Miles to Go (7 page)

I shuffled up a concrete walkway to the stairs that led up to Angel’s apartment. The stairs were narrow and steep, poured from concrete with a wrought-iron railing that seeped rust into the cement. I clutched the railing and looked skeptically at the first step.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked.

“It’s walk or crawl.”

“Let me help you. Put your arm around my shoulder.”

I put my right arm over her shoulder and gripped the railing with my left hand. I took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

With her help I made it to the landing, every step accentuated with words of encouragement.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “Really great.”

I think by
great
she meant I didn’t fall.

Angel’s apartment was on the main floor and situated the furthest back. She took her key out of her purse, unlocked the door, then pushed it open. “Be it ever so humble,” she said.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of cooking—though I wondered how that was possible since she’d been at work all day. “Something smells good.”

“Dinner’s in the Crock-Pot,” she replied.

The front room was larger than I expected, with a large picture window looking out over the back yard. There was a couch and a rectangular coffee table in front
of a television, which was nestled into a wood-veneer cabinet. The room was uncluttered and austere, with just the barest of necessities.

There was something different about the room—something was missing—but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

At the end of the hall was a small kitchen, with a tiny, Formica-topped table. The kitchen was messy.

In the hallway between the living room and the kitchen were three doors. “This is your room,” she said, pushing open the south door and stepping inside. I followed her in. A queen-sized poster bed was pressed up against the corner, touching two walls and leaving a three-foot margin on the front and side. There was a small clothes closet and a chest of drawers.

“I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” I said.

“After dinner we can hang your pictures of Key West.” She stepped back into the hallway. “My room is right here, across the hall. Just make yourself at home. I’m making a special dinner to celebrate your release from the hospital. I hope you like Italian.”

“I love Italian.”

“I’m making chicken cacciatore with roasted vegetablestuffed ravioli.”

“So you’re a cook.”

“I love to cook,” she said. “But I hardly ever do it since it’s just me. I need about a half hour to finish. Would you like to read something or watch TV?”

“Something mindless.”

“TV it is. Let me find the remote.”

I shuffled into the front room and sat down on the
sofa, which was lower and softer than I expected and I fell back into the cushions like they were quicksand. I knew I wouldn’t be getting up without help.

Angel found the remote on the floor next to the television and brought it to me. “I need to get your pack from the car.” She went out the front door, leaving it slightly ajar, and returned a few minutes later carrying my pack over her shoulder. She was huffing a little. “I’ll just put it in your room.”

“Grazie.”

“Don’t mention it.” She set the pack in my room, then disappeared into the kitchen. I scanned through the programs, ending up in the middle of a public television broadcast of
Spartacus
.

About forty-five minutes later Angel came out to get me. “Dinner’s ready,” she said. She helped me up from the couch. When I came into the kitchen, the table was set with porcelain dinnerware and there was a flickering, slender white candle in the middle of the table.

“You went to a lot of trouble,” I said.

“No trouble, it’s a celebration.”

She pulled out my chair and I slowly sat. Then she sat down across from me.

“Buon appetito,”
she said.

“You too,” I replied. “Can you eat pasta with diabetes?”

“The carbs are a killer, I just don’t eat as much.” She lifted a small cylindrical object. “And of course I shoot up.”

The meal was one of the best I’d had since I had left Seattle, and I told her so. Angel seemed very happy to see me so pleased.

“It’s a pleasure cooking for someone who appreciates it.”

“So, outside of work and caring for the infirm, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” she repeated, as if she hadn’t heard the word for a while. “Well, I haven’t had a lot of free time lately, but I’ve been watching the American Film Institute’s list of the hundred greatest movies. I started with one hundred and I’m working my way up to number one.”

“Which is …?”

“Citizen Kane.”

I nodded. “Orson Welles. Of course.”

“Last night I watched number seventy-eight,
Rocky
. Tonight is seventy-seven, if you’d like to join me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m free. What’s seventy-seven?”

“American Graffiti.”

“It’s been at least twenty years since I saw that.”

“It’s a classic,” she said. “Of course, you could say that about everything on the list.”

