Chapter 6

Lee

As head of nursing, I rarely had to do anyone else’s dirty work. Or at least, any time I had a resident mad at me, I had a medical reason or I was backing up my nurses. Not this time.

“What do you mean, it can’t be done?” Owen glared at me.

I raised my hands. “I mean, for now, you and Harvey have to be in separate rooms. He needs a lift to transfer in and out of bed. That means the ground floor. And we only have one open ground floor bed— his.”

“Shit!” Owen thumped the handle of his walker and turned his face away. “We couldn’t even get married for the first thirty-three years we were together. You’re young. You have no idea.”

I knew what it was like to be queer in an unfriendly world but he was right, not in the way those two men did. “I’m not that young, but thank you.”

“Hah. You and Griffin, pretending to be ancient. You can’t be what, thirty-three, thirty-four?”

“Forty, but thank you.”

“Still a baby gay.” We both chuckled at that bit of exaggeration. Owen sighed. “Well, Harvey’s ride will be here soon. Is Griffin around? Meeting him might take a bit of the sting out of the separate rooms thing for my Harvey.”

“I’ll take a look. He should be.” My stomach twisted as I walked down the hall toward Mary’s room. I hated not being able to fix things for those two men. And if I was honest, I could’ve told him that Patricia was in a moderate care ground floor room because one had been open when she arrived, she liked the ground floor and the view of the garden, and she was a friend of Zhukov’s mother. She was only paying the regular rate. Moving her up a floor and reshuffling would have been the answer if Owen and Harvey had been a married couple. But Zhukov had already told Phoebe not to make any accommodations that would lead to rule-breaking.

Fuck.

I had to live by Zhukov’s rules, though. A venture capital firm had already been sniffing around Wellhaven last year, ready to buy it up, downsize the staff to death, probably run it into the ground and sell off the building, like they’d done to other homes. We were all relieved when the board turned down the offer. But that risk meant sucking up to Zhukov was the lesser of two evils.

Griffin turned my way from his chair at Mary’s bedside, as I stuck my head in the door. He held up a hand and read a couple more lines. In the bed, Mary dozed, her eyes closed, her skin translucent over cheekbones close to the surface. She’d been losing weight again, complaining that nothing had tasted right in years. I was inches away from recommending a feeding tube, except I knew she’d hate it.

When she gave a fluttering breath of a snore, Griffin stuck a bookmark between the pages, set the novel on her bed table, and eased to his feet. Mary slept on as he tiptoed to the door. Once in the hallway, he asked, “What’s up?”

“Owen’s Harvey is due to arrive any time now, and I still can’t put them in together. Owen’s hoping a personal welcome from a favorite rock star might ease that sting.”

“I don’t think I’m special enough for that,” Griffin muttered. “But sure, happy to be of service. Whatever service you need.”

I pretended not to notice the double-entendre or the quick up-and-down scan Griffin gave me. We’d been easier with each other since I’d seen him play at the bar and I didn’t evade him these days, but I wasn’t about to buy into flirting. This hot silver fox would be gone on tour again as soon as he could shake the Iowa dirt off his feet. “Come on.” I led him to the lobby.

When the transport arrived fifteen minutes later, I went out to watch them unload Harvey’s special wheelchair and sign off on his transfer of care. I waved them back to their bus and took the chair handles myself. Other than one small suitcase and a bag of medical supplies, his things would be coming later. For now, I could bring our new resident inside.

“Welcome to Wellhaven,” I told him as I pushed. “Owen’s been pacing the lobby for the last hour. That man cannot wait to see you.”

“The last few months’ve been hard.” Harvey’s slurred speech was slow but understandable. “Since he ditched the car. Days apart. Longest in years.”

“At least you’ll be just a short walk apart now. Eat all your meals together.”

“Yep. Can’t wait.” As the doors opened, he and Owen caught sight of each other. I saw Harvey take a long breath, and Owen’s expression lit up like the sun rising. He pushed his walker into the entry.

“Harvey, you old coot. Together at last.” Owen clasped the hand Harvey reached toward him.

