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Chapter Fifteen

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Karen (Al & Karen) Thursday, 2:30 p.m.

I stopped at the office Thursday afternoon to ask for a copy of the birthday list and found Marlene, the secretary, trying to assist Larry, one of our oldest residents. I stood back, waiting until she finished with him, but after a while I realized it wouldn’t be quick.

Larry apparently had an appointment with an eye doctor. As he explained with disjointed sentences and a voice loud enough for a wind tunnel, I learned that he didn't know where the office was, what the practice was called, or the name of the doctor. Though Marlene was patient, I felt her frustration. Larry had brought a phone book, and he asked her to read him the list of ophthalmologists so he’d hear a name that sounded familiar. She pointed out, very gently, that the book was from 2010 and covered Miami and its suburbs.

“Call the coffee shop down on the corner,” Larry ordered. “Some of the guys there know the doc’s name, because they helped me make the appointment.”

Obligingly, Marlene found the number and called Dorie’s Diner. By now I was hooked. Putting a pod in the coffeemaker, I listened as she spoke with three different people. Finally, someone who knew Larry suggested his buddy Anton was likely to know the answer. Setting the phone against her chest Marlene said, “Anton isn’t there right now. Can we call him?”

Larry looked at her as if she’d asked for a slice of the moon. “I don’t know his other name. Just Anton.”

Marlene spoke again to the waitress. “Is there anyone else there who has coffee with Larry?”

She tried Charlie, who seemed willing to help but had no idea Larry was experiencing eye trouble. He apparently told Marlene all about his own cataracts, and she waited until she could get a word in to ask if anyone else there might be able to help. That led her to Milburn, whose voice carried well enough that I heard every word. “Larry? Sure, I know Larry.”

“Well, he’s here in my office and—”

“Tell him to get his butt down here. Nobody to play gin rummy with.”

“He’s trying to figure out when his eye appointment is. He thinks it might be today.”

“Eyes, huh? I got pretty good eyes for my age. Can’t hear a damned thing, though.”

Marlene glanced skyward, as if praying. “Do you know who the doctor is?”

“Which doctor?”

“The doctor Larry’s supposed to see for his eyes.” I had to hand it to Marlene, whose tone revealed no frustration.

“Can’t say I do. Anton says he’s tall. Used to play round-ball.”

“That’s right,” Larry chimed in. “He got drafted by the Celtics but didn’t make the cut.”

He remembered which NBA team the guy didn’t make but not his name?

As Marlene ended the call, a little signal went off in my brain. “Could they mean Dr. Zebic? Al saw him last year when he tore his cornea, and he’s very tall.”

“That’s him,” Larry crowed. “Zebic. Anton says he’s the best because he’s a Serb, like him.”

“Great,” Marlene said. “You can call his office and find out when your appointment is.”

Larry gave an embarrassed cough. “I can't see to dial a phone. Anton did the calling and gave ’em my information.” He leaned on the counter. “I got that General Motors insurance, you know? It’s pretty good stuff.”

“Anton made the appointment.”

“Yeah. It was either the twentieth of January or the twentieth of February.” After a pause he added, “Or maybe the thirtieth.”

“Let’s see what I can find out.” Marlene looked up the office number online and called. “I’m here with Larry Finnegan, and he’s forgotten the date of his appointment with Doctor Zebic.” After a brief wait, she wrote the information in large block letters on a sheet of legal paper, thanked the person on the other end, and ended the call. Handing him the note she said, “Your appointment is for Monday, Larry, January 20th, at 10:00 a.m.”

“Good, good. Thanks for the help.” He turned away. “Not sure how I’ll get there.”

Marlene caught my eye and rolled hers, but only a little. “You don’t have a ride?”

“How could I ask for a ride when I didn’t know the day?”

“But there’s someone who’ll take you, right?”

“Well, Ted, my neighbor, usually drives me, but he’s up north in Gainesville visiting his sister.” He frowned. “That kid on Gull Street gives people rides sometimes.”

“He does, but he’s Uber. Can you pay the fee?”

Larry scratched at his uneven, gray whiskers. “Maybe I’ll walk out to the road and catch the bus.”

With a disturbing mental image of Larry wandering across six lanes of traffic, lost and half-blind, I spoke up. “Al and I can take you.”

He turned to peer at me. “Al? Who’s Al?”

“The guy on Osprey Street who sits on his porch all day.”

“Oh, sure. Al.” He showed his dentures in a big grin. “Good guy.”

“He likes going for rides, so we’ll take you to Dr. Zebic’s office.” That wasn’t completely true. Al and I both hate Florida traffic, and ten a.m. is a terrible time to venture out on the roads. Since Al is a bucket of broken pieces these days, I’d get to do the driving. I’m getting used to it, and it was a good deed for a fellow resident.

“That’s real nice of you,” Larry said. “When I got the sugar diabeetus, I gave my old Chevy to my granddaughter.” After a pause he said, “Now who are you again?”

“Karen.” I added the term most at B-Bird method know me by. “Karen from Pittsburg.”

When Larry had shuffled his way out the door, Marlene and I were alone in the office. We come from the same town in northern Lower Michigan, though we lived there forty years apart, so we chatted a little about home first. Then I asked about the birthday list. “Sure thing,” she said. “Ray told me you’re helping out.” As she spoke, she located it in her files and sent it to the printer.

“How are things with you and Detective O’Connor going?”

Her smile said it all. “Really good. I think we’ll be getting a place together soon.”

As I took the list, Marlene thanked me for offering to help Larry. “I worry about him, but it’s not like we have a car service for the residents who can’t or shouldn’t drive.”

“We have to watch out for each other,” I said. “If we live long enough, we’ll all be like Larry someday.”

“No way,” she responded. “I couldn’t deal.”

I left, thinking that although Marlene was sympathetic, she didn’t understand what aging is like. When you’re thirty-something, it’s hard to imagine you’ll ever be completely dependent on the kindness of others.