The Only Best Place (16 page)

Dan still resented my going to work, but once I laid out my reasons, he gave grudging approval of my bringing them to Kathy's
place. I wasn't used to making my decisions by committee. I thought that I would have earned some Good Mother points simply
by finding a wholesome alternative to day care.

“I'm sorry I didn't consult you, Gloria…”
Big, fat liar…
“But Kathy volunteered. My children are used to her and I don't think I should change that now. Besides, she's right on the
way to town.”

“I would be willing to come and pick the kids up,” Gloria said. “We're not that far away.”

And with that she offered me an immediate out. “Thanks, but I don't want to run the kids around that much. Besides, I'll be
working shift work and it won't always be convenient. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Nicholas threw the last of his bread on the floor, signaling the end of his lunch.

“I gotta go, Gloria. The kids need their nap.” And I needed to regroup. “Thanks for calling.” I hung up before she could say
anything more.

I cleaned up the kids, changed Nicholas, and by the time his eyes were drifting closed, the phone rang again. This time I checked
the call display.
Wilma.

I had used up all my energy on Gloria, so I let it ring. When she called again, I let it ring again. And one more time.

I
told her that if she doesn't take her medicine the voices will start and people will think she's crazy.” Darlene Anderson
rolled her eyes as if to say “you know what I mean,” then angled her head toward the middle-aged woman she was escorting to
an empty cubicle. “Then she started running a fever and I don't know what's causing what.”

The woman in question wore a pink hat with a bedraggled feather, a man's woolen vest over a stained white shirt, and a long
sweeping velvet skirt. As we settled her on the bed, she kept whispering about a gig she was late for, her fingers twisting
around each other. Her cheeks flamed, her eyes were glassy, and I could feel from her arm that she was burning up.

Darlene was slightly more lucid. Emphasis on
slightly.
In the time it took us to walk from the reception area to the emergency department, she had been chattering steadily about
the VandeKeere family, how low the river was, the shameful movie being shown in town, and horoscopes.

She finally lowered her voice and drew me to one side as she glanced sidelong at the woman now settling onto the bed. “I brought
her in for the fever, but you know she's right cuckoo, don't you?”

“The correct term is
schizophrenic
,” I said primly.

“Whatever.” Darlene dismissed the terminology with a flip of her hand. “Doesn't change the fact that she thinks she's a concert
pianist.” Darlene sighed. “Absolutely nuts. Thinks she has to go out tonight to play in New York.”

It was a Thursday evening. I had drawn the afternoon/ evening shift this week, grateful once again for my wonderful babysitter.
Kathy gladly took the children this afternoon, promising to feed them supper and bring them home when Dan was done with fieldwork.
I knew they would be all cleaned up and read to and cuddled and snuggled. I had felt a moment of jealousy when I first thought
of her taking them out of the bathtub all slippery and wet and drying them off, then reading to them. But when I came into
the hospital and felt the energy of the place, my emotions balanced out.

I don't know how I managed all the juggling I had to do with day care and Dan's work before. It wasn't pleasant, but somehow
we coped. I would have a hard time going back to that.

“And what is your association with Mrs. Tebo?” I asked, trying to find my way around this bombastic and rude yet caring woman
as I started a chart for Mrs. Tebo.

“Oh, nothing at all. I help her once in a while. Come and clean her house. She throws a fit, but honestly—it's a pigsty.”
Darlene sighed heavily. “Just doesn't take care of herself. I found her today sitting stark naked in the bathtub. She was
shivering even though she was burning up. Silly woman.”

I cringed, glancing over at Mrs. Tebo, who, thankfully, was oblivious to all this chatter.

“These old people,” Darlene continued. “Hard to take care of. Just like that Mr. Mast. He's a stubborn old coot. Just won't
take his insulin. I suppose you need to take her history again.” Darlene glanced at the chart. “I don't know why you can't
use what you had before.”

“It's procedure.” I ignored her complaints and got the particulars on Rena Tebo via Darlene and a few muttered responses from
Rena herself.

Once I got the woman's sad and all-too-familiar history down, I pulled out the blood-pressure cuff.

