Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

She was about to hit the last call return button when Earl swaggered into the lounge. A gauze bandage was wrapped around his wounded arm.

“You!” the creepy little man growled. He stabbed a finger in the air at her. “You’re just lucky I don’t need stitches….”

Karen put down the phone. “Earl, I’m sorry about your arm-”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” he said, cutting her off.

The nurse took off her iPod headset, sat forward in her chair, and watched them.

“I’m gonna make sure your old man gets some bed restraints. They ought to keep him tied up twenty-four seven.” Earl inched closer to Karen until he was almost screaming in her face. “Better yet, they should stick that crazy old fuck in Ward E with the rest of the lunatics before he kills someone. I don’t need this shit. That crazy old fuck, I’m gonna see to it they lock him up-”

“No,” Karen said resolutely. “No, Earl. You’re going to see to it the kitchen knives are locked up. Over a third of the residents here have Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia, and you’re leaving knives out where anyone can get at them. My father isn’t responsible for his actions, but you are . What’s more, you wouldn’t have that cut on your arm if you’d let me handle him.”

His mouth open, he glared at her and shook his head.

“And one last thing, Earl, if you call my father a ‘crazy old fuck’ again, I swear, I’ll punch your lights out-or I’ll pay one of the attendants here to do it for me.”

The nurse watching them let out an abrupt laugh.

Earl kept shaking his head. “Listen, don’t you threaten me-”

“Earl?”

He swiveled around.

Her arms folded, Roseann stood in the doorway of the employee lounge. “Karen’s right about locking up the kitchen utensils. I’ve talked to you about that before. It better not happen again. Now, don’t you have some potatoes to peel or something?”

With a defiant grunt, he turned to glare one more time at Karen, then stomped out of the room.

Roseann raised an eyebrow at the nurse. “Show’s over, Michelle. So was your break, as of ten minutes ago.”

Nodding, the nurse took one last bite of her sandwich, gathered up her things, and ducked out of the lounge.

“Thanks for running interference,” Karen said, giving Roseann a weary smile. “How’s my dad?”

“Sedated.” Roseann plopped down at the table. “We’ll give him a rain check on the ice cream. Listen, you and I need to talk about making some adjustments to Frank’s routine.”

Karen nodded. “I’ve seen that coming for a while now.” She looked down into her coffee cup. Yes, she’d seen it coming, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the inevitable. It meant giving up on him a little more.

“Do yourself a favor,” she heard Roseann say. “Talk to a counselor or join a family of Alzheimer’s support group. In all this time, you haven’t gotten any help at all. And it’s not just about what’s going on with your dad. This last year has been pretty awful for you from what you told me about your breakup and what happened with that poor girl. What was her name again?”

“Haley Lombard,” Karen said quietly.

“Such a shame,” Roseann sighed. “Anyway, you’d be the first one to recommend counseling to somebody in your shoes.”

“I know, I know, ‘Physician, heal thyself,’” Karen replied.

Roseann was right, of course. But Karen made her living listening to people’s problems all day long. And it seemed like the rest of her time lately was dedicated to her father. She didn’t want to spend what little time remained in therapy or talking about Alzheimer’s. A DVD of a familiar classic was her therapy; it was like having an old friend over. An evening at home with Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint, or Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, wasn’t a cure for her troubles, but it was a Band-Aid that fit just fine.

“Who knows?” Roseann said. “If you joined one of those Alzheimer’s groups, you might meet a nice, single man.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Karen took one last gulp of the bad coffee, then poured the rest down the sink and rinsed out the cup. “Like I’d want to hook up with some guy whose life is just as screwed up as mine is, thanks to Alzheimer’s. Talk about serious relationship baggage. No, thanks. Besides, I’d probably end up running the stupid meetings. You know I would.”

“Probably,” Roseann muttered, nodding. “But you’d do a damn good job of it. You’re not so terrific at helping yourself, Karen. But you really know how to help other people.”

Karen managed to chuckle. “Well, thanks a bunch. I-”

Her cell phone vibrated once more, and she checked the caller ID. Amelia again. Karen sighed. “I’m sorry, Roseann. I need to take this.” She clicked on the phone. “Hello? Amelia?”

“Oh, thank God!” the girl began. “I’m sorry to bother you, Karen. But something awful has happened-”

“Where are you?”

“I’m sitting in Shane’s car-in your driveway. I don’t know anybody else I can talk to about this. You’re the only one. I’ve had another blackout, and I think I did something-”

“It’s going to be all right,” Karen said calmly. She glanced at her wristwatch. “My housekeeper, Jessie, ought to be there very soon. Get her to let you in, and wait for me. If you want, help yourself to a Diet Coke in the fridge. I’ll see you in about a half hour. Does that sound okay, Amelia?”

“Yes, thank you, Karen. Thank you so much.”

“See you in a bit.” Clicking off the line, Karen shoved the phone back in her pocket, and gave Roseann a pale smile. “Sorry, Ro. About that talk regarding my dad, can it wait until later in the week? I have an emergency with one of my clients.”

Roseann nodded. “No sweat. Go help somebody. Like I say, it’s what you’re good at.”

Karen patted Roseann’s shoulder as she headed out of the employee lounge.

Before taking off, she stopped to peek in on her father. The orderly had cleaned him up, and now he looked so peaceful in his slumber. She wondered if in his dreams he was his old self again, if he wasn’t frightened and confused. She took a long look at him, and remembered back in high school when it had been just her and her dad in their big, four-bedroom white stucco house near Seattle’s Volunteer Park. Cancer had killed her mother when Karen was fourteen. Her brother, Frank, was married and living in Atlanta. Her sister, Sheila, was away at college. So Karen and her father looked after each other. They had a housekeeper, but Karen did most of the shopping and cooking. It was a lot of work, and took a bite out of her social life. Some afternoons, after school, all she wanted to do was nap. Her dad always let her sleep. He often snuck into her room while she was napping, and covered her with his plaid flannel robe. Then he’d wait a while and fix their dinner-either hamburgers or bacon and eggs. Those were the only things he knew how to cook. She remembered how she’d wake up to the smell of his cooking-and the feel of his soft flannel robe covering her. Sheila had brought him another robe years ago, a blue terry-cloth which he’d taken to the rest home with him. But the old plaid flannel robe still hung in his closet, and Karen sometimes still used it to cover herself when she took a late-afternoon nap.

She gazed at her father in his hospital-style bed and began to cry. She’d been miserable throughout most of her high school years. But now she missed that time-and she missed her father. Wiping her eyes, Karen bent over and kissed his forehead. “See you tomorrow, Poppy,” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

Stepping out of the room, she wiped her eyes again and peered down the hallway. She spotted Amelia-at least she thought it was Amelia. The young, pretty brunette at the end of the corridor locked eyes with her for only a second. Then she turned and disappeared around the corner.