“Who’s old?” Harvey slurred, boney fingers tight on Owen’s. “You are, that’s who.”

“Let’s get out of the doorway, gentlemen,” I suggested as the outer door tried to close and rebounded off my hip.

Owen backed his walker out of the entry and I pushed Harvey after him. As we reached the open lobby, Owen did a “ta-dah” sweep of his arm. “And look who’s here to welcome you.”

Griffin had acquired a guitar from someone, the instrument old and a bit battered, but true to pitch as he strummed a few chords and sang, “ All I need’s, A pocket space, A crack in time, A private place …”

“Holy shit.” Harvey waved his good arm wildly. “That’s Griffin Marsh!”

“Yep.” Owen grinned.

Griffin said, “Welcome to Wellhaven. Sorry your private place is waiting on some room reassignments, but I hope you two will be happy here.”

“You fucker,” Harvey said to Owen. “You didn’t warn me. I want a selfie with Griffin and my hair’s a mess.”

“No rush,” Griffin told him. “Why don’t you let Lee get you settled in your room and you can rest and freshen up? I’ll be by before noon.”

“With the guitar?” Harvey sounded wistful.

“It’s not mine, but I’ll see if I can keep it for the morning. Maybe this is my day for a wandering troubadour impression.” He strolled over to where Lisa sat knitting. “Any requests, ma’am?”

She tilted her head. “Do you know ‘Scarborough Fair’?”

“Yes, indeed.” Griffin perched on the arm of the empty chair across from her, tuned a string, then launched into the familiar folksong.

A couple of residents chatting across the room paused to turn his way and listen. Harvey fixed his attention on Griffin, a smile on his face. I saw Owen was watching Harvey. He must’ve felt my gaze, because he glanced my way and we exchanged wry nods. An impromptu Griffin Marsh concert wasn’t a shared room with the man you loved, but it wasn’t chopped liver either.

Griffin finished the second chorus and turned to Harvey. “You have any requests?”

“Kite String?”

I winced and Griffin laughed, glancing around the lobby lounge half full of white-haired folks. “Glad you like that one but maybe I’ll play it for you in your room. Might be a bit profane for some of the folks out here.”

“Old does not mean prude,” Harvey said.

“No sir, I’d never make that mistake.” Griffin pushed to his feet. “Why don’t we let Lee get you settled, and then I’ll come by and take requests.”

Harvey grinned, his expression lopsided. “I won’t argue with that.”

I wheeled Harvey to his room with Owen trailing us. Pushing the door open, I said, “Hey, Prescott, brought you a new roommate. This is Harvey.”

Prescott gave us a thumb’s up from where he lounged in bed, leaning against the head end propped at sixty degrees. I automatically checked his color which looked good. He didn’t have his nasal cannula in, so today must be a good day.

“Prescott doesn’t speak,” I told Harvey, “But he’ll give you thumbs-up or -down for yes and no, and he can write on a white board. Don’t underestimate how sharp he is by the lack of words.”

That got me another thumbs-up.

“Bed or chair right now, Harvey?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of a lie down,” Harvey admitted.

“You got it,” I told him. “Let me get the lift in here and we’ll transfer you and get you comfortable.”

I had an aide assist with the transfer, then left her to help put away Harvey’s belongings, guided by Owen, with Harvey calling instructions from his bed. I was glad they seemed to be in good spirits. I passed Phoebe in the hall, bringing the new resident welcome kit, and hoped she would be kind— she listened to Zhukov all too often. At least, I wasn’t worried about Prescott’s acceptance since his beloved sister was a lesbian.

My regular tasks hadn’t disappeared while I was greeting Harvey. I dug into my work, only taking a break when Vicki’s O2-sat was low and the aide came to me to check her trach tube. She looked crappy, her color pale, her eyes drifting shut, but she squeezed my hand when I bent to tell her what we were doing. I suctioned the tube well, listened to her chest, checked her temp, and put her back on oxygen, waiting to make sure she pinked up. Nothing new, but she’d begun needing oxygen more and more often. Poor woman had generalized paresis on top of her lung issues, and the last stroke had erased most of her awareness. She could’ve stood being another care level higher, but a combo of no family to advocate for her, and no money, kept her here with us. At least after three years, we were familiar to her.