“Here. I'll need to help you with that,” Darlene said, scurrying over as fast as her formidable bulk would allow her. Amazingly,
she didn't knock anything over as she bent to lift Rena's chin up. “The nice lady is going to take your blood pressure, okay?”
she yelled, as if Rena were two miles away instead of two inches.

Rena just blinked and stared.

As I put on the cuff and started up the machine, I caught Darlene inspecting me. “You don't go to church with your Dan, do
you?”

I blinked a moment, surprised at the question, though after spending even these few minutes with Darlene, the boldness shouldn't
have been a shocker.

“No. I don't.”

“Why not?”

I ignored her as I noted the blood pressure and took Rena's temperature. Through the roof.

“I prefer not to,” was all I could muster. My focus was Rena Tebo right now, not my faith life.

“You should. Be good for you.” Darlene nodded, her chins jiggling as if underscoring her comment. “You need to know that God
is in control. Especially when those really bad cases come in the hospital.”

I thought of the multiple motor vehicle accident earlier this week that had resulted in three deaths—a mother and her two
children. I was so relieved I had missed it. Judy had gone to school with the mother and was heartbroken. She and Dan were
going to the funeral tomorrow. But I was staying home with my children, blocking my life out into compartments. Work. Home.
They didn't intersect. I couldn't allow it or I would constantly be seeing Dan or Anneke or Nicholas on the stretchers that
came in.

“I'm sure God has enough people to occupy His time. He won't miss me,” I said, thinking I was so smart and glib, hoping I
could get her to stop prying into my life. Who was the nurse here after all? Who was in charge?

“He's missing you now,” Darlene said with a knowing look. “Like the one sheep missing from the ninety-nine. He goes after
them because He cares.”

Sheep? Ninety-nine? What in the world was she talking about?

I shrugged lightly, then moved on to things I did know about. “Dr. Brouwer will want to listen to Rena's chest. Do you think
you can get her to put on this gown or at least take some layers off?”

Darlene waved me off. “Not a problem. And don't forget. God is waiting. He wants you to know what your only comfort in life
and death is.”

I supposed she wanted that to sound comforting, but it sounded more ominous than reassuring.

“Rena Tebo?” Dr. Brouwer sighed as he finished what he was doing and clipped his pen in his pocket. “That's the second time
this week. Medicaid is going to give me grief over this one. What is it this time?”

“Elevated temp and b.p. Some question as to what medications she's taken. I've got her ready for you. A Darlene Anderson brought
her in.”

To my surprise, Dr. Brouwer laughed. “She's a character, isn't she? I don't know how many of the town's down-andouters she's
tucked under her wing, but it's quite a few. Good thing she's got large wings.”

“Darlene is… interesting,” I conceded.

To my surprise, Rena was in a gown by the time we got back. Still muttering and still complaining, but in a gown.

Dr. Brouwer checked her over, then pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled something on it. “She'll need to take these
twice a day for ten days,” he said, handing it to Darlene.

Darlene nodded slowly, looking over the piece of paper as if she could decipher Dr. Brouwer's handwriting. I knew
I
couldn't.

Dr. Brouwer talked about ongoing care and follow-up but Darlene waved him off.

“I know how this works,” she said decisively, tucking the prescription into a pocket of her sagging sweater. “I've got it
under control.”

“I don't doubt you do,” he said quietly.

We left Darlene chattering to Rena and as soon as they were out of earshot, Dr. Brouwer started laughing again. “I imagine
you've seen all kinds in Seattle. But I doubt you've seen too many like Darlene.”

“Not too many,” I agreed. Darlene was a puzzling combination of generous and strange, but in my mind the generosity won out
over the rest. Someone willing to cart around a schizophrenic woman and keep tabs on an elderly diabetic man was high up in
my books—in spite of her questions about church.

“So, what did you do with your kids?” Dr. Brouwer asked, obviously not in a hurry to go. His shift had been over for ten minutes
and still he hung around, looking like he wanted to chat, something I had to get used to. In the emergency department in Seattle,
there was no time for small talk. The smallest it ever got was “You ready for a break?” or “What are you doing this weekend?”
usually thrown out as we passed each other in the hallway.

“I took them to a babysitter.”

Dr. Brouwer had been gone on vacation when I started and only now, after three weeks of work had our shifts intersected.

