The first floor of Park Manor was light-years from Nostalgia, Brandon thought as he, Maybelle Holder, and Josie Burns stepped off the elevator. On this floor, combination locks did not confine wandering sundowners. No one wore adult diapers, or at least they pretended that they didn’t. These residents arranged daily outings through a concierge. They gathered for drinks at the Madison Bar off the main lobby and ordered spa cuisine at the Zagat-reviewed Manor Bistro. They were perpetually happy tourists at a five-star hotel.
Hodges was sitting behind her desk when the three caregivers entered. Maybelle and Josie claimed the two straight-backed chairs opposite Hodges, and Brandon stood just behind them. Hodges got right to the point. “The three of you were on duty when Mrs. Merchant passed away.”
Brandon and Josie nodded.
“That’s right.” Maybelle’s big voice resounded through the room. “She weren’t breathing when I go in there. I always listen for the breathing.”
“Can you tell me about Mrs. Merchant’s evening?”
Maybelle turned to Josie. Then she twisted to make eye contact with Brandon. “It were like any evening,” she said, assuming the role of spokesperson.
Josie nodded her agreement.
“How did she seem to you?”
“She seem just fine.” Maybelle shrugged.
“Did she eat her dinner?”
Brandon spoke up. “Her daughter was there. She fed her for a while. Then I took over.”
“At what time exactly?” Hodges’s fingers tapped the keys on her laptop.
“Six thirty.”
“She was there when Mrs. Lautner had her fall?”
“Yes.”
Hodges frowned, and Brandon could guess what she was thinking: Why had Mrs. Lautner had to fall at mealtime while families were visiting? All Ms. Hodges cared about was appearances.
“What did she eat?” Hodges asked.
“Roast chicken. Mashed potatoes. Green beans. She had a good appetite.”
“And her mood?”
“Happy. Alert.”
“Especially when the daughter leave and you feed her the ice cream.” Josie dropped this bomb with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Maybelle shot Josie a look.
“Well, she did. You know she did.”
“He,” said Maybelle. “It’s he, and you know that.”
Brandon glanced down at Josie’s purple-streaked hair. He found himself wanting to pluck every strand out of her scalp one by one so that she would be left with pinhole-sized blood spots where the follicles were. He felt a testosterone-fueled call to violence in every flexed muscle and tendon in his body. But he didn’t so much as blink.
Hodges was staring at him. “Is that true, Brandon? You fed her ice cream?”
“Yes. I gave her half a scoop.”
“On whose authority, may I ask?”
“On no one’s,” he admitted.
Hodges frowned again, and Brandon could read her disapproval of him in her strange yellow eyes. She had never liked or wanted him to work at her institution, and he supposed she didn’t appreciate that he evidenced no fear of her now. “You are aware, aren’t you,” she said, “that Lucy Merchant is on a no-sugar, low-cholesterol diet?”
He didn’t answer.
“And that giving her ice cream is a complete violation of her care plan?”
He stared at the meticulous image of middle-aged femininity she presented behind her antique Victorian desk. She must be very naïve, he thought, to think that her cold questioning could reach inside of him. Was she trying to blame him for Lucy’s death? “I just fed her four bites of ice cream,” he said. “Four bites. And she enjoyed them, by the way.”
“That’s not the point, though, is it?”
“I guess not.” But it was exactly the point. As the vanilla ice cream had melted on Lucy’s tongue, he’d watched a tiny miracle of cognition happen before his eyes. He played Lucy “Cell Block Tango,” a number she had performed in the 1996 Broadway revival of Chicago—did Hodges even know Lucy had been in that production? Did she know anything about Lucy?—and Lucy’s lips began to move. She remembered the words. She sang them. He had it coming. He had it coming. He had it coming all along. The ice cream and the music had combined to free a fossilized memory. Wasn’t that more important than a glucose level?
He pictured Lucy’s cool body still lying in the bed upstairs. He felt a sting of tears well up behind his eyes, and in that moment he understood for the first time why Lucy’s life and death meant so much to him. He and Lucy were two of a kind, both imprisoned in bodies that didn’t work as one with their minds.
Hodges narrowed her eyes. “You were not hired to make decisions for our residents. You had no right to do what you did.”
It’s not about who has the right, he wanted to say. It’s about what is right. And he felt a blistering hot rage inside at this immaculate woman with her perfect hair and makeup. He wished he could telekinetically tear her limbs from her body. “Then fire me.” He met her stare with a fierce resolve. “On second thought, don’t bother. I quit. Right now.” And he tore off his clip-on Park Manor ID badge and slapped it facedown on her desk.