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Mary Anne first felt it with the cancer that insinuated itself into Grandma's body when she found Grandma's head drooping like a wilted flower, with eyes closed, breathing soft and shallow. One touch from Mary Anne made Grandma come alive, but it left Mary Anne feeling tired. She thought that she might be a healer, but as the cancer progressed, each time she enlivened Grandma with what Grandma called her “magic touch”, Mary Anne paid the price with more exhaustion.
Seeing Mrs. Johnson in her wheelchair stirred those memories. She even looked like Grandma; white-haired and frail with milky blue eyes and trembling hands that felt dry and papery. If Mary Anne stretched her mind, the other residents of Willowbrook reminded her of Grandma too.
Silver-haired Mr. Wickers with his red flannel bathrobe, quivering legs, and gnarled hands. Mrs. Buckley, bitter and sharp featured, sneaking cigarettes every chance she could. Mr. Ford with his cards. Sherman Hamilton, the checker king.
Willowbrook. Mary Anne called it Wrinkle Village. She had been a nurse's aide for three weeks now and already felt attached to her patients.
"You're such an angel," Mrs. Johnson said, breaking in on Mary Anne's reverie. "A beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed angel."
Mary Anne felt her face flush. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson." She wiped chicken soup from the old woman's chin. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
The old woman’s eyes brightened when she patted Mary Anne's arm. "No thank you, dear. Just having you here is enough."
Mary Anne smiled and started to take the soup away when she felt a wave of dizziness.
"Are you all right, dear?"
Mary Anne looked up at Mrs. Johnson's bright blue eyes and demure smile. Her vision clouded. "I'm fine. A little tired, that's all. My shift's almost over. I'll go home and lie down for awhile."
Mrs. Johnson nodded. “Good idea."
Mary Anne made her rounds, checking the rest of her charges, then dragged herself home. After eating, she crawled into bed where sleep swallowed her, deep and dreamless.
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Mr. Wickers and Mrs. Buckley greeted her the next morning in front of Willowbrook where they sat together among some other patients.
The weight of their expectant gazes made Mary Anne uneasy. She looked at the canes and walkers strewn among the lawn chairs. How long had some of them been here?
"Good morning," she said, pushing morbid thoughts from her mind. Most of them nodded. She stepped into the foyer and recognized Nurse Beckett's white hair and starched white uniform as she came out of the office. Gray eyes met Mary Anne’s from behind steel-rimmed glasses. "Good, morning, dear. How are things going?"
"Great."
Nurse Beckett smiled her approval and moved off down the hall.
Mary Anne zipped through her morning duties, feeling light on her feet until she came across Mr. Wickers in the upstairs dayroom watching a soap opera with Mrs. Johnson.
"How are you today?" she said, pulling a chair up beside them. Sleepy eyes greeted her before brightening in delayed recognition.
"Oh, Mary Anne," Mrs. Johnson said in a reedy voice. "How lovely to see you." She smiled, baring yellowed dentures and placed a skeletal hand on Mary Anne's arm. "You're doing such a wonderful job. Isn't that so, Mr. Wickers?"
He twirled his mustache and nodded. "You bring life to a bunch of old fogies." He and Mrs. Johnson exchanged glances. Mary Anne opened her mouth and forgot what she was going to say. Mrs. Johnson became animated, her blue eyes flashing, voice cracking in a sing-song lilt about gardening, knitting, the latest soap operas, and the weather. Though the older woman spoke with boundless energy, Mary Anne could hardly keep her eyes open.
Each word felt like an added weight to her already faltering eyelids. She struggled, hearing phrases, yet unable to make sense of them. Excuse me." She stifled a yawn. "I have to get back to work."
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Mary Anne crawled out of bed the following morning, feeling as if a flu had come over her during the night. After showering, she paused in front of the mirror. Her face looked haggard and for the first time in her life, she noticed tiny crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. I’m working way too hard, she thought. I need to pace myself.
After two cups of coffee, she headed for Willowbrook where she found Mr. Wickers and Mrs. Johnson out front in their usual place with the others. When Mary Anne saw them, she forced a smile and went into the building.
She recognized a slight furtive man with white hair and thin lips in the hall outside his office. Dr. Hunter spoke in a low, quiet voice. "You're doing a fine job,” he said cheerfully. We're lucky to have you."
Mary Anne felt embarrassed. "Thank you, doctor."
"If there's anything you need, anything that troubles you, you come see me," he said.
