Page 79 of Really Truly Yours
Donny stills, his eyes boring. “You seriously not gonna take her up on her offer? She been catting around for you this whole danged time.”
“What I’m serious about is wishing she’d act like a professional.”
Still holding his half-dressed ground, he smirks. “A professional what?”
I cough out a laugh and snatch for the sheet again. “Right?” Helping Donny sit up, I guide his legs over the edge of the bed. “Women, huh?”
Years of cigarettes make his laugh rough. “Can’t live with ’em…”
“Sometimes I live better without ’em.”
His laugh morphs into a raucous snort. “I’m sure it’s rough being you.”
“Hey, you don’t know. Carly’s the tip of the iceberg.”
“Let me get out my teeny violin.”
I toss him the shirt he wore when he was admitted, one of the new ones I bought last week. “Put that on, or I’ll put it on for you.”
Still amused, he pokes his arms through the sleeves. I yank the tag off a pair of athletic shorts, bought for this occasion, and thread them over his boot. I hand him his right shoe and tie the left one on for him. He’s pale and a little shaky this morning.
He jiggles his foot. “What’s your problem?”
Did I sigh out loud? “No problem.”
I gather his remaining belongings, including discharge instructions, and shove them into the provided drawstring bag. It galls me—at least this is the last I’ll see of her—but I summon Carly, who sways into the room with a wheelchair. I bet she normally lets techs take patients to their vehicles.
Grateful for the out, I go on ahead and bring the car to the covered exit where they wait. I stay in my spot while Carly helps Donny into the passenger seat. She lingers, ducking down to peer across Donny. “Y’all call if you need anything. You know where to find me.”
Trust me, we won’t need a thing. With the close of the door, we’re rid of her. No one is happier than I to be leaving the hospital in the rearview mirror.
“Somebody’s in a hurry.” Judging by the grip Donny has on the strap above the door, however, I may have taken the turn from the lot a bit dramatically.
I ease up on the accelerator. Chandor is a fairly small town and the hospital is practically in a residential neighborhood. Could be kiddos around.
The assisted living community is barely a mile away, nestled amongst a network of doctor’s offices, a housing development, and the local post office. Despite the lack of a handicapped tag, I pull into a marked slot. If Donny doesn’t qualify, no one does.
He grunts. “This is it?”
He eyes the place like it’s a fly in his soup, but I spy a glimmer behind his rheumy eyes. The community is nearly new, a sprawling facility made of a mix of stone and brick and bright, fresh siding. The grass aproning the building is green and lush, welcome after a scorching Texas summer, and the rest of the landscaping is also impeccable, with shrubs and brilliantly colored flowers stretching its entire front.
“This is it.” I push the button and the car quiets. “Your place is down that walkway.” I point to a stone path separating two wings of the building. “It’s not much farther than what you can see. Think you can do it?”
“I can do it.”
I detect a burst of thinly-veiled enthusiasm. “Let me get the walker for you.”
He grumbles about having to use the contraption. I stand nearby, the plastic bag in my grip.
As we amble, I explain the amenities as they were explained to me. A recreation room, a movie theater, a library. Walking trails, a pool, a courtyard. Three meals a day in the dining facility or brought to his apartment. Laundry service, exercise classes, game nights.
And all topped with twenty-four-hour medical assistance on site, as needed.
Two purple-haired senior ladies smile and call cheery hellosas we pass. Yes, Donny is young for this place. It is what it is.
His recessed jaw drops when he steps inside his unit, lugging his oxygen with him. I’m going to see what I can do about getting him a more convenient setup for that. What he’s got is dated technology.
“This is my place?”