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Wilma (Earl & Wilma) Monday 11:00 a.m.
When the clock showed 11:00 a.m. Monday morning, I started putting away my embroidery stuff, a floral panel with purple irises that would spruce up my niece’s front door for spring. When you live in a trailer space is precious, so tools and materials need to be put away between work times. Storage space is limited too, so I’m careful about which crafts I bring to Florida each year. Sewing and quilting require a lot of room, so I do those in Michigan, where I have a large area to spread the bits and pieces out and leave them for as long as I need to. At B-Bird, I do smaller projects, like beading, crocheting, and embroidery.
The people who design trailers are clever about inserting shelves and drawers all over, but they’re not always easy to get at. In our deeper closets I have tote bags for each craft packed like olives in a jar. To get to Embroidery that morning, I’d pulled out bags marked Paints and Beading. I store them with my current project in front, accessible for the next time I have a few minutes to work.
That done, I got ready to visit the nursing home. Once a week I go with Hank Edmonds to visit his wife, Janis. She doesn’t know me anymore; in fact, she doesn’t know much of anything. I think it’s important to respect who she was, not what’s left in her poor, diseased brain.
Hank picked me up right on time, and we left the quiet of B-Bird for the bustle of the city. As he drove Hank said, “Did you hear that Del’s girlfriend took off?”
I don’t like gossip, but Del had been on my mind lately. The way he’d been acting made me feel funny, like things were being said that weren’t being said, if that makes sense. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“She arranged with the Uber guy to take her to the airport. When Julie stopped by to talk to Del, Shawna went out the back door, between the neighbors’ trailers, and met the Uber car on the next street. Never said a word about it to Del.” Hank touched the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket, which I guessed meant he wished he could smoke. “He talks like he knew she was fixin’ to leave, but I have my doubts.”
I didn’t know whether that news was good or bad as far as my dealings with Del went. Being left behind might make the man realize that he didn’t treat women very nicely. On the other hand, if Shawna had been unhappy for a while, the creepy feeling I’d been having when Del was around might mean he was looking for...I won’t call it love. I hoped he didn’t think he’d get what he wanted from me.
Our visit with Janis was like all the other times. Cheerful as could be, Hank fed her and talked to her as if she was the Janis of before. When I’m there, Hank and I pretend she’s listening and tell stories about people and events in the park. When she was first admitted to the facility, Janis would listen and nod, at least sometimes. These days she stares into space, not even aware we’re in the room.
When we leave, Hank’s always a little sad. I don’t claim to know God’s purpose in letting good people suffer. All I can do is listen when he talks about Janis the way she was.
Hank was the last man on my interview list, so when we left Janis sitting in a wheelchair and headed to his car I asked, “Where did the two of you meet?”
Hank adjusted the rear view mirror before replying. “Little Rock, Arkansas. Janis was born and raised there.”
“And when did you move to Little Rock?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He adjusted the mirror again before backing out of the space. “Spring of ’67, maybe.”
“How’d you end up there?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Kind of landed there, I guess. I’d been kicking around a while, six days on the road most weeks, but I found a good job at a factory in Little Rock. A while later I met Janis, and I wasn’t going anywhere after that.”
“Was she your first love?”
Hank frowned. “First real one. You don’t know who really loves you till things get tough.”
Something in Hank’s tone stayed on my mind. That night while Earl and me were playing cards, I told him what Hank had said. “He didn’t say he was a trucker, but isn’t that how they say it? Six days on the road?”
“There’s a song that says it that way,” Earl said, “but he could have been in sales or some other job that requires travel.”
“Hank isn’t Greg Miles,” I said firmly. “I mean, he stretches the truth sometimes, but he’d never kill anyone.”
“Right,” Earl agreed. “No way Hank is the guy.”
