Marcia Talley - Tomorrow's Vengeance

Masud doubled over. Raniero watched him heave for a few seconds, then spun on his heel and stalked off toward the loading dock.

Quickly, I scurried in the opposite direction, not stopping to breathe until I was safely in the driver’s seat of my car in the visitor’s parking lot with the door locked. Raniero’s goose is cooked, I thought as I started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. What were the chances of Masud not reporting the wayward chef to Tyson Bennett?

Slim to none.

As I waited in a long line of cars for a cluster of sailboats to pass under the Eastport drawbridge, I was mentally bidding farewell to Raniero’s amazing bruschetta with sautéed mushrooms and mourning the loss of his sweet peas with prosciutto. I prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Happily, I ran into Safa the following day when we both reported for duty at the memory unit. She was bent over, squinting at the lock, punching in the combination when I came up behind her.

‘Safa! I’m so glad to see you. Is everything all right?’

Safa straightened and smiled. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’

Was the woman in denial? I was far from convinced that all was well in the Abaza household. I stood in silence for a moment, my head cocked, checking my friend out for red marks or bruises, but it was an exercise in futility. Any signs of physical abuse would have been well-hidden beneath the clothing she wore.

‘After yesterday…’ I shrugged. ‘I was worried, that’s all.’

This time Safa’s smile seemed to genuinely light up her face. ‘No need, Hannah. Masud overreacted, that’s all. He’s already apologized to Raniero, so the matter is settled.’

‘Good,’ I said, doing a mental fist pump and awash with relief. I wouldn’t have to live without the mushroom bruschetta after all.

We stepped into the memory unit and closed the door firmly behind us. ‘I’m supposed to be walking with Nancy today,’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘They asked me to set up a playlist for the iPods. Big band music, mostly, folk songs, spirituals, a bit of Mozart.’

‘ Eine Kleine Nachtmusik is always soothing, or Bach’s Goldberg Variations ,’ I suggested. ‘Sounds like fun. Catch you later, then.’

Safa slipped through the door that led to Elaine Broering’s office and the cabinets where the technical equipment was stored while I headed down the hallway to keep my date with Nancy.

Nancy’s door was slightly ajar. Through the crack I could see the brilliant plaid of her bedspread on the floor. Although it was only ten in the morning, I wondered if she were napping.

Then I heard moans. Oh, uh, ah.

Worried that Nancy had fallen and couldn’t get up, I pushed the door open and barreled on in.

Nancy wasn’t lying on the floor. She was on her bed, her arms outstretched, grasping the top of the headboard with both hands. ‘Oh, Frank,’ she moaned. ‘Oh, oh!’

Lying on top of her, with only the soles of his feet and naked butt visible, was a man doing pushups. Jerry. I recognized the tattoo on the forearm that propelled him up and down on the mattress.

As I stood there, gaping, rendered speechless, Nancy arched her back and cried, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!’

Jerry collapsed on top of her, spent, his cheek resting against her naked breasts. Nancy wrapped her arms around him and began to giggle, as breathless and giddy as a schoolgirl. ‘Darling, Frank,’ she cooed, running her fingers through Jerry’s silver curls. ‘You are a tiger! My little furry tiger!’

Apparently the ‘furry little tiger’ hadn’t gone to the doctor’s office after all.

Feeling like a creepy voyeur, I took a step backwards, preparing to sneak quietly away before the couple noticed me. I took a second cautious step and backed into someone.

‘ Ya Allah! ’ It had to be Safa.

I spun around to face her.

‘I came to fetch Nancy’s iPod,’ Safa stammered.

I grabbed my friend’s arm and dragged her into the hallway, closing Nancy’s door quietly behind us.

Safa flattened herself against the chair rail, looked left and right down the hallway, then whispered, ‘What do we do ?’

‘Do? Nothing. Give them a little privacy, I suppose.’

‘Privacy? Are you nuts, Hannah? That man was raping her!’

I gaped. ‘That man is Jerry, Safa, and I’ve never seen two people more crazy for one another. Rape? No way. What we saw going on in there wasn’t rape. Nancy and Jerry were making love.’

Safa shook her arm free. ‘We have to report this.’

‘Why? Haven’t you seen the two of them in the lounge? They’re like teenagers. Boyfriend and girlfriend, totally besotted with one another. Who are we to deny them a little pleasure?’

Safa’s eyes grew wide. ‘But they aren’t married!’

‘I know that, but…’

Safa didn’t let me finish. ‘And who on earth is “Frank?”’

‘Frank is Nancy’s husband.’

‘So, she’s married ?’

I nodded. ‘But she has dementia, Safa. She’s completely forgotten who Frank is. As far as Nancy’s concerned, Jerry is Frank.’

‘So, she just thinks that Jerry’s her husband. But he’s not!’

‘No, but…’

Safa flapped her hands in front of her face. ‘This is too much. I can’t take it all in.’

‘It’s complicated, I know, but Elaine Broering told me that Nancy’s husband is aware of the friendship his wife has with Jerry and he’s OK with it.’

‘Friendship is one thing, but that… that…’ She gestured at the closed door then dropped her hand to her side. ‘We must report this, Hannah.’

As we stood there, staring each other down, Jerry’s rich laugh rolled out into the hallway. It broke my heart to turn the lovebirds in, but I had to admit that Safa was right. The unit staff needed to know that Nancy and Jerry’s ‘friendship’ had matured into something a little more serious than holding hands and cuddling, assuming that they weren’t aware of the situation already and were turning a blind eye, as I would have done.

I caved. ‘OK. We need to let the nurse on duty know. Then it’ll be up to the memory unit staff to decide what needs to be done.’

Safa puffed air out through her lips. ‘Thank you.’

I waited while Safa straightened her hijab. During all the excitement it had slipped to one side, just enough so I could see she was a strawberry blonde. Together we walked to the glassed-in cubicle near the entrance where a nurse named Heather was on duty, tapping something into an iPad using a stylus.

‘Nancy and Jerry are having sex in her room,’ Safa blurted before I had a chance to say anything.

Heather glanced up from the screen, one eyebrow raised. ‘Intercourse?’

‘Well, yes!’

‘Thanks for letting us know, Safa.’

When Heather made no move to put down her stylus, Safa raised her voice. ‘Aren’t you going to do something? He’s still in there!’

Clearly, the fact that Nancy and Jerry were engaged in a little chitty-chitty-bang-bang wasn’t news to Heather. ‘Jerry isn’t hurting Nancy,’ she explained. ‘Sex is a basic human need, staff feels, no matter how old one might happen to be. I’m sure you’ve noticed how much pleasure they derive out of one another’s company.’

‘But it’s just plain wrong!’ Safa insisted. ‘The Quran teaches that extramarital sex is an outrage, an evil path.’ She paused, then drew a quick breath. ‘Even your Bible says it’s wrong. “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled; for God will judge the immoral and adulterous.” That’s from the book of Hebrews.’