      “Sorry,” she says to Mr. Terrance Knight. “I need her.”

      When I get close, Judith whispers, “Ms. Li. First day. I think she needs some of your magic.”

      Ms. Li is tiny, sitting in a chair, wearing a simple red silk blouse, black skirt and hose, and pumps that aren’t nearly comfortable enough for a woman her age, or any age if you ask me. Her hands are folded in her lap. Tears stream down her wrinkled face.

      Standing beside her is a tired middle-aged man, probably a relative, wearing a brown suit that’s rumpled and looks slept in.

      “This is Mel,” Judith says to Ms. Li in a loud voice. “She’ll stay with you while we finish up some details. We’ll be right outside.”

      Ms. Li doesn’t seem to hear. Judith leads the man out and closes the door.

      I sit in the chair next to her. It’s good to let them lead.

      After another minute of tears and trembling, she looks at me.

      I smile. Not my bright smile—I can’t imagine she’d want to see that now. I smile in a way that says, I understand how much the world sucks sometimes … but it doesn’t always.

      Her eyes crinkle at the corners. I think she heard me.

      “Do you want something to drink?” I ask as loud as Judith.

      “I’m not deaf,” she says. “I just didn’t want to answer her endless questions.”

      “Oh, sorry!” I laugh. “She only wants you to be happy here.”

      I open the apartment fridge by Judith’s desk, retrieve a water bottle, and show it to Ms. Li. She nods. There are plastic cups on the desk; I fill one halfway.

      While she sips, I say, “You maybe don’t want to hear about how nice this place is, but it’s really great. I know it’s probably not as good as being at home—”

      “Ha! The witch’s castle? That’s the only good to come of this!”

      “What?”

      “My daughter-in-law. Wretched woman. I only stayed in her castle because of Miles.”

      “Who’s Miles?”

      “My other son.”

      “Is he—”

      Her eyes shut and force two more tears down her cheeks.

      I take her hand. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask any more questions.”

      She squeezes my fingers and holds on.

      “Dad!” a muffled voice says in the hall. “Where is she?”

      The door swings open—our hands let go—and someone rushes in and kneels before Ms. Li.

      He looks about my age, my height, but nothing else is the same. Everything about him is sharp: his cheekbones, his nose, his chin, his shoulders; even his black hair looks like it’s usually neat but now is disheveled and spiky. It reminds me of an angry black cat. I see my hand reaching out to touch—I snatch it back.

      The movement catches his eye. He does a double take when he sees my face, caught off guard somehow. He scowls.

      “Are you a volunteer?” he asks in a tone that sounds like he’s really asking, Who the hell are you?

      “I work here. I’m—”

      “You’re not a doctor,” he says. “Or a nurse. You’re just a … just a …”

      He turns back to Ms. Li and grabs her hands.

      “Just leave us alone.”

      I stand and set the water bottle on the desk where they can reach it. Out in the hallway, I look back inside. He’s staring at their clasped hands, whispering.

      Ms. Li looks up at me with an expression I’ve seen here many times.

      I nod you’re welcome and close the door.

       * * *

      After I leave Ms. Li, I get a text. From Annie. I tap the screen.

       I need to swing by your house today.

      Bizarre. Must be a mistake. I saw her phone’s address book once and there was no one between Hannigan, Mel and Lewis, Connor. I consider texting Connor about it, but no. They’ll figure it out.

      An hour later I find Dr. Jordan sitting by a window with a mug of coffee. The direct sun on his face makes it glow almost as white as his hair.

      I sit across from him. “Hey.”

      He’s a resident and wants me to call him Piers. It feels too weird, though, so I rarely call him anything directly. He’s a retired psychiatrist but won’t let me call him Dr. Jordan because he’s not my real doctor. Except he kind of is.

      “How are you today?” he says.

      “Are you asking, or are you asking? If you’re asking, I’m not a danger to myself or others.”

      Dr. Jordan watches me over his coffee, amused.

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