Nick might live through July yet. Things were smoother with Billy since their dinner with Sarah, more ribbing and clowning around. Billy had yelled from the living room, “For God sakes, do we live in a barn,” when Nick left the door open between grocery loads. Nick countered with, “I’m not your Sherpa, get your ass off the couch. There’s a cow in the truck. That should last you ’til breakfast.”
The kid was a walking contradiction. He carried in groceries. Washed dishes without being asked. Nick caught him sweeping the floor, leaning feverishly into the broom handle like a curler. Yet he’d taken over their space, empty milk glasses on the coffee table, backpack thrown onto the kitchen chair, half-finished sketches lying about, wayward pastels and sharp-tipped charcoals. Nick now checked under couch cushions before he sat. Billy could not keep the toothpaste lid near the tube or wet towels on the rack, but picking up after him had begun to feel as routine as breathing. Sometimes he had trouble remembering his before-Billy days. With the boy in the house, it felt more like a home.
Billy seemed surprised that he wanted to go to the meeting. “What for?”
“It’s Family Council,” Nick shot back. He wanted to see Sarah, which he knew Billy knew, but he wasn’t going to announce it.
He’d hoped they’d get a seat beside her in the dingy meeting room, but they’d arrived too late. She and Carter were wedged into a cramped row, all seats near her taken. Carter had a colouring book on his lap. She waved when she saw them, and whispered to Carter, who got on his knees and flapped his hands.
Another wave from the crowd, closer to the front, Rachel in a sparkling top and swooped back hair, huge gemstones on her fingers, beckoning them over, shifting her jacket off the empty chairs beside her to make room.
“Billy, I’m glad you’re here,” Rachel said, ignoring Nick. “I don’t think I could sit through this without you. Half of Rigsbee is here.”
He was glad Billy sat between them. He couldn’t quite pinpoint how he felt about this woman. It would be plain stupid, counterproductive even, to admit to being jealous of his son’s regard for her. Yet his vague unease seemed like something else. Something off. The way she fawned over his teenage boy—too intimate, too eager. He chided himself for being overly suspicious, and reached past Billy, to thank her for the helmet. She nodded curtly. “I’d do anything for your boy.” He believed her.
And she wasn’t Billy’s only fan. The old man behind him patted Billy’s shoulder, “You’re doing a great job, son.” And others too, bobbing heads, wanting to know where he got his talent, his can-do attitude. Nick wanted to know too, wishing he’d been some part of it. Billy squirmed in his seat, mumbling thank-yous, eyes searching for an escape route.
Lewis Clifton walked in, followed by a young guy in uniform who Nick hadn’t seen around town. The police had been called? He should have opened his email.
Lewis laid it on as thick as drywall mud. A welcome to the families of the loved ones they so gratefully served. The richness of community. The power of shared values.
Then a rundown of recent improvements, which included the new murals. It was all part of some overarching and carefully executed Prairie View beautification plan. To transport the landscape of the unit to idyllic scenes that add excitement and colour to their loved ones’ everyday view.
What a load of shit. Lewis had erected a brick wall of obstacles when they’d approached him with the idea. The man would turn down apple pie if he thought his chewing would stir the air.
The cop stood at attention as Lewis lauded their new intern, Billy Peat. (Billy their intern? They wouldn’t even let him eat in the dining room.) And his beloved grandmother Evelyn, herself a young-at-heart resident, with project funding by a generous benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous. So Rachel hadn’t outed herself? That brought his estimation of her up a notch.
Everyone stood and clapped except for Billy, who sunk further in his seat, more heart than ego. Nick heard a two-finger whistle from behind them. He smiled, sure it was Sarah.
Then on to the real reason for the meeting. The mood in the room changed perceptibly. Crossed arms, dead silence. Even Billy sat straight.
It had been determined these were thefts, not simply misplaced belongings. Lewis droned on about the new security system and the protocols in place to prevent further escalation. Two-person spot checks, video reviews, daily staff meetings.
The young cop, Constable Bob they were to call him, switched to life when it was his turn to talk. He soothingly explained the ways in which the police were involved. Communications with management, situation response plans, and the like. He assured families they were treating the matter seriously, suggesting they all complete an inventory and take items of value home with them, even temporarily. Soon they would get to the bottom of it.
When he broached the idea of families purchasing small safes to bring into rooms, the man behind them, the one who had praised Billy earlier, stood up and said in a low and measured voice, “We shouldn’t have to get safes. This place should be safe.”
Constable Bob nodded in agreement. His rehearsed speech given, he invited folks to call him to discuss additional concerns. He left behind a stack of business cards and a pile of Community Safety and Wellbeing brochures before striding out the door.
A small and shaken Lewis hid behind the podium. Another man stood and bellowed, “If Prairie View doesn’t get this under control, I’ll pull my wife out of here.”
Panic was contagious, and others joined in. The lack of background checks, disgruntled staff, poor supervision. Were these possible contributors? One person wanted to know about Prairie View’s insurance coverage, to which someone retorted, “You can’t put a price on these things!”
Billy sat unflinching, uncharacteristically straight. Nick could hear Rachel blow her nose, surprised to see she’d been crying. Maybe her mother’s room had been raided too. Even he found himself thinking the worst. Was Billy locking his bike like he promised?
