she will die before me, Lloyd thought, and no sooner had the notion crossed his mind than he reproached himself for the relief it brought. He closed his eyes. He was very tired. I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.
The nurse snapped back the curtain.
“How you doing there, Lloyd? Hope you’re good and hungry!”
She balanced a tray on her palm, slid it onto his bedside table. “Just let me do your fluids,” she said, pushing up his sleeve. “Then I’ve got you a nice piece of Thanksgiving turkey for dinner. You’ll enjoy that.”
He kept his eyes shut as she tapped the needle of the intravenous tube. They pierced my hands and my feet. . . .
She traced the line to the valve and changed the bag. They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.
“Now, how’s about sitting up and tucking in to some turkey. Hold on, here we go.” She touched the button that raised the back of the bed.
Lloyd grimaced. “Let us eat and drink,” he said, “for tomorrow we die. . . .” His eyes stayed closed. “Is that you, Grace?”
“Yes, Lloyd. You seem a little peaked today. Anything the matter?”
“Well.” He sighed. “It’s dinnertime. What do you expect?” He still kept his eyes closed. “I can’t eat that slop. You can take it away.”
“You haven’t even looked at it.”
“I don’t have to. Take it away.”
“You have to eat, Lloyd.” Her voice contained a warning.
“Let me out of this hospital and I’ll eat just fine.”
“Can’t let you out until we know you’re eating.”
“I’ll eat when I get home and get some real food.”
He opened his eyes to stare her down. The nurse leaned a hip against the guardrail of his bed and crossed her arms.
“You don’t have anyone at home to take care of you.”
“We’ll manage. We always have.”
“Well, that’s just what we don’t know. Your wife can’t manage. I’m sure you realize that.”
He struggled to sit up taller in bed. He looked past her to Momoko, slack jawed and sleeping in the chair.
“Doc says you have a daughter. Maybe she—”
“No,” he said. “I have no daughter.”
“Why you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Look like crying to me.”
The nurse was gone, and Momoko was awake now. She gripped the guardrail of his bed, raised herself up on tiptoes, and peered into his face. “Mmm. Look like crying. Something wrong?”
“Oh . . .” Defeated. “I can’t explain. It’s the food. I can’t eat it.”
“What’s wrong with food? Looks like some good food.” She picked up the fork and patted the instant potatoes. “Mmm. Here. I gonna feed you.”
She brought a bite of boneless turkey to his mouth. He screwed up his face but parted his lips and let her put the fork in. He tried to chew, to swallow, but the turkey tasted like pasteboard.
“Oh!” He shuddered, spitting it into his tissue. “It’s horrible! I can’t eat that!” He sank back in bed, exhausted.
“You acting like a little kid. How you gonna come on home if you don’t eat?”
“Momoko, please!”
She shook her head and frowned. “Shame for good food gonna go to waste. If you don’t want, then I eat. Okay?”
Through half-closed eyes he watched as Momoko cut the turkey slices and finished off the vegetable medley. The potatoes stuck to her dentures and made them smack against the roof of her mouth. The meek shall eat and be satisfied. . . .
She mopped up the last of the gravy with a soft, white bun, then returned to her chair. She spotted her hat on the floor and picked it up and put it on her head. It had a small brim like the flange of a mushroom. She leaned back and folded her hands across her chest. Within minutes she was snoring softly. Lloyd watched her. His mind drifted to thoughts of their seeds and the future, but he brushed away the worry, for now.
He was just glad that dinner was over.
By the time the nurse returned, Lloyd was drifting off to sleep.
“Well, my goodness gracious!” Grace said. “Will you take a look at that! Good for you, Lloyd!” She stood with her hands on her hips, looking at his empty plate. He was too groggy to correct her.
“Good to the very last drop!” she said, removing the tray and giving the table a wipe-down. She leaned over to adjust his sheet, then lowered his bed. She patted his arm. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “You keep eating like that and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
He managed a smile. “Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Happy Thanksgiving. . . .”
pahoa
PAHOA
Cass typed in the letters, then sat back while the search engine churned. With the new high-speed connection, the download was almost instantaneous. When the hits came back, she scanned them quickly.
Hawaii. Pahoa was a town on the Big Island. She selected a site at random.
PARADISE FOR SALE!
Stunning & productive 20-acre property with established groves of macadamia nuts & mangoes . . .
Guavas, grapefruits, and avocados!
Spacious home with 6 bedrooms!
Complete solar power throughout!
Twenty acres of Paradise!
Guavas. Macadamia nuts. Mangoes. Made their three thousand acres of Russet Burbanks seem downright dull. She sighed. Cass could not imagine paradise. In Liberty Falls the weather report predicted cloudy skies with a scattering