Half an hour before noon, Griffin stuck his head in my office, guitar still in hand. “Is this a good time to go play for Harvey? His door is closed.”

“Let me check,” I told him. “Could you stop by Vicki in 107 first? If she’s awake, play her something Beatles. She used to be a fan, and her days are pretty monotonous.”

“Can do.” Griffin sketched me a salute and turned away.

As I tidied up the file I was working on, the faint strains of “Hey, Jude” floated down the hallway.

He’s a good man. I’d thought so when I dated him, of course, then been furious and pushed him out of my mind as not worth my time. But that’d been the hurt talking. Griffin Marsh might be far from perfect, but he was one of the good guys.

I stood and stretched, working the kinks out of my back, then headed down the hall to Harvey’s room. The door was shut but I could hear voices beyond it so I knocked.

“Come in.”

Owen sat on the side of Harvey’s bed, a hand on Harvey’s blanket-covered leg, as they chatted with Prescott.

Harvey’s face fell as I entered. “I hoped you were Griffin.”

“He’s on his way. Just wanted to make sure he was welcome past the closed door.”

“Hah,” Owen said. “Completely. We just closed up because the whole world doesn’t need to hear about Harvey’s and my last vacation on Fire Island.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Does Prescott?”

But he gave me a thumbs-up and grinned, so whatever the elderly couple were telling him, it hadn’t crossed his TMI threshold.

“Let me get Griffin.” I dug out my phone and messaged him.

A few moments later, he appeared in the doorway. “Hey, guys. Ready for the show. Um, hi, Prescott. Harvey asked for some hard rock. That okay with you?”

Prescott signaled yes and gestured at me for his whiteboard. I held it for him, while he printed laboriously, “ Ask Snow + Ice. ”

“Got more requests, Griff.” I turned the board to him.

“Can do.” He pulled the door shut, set his shoulders against it, and played the opening notes to that 2007 hit.

Listening to Griffin rock out, even with an acoustic guitar and the power of his voice dialed way back, was no hardship. I should’ve been heading back to my office and work. My excuse was that Griffin was blocking the door and I didn’t want to interrupt. Truth was, I loved watching his hands so fast and sure on the strings, seeing the joy in his face for his music, and hearing the raspy true tones of his voice as he sang words written a few years after we split. I shouldn’t have recognized the lyrics, but Griffin Marsh had been a star then, on every radio station, and I guess I hadn’t ignored him as much as I liked to pretend. Regardless, twenty years fell away and every bit of this felt familiar and right.

I stayed over by the windows, watching, as he segued into “Kite String” and then “Bite This.”

Harvey laughed and pounded the bed with his good hand in applause when Griffin finished with as close to shredding as the old guitar allowed. “Oh, man, that takes me back. We saw you in concert… when was that, Owen, you remember? You gave me the tickets as a birthday gift.”

“2011, hon. Your sixtieth.”

“Oh, right. All those twenty-somethings rocking out and the arena shook with the sound. Great concert, but I have to say, this was even better.”

“Glad you liked it.” Griffin pushed away from the door. “Now I should return the guitar and head off to my afternoon gig. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll stop in and say hello—”

He was interrupted by my phone playing Mom’s ringtone.

Crap, what now? I answered as I edged past Griffin into the hall. “What’s up, Mom?”

“The other one burst this time. And the dishwasher is running.” I could hear the beginnings of panic in her voice.

“The other what? Other hose?”

“Yes. The hot one. It’s spraying and I don’t want to turn off all the water. What’ll happen if the dishwasher runs dry? Can you come home?”

Fuck my life. I knew I should’ve installed both new washing machine hoses but I got lazy and the old one had looked okay. “Listen. Go up and push ‘Pause’ on the dishwasher and then turn off the water.”

