While he handles her, I get Daisy back on her leash, then follow the orderly out of the room when he gives me the nod.
“She thought I was her husband,” I tell him, by way of an explanation.
The orderly grins and shakes his head. “Nah, brother. That old lady’s mind is sharp as a tack. She’s just trying to get a little frisky with the new guy. She pulls this stunt on all the handsome ones.” Guffawing, he gives me a slap on the shoulder. “And she’s not the only one. My advice: Trust no one.”
Nursing homes are fucked up.
When Elaine finally returns after abandoning me to the wilds, she shows little sympathy for my ordeal. Comes with the territory seems to be her attitude; the staff has apparently resigned themselves to the lawlessness. The inmates are running the asylum.
Elaine eventually brings me to a Korean War helicopter pilot named Lloyd. His room is decorated in about a dozen old photographs of him in his helmet and jumpsuit. When we enter, he’s in bed grumbling at the newspaper, which he reads with a magnifying glass on an arm attached to the bedside table.
“Lloyd,” she says, “this young man would like to spend some time with you, if that’s alright.”
“Doesn’t anyone edit these damn papers anymore? There are two spelling errors on this page alone. When did the newspaper start looking like some lazy kid’s homework?” He lifts his gaze only long enough to spot Daisy standing at my side. “Get that thing out of here,” he snaps. “I’m allergic.”
“You’re not allergic to dogs, Lloyd,” Elaine tells him with a cadence that suggests this isn’t the first argument they’ve had. “And Daisy is very sweet. I’m sure you two will have a lovely time.”
Lloyd huffs and returns to inspecting his newspaper while Elaine leaves me with another pat on the back. It’s like some weird handshake, everyone who works here warning me now that I’ve entered, I can never leave.
“He’s harmless,” she murmurs from the doorway. “Talk to him about Jessie. He loves to talk about the bird.”
“The bird” is a little yellow thing I hadn’t noticed in a cage by the window. Elaine ducks into the hallway, leaving me trapped in a tiny room with a crotchety old man who glares at me.
I notice another photo on his wall, and move closer to inspect it. “You met Buddy Holly?”
“What?” Lloyd squints toward the photograph of him and the musician outside a venue, posing beside a bus parked in an alley. “Yes, I knew Charles. Back when music meant something.”
“You were friends?”
Daisy, apparently afraid of him, lies on the floor at the foot of the bed.
“I was a roadie. Hauled his gear, that sort of thing.” With another huff, Lloyd loudly folds his paper and sets it aside. “Was getting on a train in New York after I got back from Korea when I saw this skinny kid who could barely lift his guitar and all these bags and cases. I offered him a hand.”
Lloyd seems to warm up a bit, albeit reluctantly. He talks about traveling the country with Holly, Elvis Presley, and Johnny Cash. Running from the cops and unruly fans. Catching flat tires and getting robbed in the middle of nowhere, at a time before calling AAA from the side of the road was a thing. Lugging guitar amps ten miles on foot to the nearest gas station. Turns out Lloyd’s got plenty to say, if I just shut up and let him talk. And in all honesty, I’m enjoying listening to his crazy anecdotes. This guy’s lived.
Things are going well—he hasn’t once asked me to bathe him or called me Sheila—until he asks me to feed his bird and put fresh water in the cage. When I open it up, the bird flies out, which doesn’t seem to concern Lloyd at first.
But we both realize too late there’s a puppy in the room, and she’s been bored silly all afternoon.
Like a slow-motion crash, the parakeet flits over to the dresser. Daisy’s ears perk up. She lifts her head, a low growl building in the back of her throat. Alarmed, the bird takes flight. Daisy pounces, snatching the tiny creature out of the air as it explodes in a burst of yellow feathers and disappears.
Goodbye Jessie.
CHAPTER 17
EVAN
Me: Hey. Just checking in to make sure you’re alive.
Gen: You’ve been asking me that question every other day for almost 2 weeks. Still alive. Just been busy with work.
Me: Same.
Gen: You realize usually when a guy “checks in” at 1 in the morning, it’s considered a booty call?
Me: Blasphemy! I would never besmirch your purity like that.
Gen: Uh-huh.
Me: Tbh, I can’t sleep.
Gen: Same.
Me: You good, other than being a busy insomniac?
Gen: All good here.
Me: Dinner one of these days?
Me: Just to catch up?
It’s been six hours since Gen stopped responding to my texts. As I help Mac set the breakfast table outside on the deck, I keep feeling a phantom vibration in my pocket, hoping it’s her. But no. Now it’s just been six hours, forty-two minutes.
“Grab the napkins, will you?” Mac says, handing me utensils to lay down.
My mind is elsewhere as I duck inside to grab some napkins. I’d thought things were getting better with Gen. We’ve been texting here and there for the past couple weeks, just random banter or quick hellos. Every time I mention getting together, however, she shuts down and stops responding. I can’t get even a foot in the door. She won’t go for coffee, won’t eat lunch with me—nothing. She’s the most infuriating person I’ve ever known. Worse, she likes it that way.
“So what’s your plan for the day?” Cooper asks after we’re seated to eat. “Got some orphans to pull out of a burning building, or what?”
Mac passes me the scrambled eggs. “Still doing the nursing home?”
Daisy pokes her head up from under the table to beg for a piece of sausage. When I start to hand her a piece, Mac points a knife at me.
“Don’t you dare. That stuff will kill her.”
While Mac is preoccupied with chastising me, Cooper slips a chuck to Daisy, and I stifle a grin.
“Anyway, no,” I say in response to their badgering. “I’m not allowed back there since our crazed beast ate that dude’s bird.”
“Wait, what?” Mac’s utensils clang on her plate as she drops them. “What the fuck?”
“Well, ate is probably an exaggeration,” I relent. “I’m pretty sure most of the bird was intact when Daisy spit it up.”
Coop barks out a hysterical laugh, to which Mac shoots him the scary eyes.
“This happened last week?” she shouts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I told Coop. Guess I forgot you weren’t there.” Cooper was falling on the floor cracking up when I told him about the incident with Lloyd. In fact, he’d suggested we keep it on the DL because Mac would flip out. Guess I forgot that part too.
“You didn’t think to mention it?” Mac cuts a glare at my brother.
“She’s a dog,” he says lightly. “It’s what they do.”
“This isn’t over, Hartley,” she replies in a voice that says he’s not getting his dick sucked anytime soon.
“Anyway, I’ve got a new gig,” I continue just to save Coop from the weight of his impending punishment. “I signed up to be a Big Brother.”