She thanked him and hurried to the elevator. The smell of cigarette smoke came to her when the doors opened on the second floor. She followed it until she came across Mrs. Buckley sitting in the outdoor patio, a faded blue bathrobe hanging on her slender frame like rags on a skeleton. Her watery gray eyes looked washed out, reminding Mary Anne of the way she felt.
"Hi," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
Mrs. Buckley spasmed with a hacking cough. "You look a little pale," she rasped. "Come sit. We'll talk."
"I'd love to, but I have to finish..."
"You can spare a few minutes for an old biddy, can't you?"
Mrs. Buckley's gaze grew distant, then her eyes came back into focus. She rested a frail hand on Mary Anne's arm. "My memory's not what it used to be, but I do recall some things."
She spoke about her life, droning on, catching Mary Anne in her spell. Mary Anne fought to keep her drooping eyelids open, finally summoning all her strength to force herself up from the chair. She rushed out of the room, glancing back to apologize. Mrs. Buckley smiled. Mary Anne grabbed at the door jamb, engulfed in a rush of lightheadedness.
She breathed in slow and deep, moving unsteadily down the corridor in search of Dr. Hunter. When she reached his office she paused to steady herself, then knocked.
"Come in," he said.
She found the doctor hunched over his desk writing. "With you in a moment," he muttered.
Mary Anne dropped into a chair.
Doctor Hunter looked up, a concerned frown creasing his forehead. “You all right?" He came around from behind his desk before she could answer. "Maybe you'd better lie down." He helped her out of the chair.
She stood on wobbly legs, allowing him to lead her to a couch. "When did this start?" he said.
"I'm sorry." She stifled a yawn. "I feel so tired. And dizzy. I must be working too hard. All I want to do is sleep."
Dr. Hunter leaned over her and placed a cool hand on her forehead. She drifted. "Sleep now,” he said softly. “Get some rest."
She could barely hear him.
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She awoke the following morning at home, unable to remember how she got there or how long she had slept. A vague memory of talking to Dr. Hunter flitted through her mind, but she couldn't recall their discussion. The more she struggled to remember, the further it slipped.
She moved around her apartment in a daze, putting things down, then forgetting where she left them. A sense of something being wrong sang through her like a muted klaxon. She hurried to Willowbrook, anxious to talk to Dr. Hunter.
As usual, Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Wickers sat out front, smiling and nodding their greetings. Inside, Nurse Beckett and Dr. Hunter met her in the hall.
"Good morning," he said. "Ready for another day?"
She stared at him, then at Nurse Beckett, expecting one of them to say something, but neither spoke.
Feeling embarrassed, Mary Anne hurried to the elevators.
Once upstairs, Mrs. Johnson asked her to sit and chat. Reluctantly, Mary Anne took a seat and let the old woman talk. As soon as she spoke, Mary Anne’s eyelids felt heavier. "Excuse me." She forced herself to stand and stagger down to Dr. Hunter’s office.
She caught her reflection in the hall mirror as she hurried by, thinking that her crow's feet looked more defined and her blue eyes had faded, looking gray and splotchy like blown fuses.
Panicking, she pushed her way into Dr. Hunter’s office. The kind, welcome look on his face puzzled her. He came from behind his desk and hugged her. "Lie down here," he said, guiding her to the couch.
Something inside rebelled, but she dutifully followed his lead, yearning for the solace of sleep.
She reclined on the couch and instantly lost her sense of time, feeling dimly aware that much had passed. It could have been days, weeks, or months. She had no way of telling. She thought she was finally waking when she saw Dr. Hunter and Nurse Beckett leaning over her.
They looked younger and in an odd way she felt older. They had their hands on her. She strained to lift her head, but it felt like a bowling ball on the end of a thin branch.
Her breathing came shallow and her heart beat weaker. Her skin felt taut and dry like shrunken leather. She raised a trembling hand, touching it to chapped lips. Limp, silvery-gray hair spread beneath her on the pillow like faded mop strings. A tear rolled down the side of her face. She closed her eyes and escaped back into sleep.
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Hillary was the new girl's name. So young and full of life.
"So, tell me, Miss Kennedy, how long have you been here?"
Mary Anne strained for a remnant of thought, but the answer slipped beyond her reach. She brushed gray hair from her eyes with a shaking hand and sighed, watching the young girl breeze through the room, red hair shining, green eyes flashing. She wanted so much to talk to her.
Touch her.