“Who?”

“Kathy Greidanus.” I didn't know whether to finish charting or fully engage in chitchat. I picked up Rena's chart and Dr.
Brouwer followed me to the nurses' station.

“Remind me how old your kids are?” Dr. Brouwer asked, leaning against the chest-high divider that separated the desk from
the rest of the department.

“Nicholas is one and a half, and my daughter is four,” I murmured. Why was he still hanging around? Most doctors I knew stayed
beyond their shift only in case of a pressing emergency or if they were coming down off a tense code. And then they didn't
make with the yik yak—they kept busy, trying to corral their stress into the farthest corner of their mind where they could
handle it.

“Nicholas being the little boy who was with you at the auction,” Dr. Brouwer continued, settling in for a chat. “And what's
your daughter's name?”

“Anneke.” Usually I would have brushed off such a blatant and rather clumsy effort at getting to know me. But it had been
a quiet evening so far on the ward and I was in a good mood. Our little family had eaten breakfast together today and, as
my peace offering, I tried to make French toast. Though it wasn't completely done in spots, it wasn't burnt, either. We'd
sat down together and talked in complete sentences. Dan told me what he was going to do that day—fix the air-seeder and work
up the back fields—and I told him my evening work schedule. Nothing new about my job, whereas Dan's created a steady stream
of jargon that was as foreign to me as the church talk he currently indulged in during coffee times with Uncle Orest.
Irrigation,no till,wheat and barley, heat units, desiccation, redemption, reconciliation,
and
offerings.

“How are you coping with the move from city to farm? It must be a bit hard to get used to.” He leaned in, not enough to invade
my personal space but enough that I caught the barest whiff of cologne… and interest.

“I've had some adjusting to do.” My foray into and hasty retreat from cow-moving territory and egg gathering came to mind.
“But the countryside is beautiful, and that helps.”

His smile slowly transformed his face. Very easy on the eyes. Why hadn't some single woman snapped this man up yet?

“I love it here. I can't imagine moving into the city.” He shifted his weight so both his elbows were on the counter. “I've
been hearing good things about your work.” Deeper smile. Dimples even.

Pause. Freeze frame. Was I being overly sensitive, or had he made a subtle shift from getting to know me to making a move on
me?

Me—with two kids and stretch marks?
Right, Leslie.

I didn't know how to reply to the compliment or the perceived move, so I made do with an awkward but brief “thank you.” Then
quickly concentrated on finishing Rena Tebo's chart.

“I'm sure your mother-in-law is happy to have Dan back here with her.”

“She is. She's been lonely, as well.”
Very good comment, Leslie. Shows sensitivity and caring.

“Not surprising. Being alone can be difficult.” He paused as if for effect, and again I felt myself floundering. Was this a
cue for me to express my sympathy?

“Wilma's not the easiest person to be around,” he continued. “I imagine it's been difficult for you to establish boundaries.”
Then he leaned closer, his eye contact lasting a hairsbreadth too long.

He
was
coming on to me.

I had to blink a moment, as if to refocus my eyes. I wasn't used to this kind of attention. I savored the pleasant thought
for a brief, fluttery moment.

“Boundaries are important,” I said with a meaningful tone to my voice. I casually brushed a nonexistent strand of hair away
with my left hand, making sure the diamond on my wedding band caught the light.

“I know I'm probably overstepping my own boundaries here—”

I'll say.

“—but I want you to know that I understand what you have to deal with as far as Wilma is concerned. I grew up here and I know
her family. Gloria and I went to school together. We used to hang out, and I got a sharp taste of what Wilma could be like.
Very controlling. Very manipulative.” He paused a moment as if to let this sink in. Which it did once I got over the “I-hung-out-with-Gloria”
part. Harland wasn't that big, I reasoned. If Dr. Brouwer grew up here then of course he would know most of the people here.
Including Gloria and the rest of the VandeKeeres.

And Dr. Brouwer was the first person I had met who called Wilma for what she was without qualifiers and excuses. I felt the
burden I had been carrying slip off my shoulders. I wasn't evil incarnate. I wasn't a paranoid scheming daughter-in-law. I
was right about Wilma. His words were like rain on parched ground.