The thief seemed more vindictive than criminal, snatching bits and pieces of people’s pasts. Ironic. Nick had spent years trying to rid himself of his, only to find it walk up to him in size nine shoes. He could feel their sense of violation, even if for upside-down reasons.
He swivelled to catch a glimpse of Sarah. Carter flopped on her lap, as wide-eyed as she was. Nick wanted to get them out of there, take them for ice cream.
Lewis ended the meeting abruptly, dashing out before he could be mobbed.
Nick stood, yanking Billy up with him. “Let’s get Sarah.”
Rachel stood too. “It’s all so horrible,” she mumbled, her face blotched.
As he and Billy wove away, Billy was stopped by a small woman carrying walking poles, her sweater covered in cat hair. She wanted to know if Billy painted cat portraits and if he could give her his card. Billy blushed and stuttered, so Nick told her his son’s schedule was booked solid.
They found Sarah outside the room, leaning against the wall as Carter ran laps up and down the hallway.
“That was dismal.” She pressed her fingers to her temple like she had a headache.
She looked too pale. “Wanna go for ice cream?” Nick asked.
“Yeah,” Billy jumped in. “We can take Grandma.”
But it was Sarah Nick wanted, and she quickly declined.
“Sorry. Can’t. Gotta get Carter to bed. He’s calm and sleepy, as you can see.”
Carter barrelled towards them and crashed into Billy’s knees. Sarah grabbed her panting, shiny-faced son. “Let’s have a quick look at the murals and then it’s home to bed.”
When they got into the unit, soft music piped down the hallway. A staff member pushed a cart of steaming drinks and plates of little cookies. An old man shuffled along in his housecoat, tipping his imaginary hat as he wished them the top of the morning. A tiny woman, not much bigger than Carter, came up to Sarah and hugged her around her waist. Sarah bent down and kissed the top of her head before the woman moved on, feeling along the banister with her gnarled hands, one over the other.
The place felt serene, uplifting almost, so different from Nick’s first impression of vacant eyes and withered bodies. He felt strangely protective of this lot, and sheepish too for his initial cowardice. How could anyone steal from these people?
Billy’s train wall was adjacent to the dining room. As they walked up to it, Sarah said. “Ta da! Meet your first mural, Carter. Billy painted it.”
Carter got close and leaned forward, hands on knees, squinting at the swirls of paint. “Can I touch it?”
“Sure,” Billy said nonchalantly. “Paint’s dry.”
Nick stood back to take it in. It was magnificent. The boy’s talent. And Evie’s. Nick remembered setting up the shot on the day he took the photograph. How he laid in the thistle, camera ready as the train bore down, a living thing, tracks sparking, the earth’s floor rumbling.
Carter dragged his finger across the tracks. “How come the train’s top isn’t on?”
“It isn’t finished yet,” Billy said. “We’ll paint the top tomorrow. And finish the smoke. And clouds. And hills.”
“I know how to draw clouds.” Carter made loops in the air, clutching his pretend brush.
“That’s exactly right.” Billy backed up beside him. He leaned against the opposite wall and studied his work, his bottom lip getting a workout. Nick wondered if his son could understand the extraordinariness of what he’d done.
Carter lay on the floor and picked at a paint chip wedged into the old carpet. Sarah bent down, struggling to get him up again.
“I’m gonna get Grandma,” Billy said.
Presumably for ice cream. Too late for Nick to back out now.
“Can I go too?” Carter yelled, upright again.
Billy smiled and held out his hand. “But you can’t borrow Grandma tonight. You can just look.”
Carter dragged Billy along until they were out of sight. Sarah blew a loose curl from her eyes. Then she held her hands behind her back and stretched, head turned to the ceiling.
“Carter’s a special kid,” Nick said.
“Exhausting. But yes. Billy too.”
Nick stared at his son’s wall. All the paintings he’d missed.
“It just makes me so angry,” she said. “It’s so petty and mean. And poor Violet. She’s gone completely mute. She only talked to her doll.”
He could picture her spitting mad, a fast-moving tornado. Jaw clenched, face crisped red, freckles lit up like Christmas. He wanted to rest his palm on the small of her back.
She sighed. “We’re all on edge, looking over our shoulders, wondering who the next target will be. It needs to stop.”
Everyone’s door was open as they sauntered down the hallway. A few dozed in their rocking chairs. TVs were on. They hadn’t made it to Evie’s room when the boys came into view.
“Did you know there’s another mur-al?” Carter asked, running to meet them. “It’s a bridge.”
Billy caught up to the group. “Grandma’s asleep.” He sounded disappointed.
“Her bedtime’s before mine!” Carter exclaimed, as if he couldn’t imagine an adult sleeping when he wasn’t. “We tiptoed. She was breathing.”
Nick was relieved. He didn’t have the energy to steer Evie in and out of his truck, in and out of the Dairy Queen’s glass door, in and out of the plastic-backed booth. Couldn’t watch as she snapped her purse open and closed, pulling coins from the zippered pouch in her wallet, dropping them on the table, shoving them back in their pouch again. Couldn’t deal with the over and over and over of it.
“Too bad, Billy. Guess it’s just you and me then.” I can manage just Billy. It surprised him how quickly that thought popped into his head.