Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I glance at my watch. “I need to get my patients to therapy. Can you behave yourself without supervision?”
He waves a hand. “Aw, fuck behaving. You know my mantra.”
I smile, because I know it well. Lyndon reminds me often that he draws inspiration from the poem “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas.
“Old age should burn and rave at close of day,” Lyndon says, quoting the poem. “You people make it damn hard to burn and rave, but I’m not giving up.”
“Can you just maybe take it down a notch or two? So no one else ends up hurt?”
He sighs heavily, then smiles. “Anything for you.”
“I appreciate it.”
He turns to walk back to his room, then shifts to look back at me. “Hey, did you put in a word with the dining hall people about getting us some steak for dinner?”
“I did, but they said it’s a choking hazard, so I don’t think the odds are in your favor.”
Lyndon balks. “Bastards. A man can only take so much green Jell-O. Will you tell them that? And their mashed potatoes taste like a steaming pile of shit.”
“I’ll pass that along.”
“You try eating the food here sometime,” he complains, turning back around. “Bunch of cold, cut-rate shit, all of it. My last meal will probably be Jell-O and those goddamned mixed vegetables.”
I smile as I head for another patient’s room. There’s never a dull day at work with Lyndon around.
“Tell Jasmine I said to stay out of trouble,” Lyndon calls out as he heads back down the hallway in the opposite direction.
“I will.”
My daughter lights up when I mention Lyndon’s name when we’re FaceTiming during my break an hour later.
“When can I go swimming with him again?” she asks. “He’s really funny.”
Jasmine and I came to see Lyndon one weekend when I was off work, and she swam with him in the indoor pool. She hasn’t stopped talking about it since.
“We’ll make it happen soon,” I tell her. “How was school?”
“Fine.”
“Did you tell Grandma what homework you have?”
My mom and I planned to live near each other in separate houses when we moved out here, but we decided to live together instead. It’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. She picks Jasmine up after school, helps her with homework, and makes dinner for the three of us most nights. The best part, though, is just having her there to talk to and lean on when I need her.
“Yep. I have to study spelling and do a math paper with two sides.”
“And have you started your homework yet?”
Jasmine’s pause is answer enough.
“Jas?” I prod.
“Grandma said I could have a snack first. She’s making noodles.”
I glance at my watch. “You’ve been home for forty-five minutes. Snack time is over. Get started on that homework, okay?”
“Okay.”
She sounds every bit as disappointed as Lyndon did earlier. I’ve got this killjoy thing down pat.
“What kind of noodles is Grandma making?”
She glances over her shoulder and reports back. “The long ones. She’s making lots because Uncle Pike and Indie and Nolan are coming over for dinner. Can I go swimming at their house after dinner?”
“If it’s okay with them and if your homework is done.”
She nods. “It will be.”
My fifteen-minute break is almost over, so I wrap up our FaceTime call. Today has been so busy that I wasn’t able to get my break in until an hour before my shift ends.
“See you at five, baby,” I tell Jas. “I love you.”
“Bye, Mom. Love you.”
As soon as I emerge from the break room, Andre meets my eyes and gives me a little wave—his signal he’s heading out for another smoke break.
“Room twenty needs help getting to the bathroom,” he tells me as he walks away.
Sweet of him to make Sara wait until my break was over. I nod and head in the direction of her room, hoping this isn’t one of her constipation days. Nothing makes me fall further behind on my end-of-shift duties like standing in her bathroom as she chitchats while we wait for a bowel movement. I swear she does it just for the company sometimes.
That’s my job, though. I remember all too well what it was like to sit in Eric’s silent room for hours at a time. Just having someone walk in, smile, and ask me how my day was lifted my spirits. It feels damn good to make my living doing that for others.
Chapter Three
Pax
* * *
“What emotions are cluttering up your zone of focus right now?” Hector asks me from his seat across from the couch I’m sitting on in his office.
I rub my jaw, considering how I’m going to answer today. He starts every session this way, and I’ve learned it’s useless to tell him there’s nothing. Since I had practice and took a shower right before this appointment, though, I’m feeling relaxed. It’s hard to mine through my head for a source of agitation.