Somehow, children always know who the leader is.
As they worked, the sky got so windy that the trees swayed back and forth like teenagers’ arms at a concert. But despite the wind, every time Christopher looked up into the sky, the cloud face never moved.
It just seemed to watch them, building.
Chapter 22
After she dropped her son off at Special Ed’s house, Christopher’s mother had a little time, so she took the scenic route to work. She looked into the sky. The clouds were glorious, like big fluffy marshmallows left in the microwave right before they burn. But they weren’t nearly as beautiful as the Mission Street Woods. The leaves had already started to change, and the trees looked like an artist’s palette, messy and clean at the same time. She rolled down the car window and took a deep breath. The crisp autumn air was that refreshing. The sky was that blue. The trees were that gorgeous. The moment was that perfect.
So why was she so anxious?
Over the years, she had considered her mother’s intuition a blessing. No matter the circumstances, she always believed that the quiet voice in her head kept her son safe, kept her sane, kept them surviving.
And right now, it was humming like a tuning fork.
Of course she was overprotective. What mother wasn’t? After that hellish week Christopher went missing, she could have kept him under lock and key for the rest of his young life, and nobody would have blamed her. But the little voice that kept things pointing north told her that she had to let him live his life, not her fear. “Mother” is just one letter away from “smother.” Right now, her son was safely at Eddie’s house eating bad food and playing video games. He would be there for the rest of the night. So, why did she feel so bad?
Maybe because you don’t have your own life, Kate.
Yeah. Maybe it was that.
She arrived at Shady Pines, punched the clock, and got busy. Whenever Christopher’s mom got worried, Super Kate got manic. She turned over beds. Cleaned the bathrooms. Helped the nurses with Mr. Ruskovich, who used his degenerative muscular disorder as an excuse to “accidentally” grope the women all day.
“A thousand pardons,” he would say in his broken English, tipping an invisible hat.
After breakfast, the manic had burned through all of her chores, and there was precious little to do but worry about her son. Luckily, today was “New Candy Day.” That’s what the nurses called it. One Saturday a month, Shady Pines welcomed new volunteers to train as candy stripers or kitchen help or whatever horrible chore Mrs. Collins could imagine for the low low price of college credit (or community service hours).
The volunteers were usually the same crop. Local high school kids who realized that their college applications were looking a little too thin because outside activities such as “texting,” “pot,” and “compulsive masturbation” didn’t exactly wow Harvard. The kids would work a few afternoons a month. Then they would get a certificate for college. And then they were never heard from again. That is, except for a few guilty Catholics who might stay two months. The record was four.
It was a great quid pro quo.
The owner of Shady Pines, Mr. Collins, would get free labor. His wife, Mrs. Collins, would get fresh children to torment for not taking proper care of Mrs. Keizer, also known as her demented seventy-eight-year-old mother, all the while telling her frenemies at the country club that she just wanted to “give back to the community that had given her family so much.” And the kids would get to pad their college applications for a bright future of thinking they would be young forever.
Win. Win. Win.
Father. Son. Holy Ghost.
Since college applications were due in the new year, the holiday season was the holy grail of volunteerism. Before one could say “Ivy League,” Shady Pines was swamped with eager young faces looking to trick colleges into thinking they cared. Kate counted about twenty faces. Ten times more than usual.
Normally, Christopher’s mom would have skipped orientation, but she had a vested interest in this “New Candy Day.” Because right in the front of the pack, wearing a long skirt, a fuzzy sweater, and a nervous smile, was the beautiful teenage girl who had found Christopher on the road after he had been missing for six days.
Mary Katherine MacNeil.
She was standing next to her boyfriend, a poor whipped kid named Doug. They were both so nice. So wholesome. So legitimately God-fearing Catholic that they had no idea what Mrs. Collins had in store for them. Christopher’s mother wanted to make sure they got the least painful assignments, so she quietly approached them.
“Hi, Mrs. Reese,” Mary Katherine said. “How is your son doing?”
“Great,” Christopher’s mom whispered. “Now, move to the back. Don’t interrupt her orientation speech. Volunteer for the kitchen.”
With that, Christopher’s mom winked and slinked into the adjacent room, pretending to turn over a bed as she watched Mrs. Collins pretend to smile.
“Welcome to orientation,” Mrs. Collins said.
And thus began the speech Christopher’s mom had heard twice already. How Shady Pines is an institution of caring. How a society will be judged by how it takes care of its elders. How her family bought this elder care facility because seniors deserve dignity (even if the workers who provide it do not). Bullshit bullshit. Yadda yadda. Country club country club. Christopher’s mom waited for the first kid to make the dreadful mistake of interrupting the speech. And like clockwork, it happened…
“Excuse me, Mrs. Collins? When do we get our certificate?” a boy asked.
Christopher’s mother saw that the voice belonged to none other than…
Doug.
Stupid Doug.
Mrs. Collins smiled. “You’ll get it at the end of the month.”
Doug smiled back. “Good. I’m applying to schools in December.”
“That’s wonderful. You are so eager to help. What a nice young man. Is that your girlfriend?” she asked, pointing to Mary Katherine.
“Yes, Mrs. Collins. Hello,” Mary Katherine said.
They were doomed.
“Would you two like a special assignment?” she asked.
Doomed.
Mary Katherine looked like a deer in headlights. She turned to Christopher’s mom, who quietly shook her head no. She turned back to Mrs. Collins.
“Well, uh…I am good in the kitchen. I’d love to volunteer there,” she said sweetly.
“Are you sure? This would be very special. You’d be taking care of my very own mother.”
Fucking Doomed.
“Well, uh…that’s quite an honor,” Mary Katherine said. She turned to Doug to think of something. Bail them out. Anything. But he was silent.
And then, a miracle.
“Yes, it’s quite an honor, kids,” a voice said sarcastically. “Her mother is a mean old bitch just like her.”
There was a collective gasp, a nervous laugh, and a turn to the voice. Everyone looked at the owner of the coke-bottle glasses.
It was Ambrose.
The old man from the hospital.
The old man with the cataracts.
The clouds in his eyes.
Mrs. Collins turned to him. “How dare you,” she said.
“How dare me? Mrs. Collins, these kids have to listen to your bullshit for their college applications. I don’t. So, go fuck yourself, you dime-store bully,” he said.