Angel ate slowly, controlling how much she ate while watching me do the opposite. She seemed amused by my appetite. When I finally laid down my fork, she asked, “Can I get you anything else? A side of beef?”

I laughed out loud. “No, I think I’m about done.”

She grinned. “Why don’t you go back to the living room. I’ll do the dishes, then I’ll be in.”

“I can help,” I said.

“You should stay off your feet. Besides, it will only take me five minutes.”

“I want to pull my weight around here.”

“I’ll make you a deal. As soon as you can walk around the block, I’ll work you into the ground.”

“That’s incentive,” I said.

“I’m a great motivator of men,” she replied.

I was able to get myself up, though I did have to push up from the table. While she did the dishes, I went to my room. My bandages were itching a little and I pulled one of them off to inspect my wound. It was a little red around the stitches but didn’t look infected. Just then I heard children’s voices.

“Trick or treat!”

I leaned my head out my door. “Sounds like you have visitors.” Surprisingly, Angel didn’t answer the door.

I replaced my bandage then shuffled out to the couch. A few minutes later Angel walked into the front room with a bowl of miniature candy bars. She quickly opened the apartment door, set the bowl on the floor and then shut the door again.

“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” I said.

“What?”

“Some kid’s going to take the whole bowl.”

“Have a little faith,” she said, walking back to the kitchen.

“I have faith,” I replied. “That’s what I would have done.”

“I’m just about finished,” she said, ignoring my comment. “I just need to pop some corn. You can’t properly watch a movie without popcorn.”

A few minutes later she came out with a sack of microwave popcorn. She inserted a disk into her DVD player. “If I had been thinking ahead, I would have rented number eighteen for tonight.”

“What’s eighteen?”

“Alfred Hitchcock.
Psycho.”
She switched off the floor lamp, grabbed one of the pillows from the couch, then lay down across the floor in front of the sofa.

“You’re sitting down there?”

“I like sitting on the floor. Feel free to own the couch.”

I lay on my side and hit the button to start the movie.

It was past eleven when the movie ended. Angel stood up and turned on the lights. “That was good.”

“I forgot that Richard Dreyfuss was in that,” I said, “a very young Richard Dreyfuss.”

“And Suzanne Somers and Cindy Williams. That movie launched a dozen sitcoms.”

“What’s next on the list?” I asked.

“It’s supposed to be
City Lights.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s an old Charlie Chaplin movie.”

“A Charlie Chaplin film,” I said, happy that one of his movies was on the list.

“It’s considered one of the last great silent films. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy to find. I ordered it online, but it hasn’t come yet.” She went to her front door and opened it, stooping over to pick up the candy bowl. There was still candy inside. “You were wrong. There is hope for the next generation. Have a Milky Way.” She threw me a miniature candy bar.

“This is the ultimate spin,” I said.

“What is?”

“They cut the bar to a fraction of its size then call it ‘fun-size.’ There’s nothing fun at all about a smaller candy bar. It’s all in the spin.”

“Just like life,” she said.

I nodded. “Just like life.”

She walked back to me. “I’ll help you up.” She took
both of my hands, leaning back to pull me up from the couch.

I groaned as I stood. “Getting up is always the hard part.”

“Can I get you anything before bed?”

“No. I’m good. So what are you going to do when you finish watching the one hundred movies?”

She looked at me with a strange expression. “Then I’ll be done.” The way she said it struck me as peculiar.

She smiled. “I’ll probably be gone to work by the time you get up, so I’ll just leave breakfast ready for you. Don’t forget to take your pain pills with food, and I’ll put the Saran Wrap in the bathroom.”

“Saran Wrap?”

“Remember, you’re not supposed to get your bandages wet. Norma said no baths for at least a week, and when you shower you should cover your bandages with cellophane.”

I nodded, impressed that she had remembered.

“She said it works best to just wrap the Saran around your body a couple times. It’s not a big deal if your bandages get a little damp.”

“You’re a very good nurse.”

“I do my best.”

I shuffled toward my room with Angel by my side. When I got to my door, I turned to her. “Thanks for everything. You’re more than a good nurse, you’re a good person.”

She looked into my eyes with a light I could not read. “I wish that were true,” she said, then disappeared into her room.