Клэр Донелли - Last Licks

“That’s not the reason he came all this way,” Sunny said. “After growing up in the commune, he said all he wanted was to get to know his real dad.”

“Of course, Gardner would still be alive and Luke would probably be a lot happier if he hadn’t found him.” Ollie frowned. “Ain’t that a kick in the head.”

“Mr. Barnstable?” a voice came from the doorway. It was one of the Bridgewater Hall volunteers. “Ms. Elsa says it’s time for your therapy.”

“Then I guess it is,” Ollie said mildly, inching his way to the edge of the bed. “Can you get my wheelchair ready?”

He made the transfer smoothly, then looked up at Sunny and Will. “Want to come and see what we do?”

This is a big change from the way Ollie acted at the beginning, Sunny thought.

“Come on,” Ollie said with a big show of generosity. “I’ll give you the rest of the day off.” He paused for a second. “That girl Annie is taking care of everything, isn’t she?”

“It’s Nancy,” Sunny told him. “And she hasn’t called in with any disasters lately.” She stopped when she saw the look on Ollie’s face. “Oh, take it easy, boss. I do check in with her, and she’s doing fine.” So far, Sunny added silently, her fingers crossed.

With Ollie safely in his chair, the volunteer began wheeling him toward the therapy room. Sunny and Will followed.

They arrived to find Elsa waiting in the doorway. In the week since Gardner Scatterwell had left this world, Elsa had continued the transformation Sunny had noted earlier. She’d had her hair done, was wearing makeup and some tasteful jewelry, and today wore a soft sweater over slacks that showed off her figure modestly but quite nicely. Rubbing her arms in the air-conditioning, Sunny wished she had a sweater, too.

“How are you doing today, Ollie?” Elsa asked.

On a first-name basis now, are we? Sunny thought—but said nothing.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Ollie said. “What’s the torture de jour?”

“We’ll try you with some table games.” Elsa had the volunteer bring him to a table that would normally accommodate six. Two people in wheelchairs and one standing with a walker surrounded it, working on various tasks. “You can take a whack at this.”

As soon as Ollie was situated and the volunteer had locked the wheels on his chair, Elsa got a metal box, perhaps a foot square, with dowel handles sticking out of the sides and placed it in front of Sunny’s boss.

“You’ve done this before,” Elsa said. “Remember?”

Ollie nodded. “Push it all the way forward, bring it all the way back.”

“But to make it a little more interesting, we’ll add some more weight.” From a pile in the middle of the table, Elsa began adding beanbags to the empty box. But from the way they thump ed into place, Sunny realized that they had to be filled with lead shot.

“Can you handle that?” Elsa asked.

“Yes,” Ollie replied, moving the box—with effort.

“Okay,” the therapist said. “Three sets of ten repetitions.”

Ollie set to work, pushing to the limit of his reach and then pulling the box to the edge of the table. He got through the first set of repetitions fairly easily but was obviously feeling a bit of strain as he went through the next ten. Elsa meanwhile went around the table checking on the progress of the other patients. One was working on her grip with some sort of putty, while another was picking up what looked like golf tees and putting them in a large pegboard. The man with the walker was engaged in the same exercise as Ollie, but with an even bigger pile of soft weights in his box.

“Y’know,” Ollie said, a little breathless from the exertion, “I keep saying you should put some lamb’s wool or fleece on the bottom of these things. Then at least we’d be doing something useful—polishing the table.”

Will grinned. “Or maybe they could put you to work rolling out pie dough.”

Ollie and his tablemate laughed, and Elsa joined in. “Sorry, boys,” she told them. “It’s all in the friction.”

Like most of life, Sunny thought.

The man with the walker finished his stint with the weighted box, and Elsa moved him over to what looked like a modified captain’s wheel set in the wall. Instead of the usual radiating handles, this one had a single handle sticking out from the face of the wheel.

“Very good for the range of motion through the shoulders,” Elsa said when she noticed Sunny looking with interest.

“And a real pain to do,” the man said, taking the handle in his right hand. “We call it the Wheel of Misfortune.” Wincing, he set the wheel in a slow revolution. “There’s one.”

“Nineteen to go,” Elsa told him. “And then you can work the other hand.” She watched for a few more turns of the wheel and then came back to the table. Ollie’s box sat at the edge of the table, and he dangled his arms over either side of his chair, shaking them out.

“Three sets of ten, accomplished,” Will reported. “I counted.”

“We’re going to try something a little more interesting,” Elsa said. “Let’s see how you do in bed.”

“Excuse me?” Ollie said.

He took the words right out of Sunny’s mouth.

Elsa only shook her head. “Come on.” She looked at Will. “Could you do the honors with the chair?” Then she led them to a low, padded platform that filled one corner of the room. “This is the area where people do exercises lying down. It’s also where we practice getting into bed—and out.”

She helped Ollie to a seated, then a lying position. “How’s that?”

“Wonderful,” he replied. “Where are the blankets? They had me up very early this morning.”

“Well, we’re going to get you up again,” Elsa told him. Then she took him through a series of movements that brought him to the edge of the platform. “Now you want your hands beside either hip,” she instructed, setting a walker in front of him. “Push up. I know Jack has been working your opposite leg, so if you need it to, that can take some of the weight. Okay, up, nice and easy.”

It definitely wasn’t easy, but Ollie managed to rise from the platform, stand, and then take hold of the walker.

“Very good work,” Elsa praised him, and Ollie’s face flushed with pleasure.

Elsa beckoned Will forward with the wheelchair. “Lock the wheels,” she instructed. Then, turning to Ollie, she said, “Do you remember the steps for sitting in a chair?”

“Don’t flop.” Ollie seemed to be quoting.

Elsa nodded. “That can end up jostling things and being more painful for you. Slow and steady, that’s the way.”

Sunny watched as Ollie backed the walker in careful steps. It had only been a week, but he was light-years ahead of where he’d been the last time she’d seen him attempting to walk. He transferred his hands from the handles of the walker to the armrests on the chair and then let himself down in the seat.

“Good,” Elsa pronounced. “Now you can rest for a few minutes. I figure if I let you lie down on our make-believe bed, we might never get you up.”

*

Shadow kept abaleful eye on the Old One. Ever since he’d come back home and stood under the water, Shadow had expected Sunny’s father to leave the house and go to wherever the elusive She might be found.

But the Old One hadn’t done that. He’d gone into the room with the picture box, but he hadn’t put the picture box on. He’d picked up a paper thing with pictures and paged through that. His movements had gotten slower and slower, until at last the Old One had gone to sleep. That wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes the Old One took naps on the couch, and Shadow often joined in. It was one of the few activities they could share without annoying each other.