“How soon will you be home?”

“I don’t know.” I checked the time. I could take lunch, but I was behind on my work and planned to eat at my desk. “You can leave the laundry till tonight, right?”

“I can’t sleep if the dryer’s tumbling.”

“Can I help?” Griffin murmured at my side.

“Just a busted washer hose back home,” I told him. “I’m on it.” I said into the phone. “Mom—”

“Lee!” Noreen hurried down the hall. “Thank God you’re still here.” She spotted my phone. “Oh, sorry. Important call?”

I said, “Hang on, Mom,” and put her on hold. “What’s wrong?”

“We got the pharmacy shipment and they left out some meds again. Carol’s due for her furosemide and they still didn’t send it.”

“Crap. Let me call them.” And rip someone a new asshole. With heart failure, it was a real bad idea to miss doses of meds. I raised my phone and unmuted Mom. “Listen, I have something I have to do. Turn off the dishwasher, turn off the water, just like last time. I’ll be home tonight.”

“The drywall’s getting soaked.”

“Well then, turn off the water! ”

“Don’t shout at me, Lee.”

I ran a hand down my face.

Griffin said, “Listen, I have a two-hour lunch break. Does your mom still live in the same place? She’s met me. I can Lyft over there, install a hose and help her clean up, and still make it to my afternoon gig.”

Beside him, Noreen shifted foot to foot. She was a very good technical nurse, but she didn’t handle pressure well. Definitely not up to yelling at the pharmacist.

“Would you?” I dug in my pocket. “Don’t Lyft, though. Take my car.”

Griffin eyed my keys but didn’t touch them. “It’s not the car. I don’t have my license.”

“Crap, I forgot. That sucks. Why? You weren’t drunk or high or anything.”

“I screwed up. It’s okay. It’s fair.” His expression said it hurt, though.

“Let me cover the Lyft, then.”

“Dude, pretty sure I still have more money than you.”

I glared at him. “Okay, at least let me pick you up tonight after your shift and give you a ride home.”

“And miss two rush-hour buses?” Griffin grinned at me. “Deal. I’m at Rose Gardens this afternoon.”

I said into the phone, “Hey, Mom, you remember Griffin?”

“The man you were in—”

“The guy I brought around sometimes,” I rode over her words because Noreen was listening and I did not need my ex-love-life spread around the building. “He happens to be here, and he’s going to come on over and fix the hose for you, because I’m swamped with work. Okay?”

“Griffin the singer?” she clarified. “I thought he left town.”

“He’s back and right now he’s going to do us both a favor. If that’s okay with you?” She’d met Griffin a few times while we were dating, but that was a long way back. “Will you let him come in and fix things?”

“I suppose. I always liked that boy.”

I huffed a bit at boy because Griffin was closer to her age than mine, but whatever got her calmed down and kept the drywall from dissolving. “Okay. He’s on his way, and Mom? Just turn off the knife switch, okay? Turn off the water and then turn off the dishwasher. Let me know when you’ve done that.”

“All right.” There was some undefined noise over the line, then Mom said, “It’s stopped spraying. But it’s all wet.”

“You mop up what you can, and Griffin will be right there.”

“Okay. Tell him thank you for taking the time for me.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“You too, Mom.” I tapped the call off and turned to Griffin. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” He held out the guitar to me. “You get that back to Adelle, and I’ll deal with your plumbing.” He made a face. “No double meaning intended. I’ll fix your mother’s leak problem.”

“Thank you. Call if you have any trouble. You’re done at five, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” I was technically done at four, but I had more than enough to keep me busy. “I can pick you up out front of Rose Gardens.” I spotted an aide coming down the hall and took the guitar, holding it out to her. “Here, get this back to Adelle, please.”

She blinked but said, “Yes, Lee,” and took the instrument.

“Right.” I turned to Griffin, thinking I should say more, but Noreen looked like she was going to explode. I went with, “Thanks. See you later.”

The moment she was sure I was coming, Noreen strode off down the hall, making me hustle to keep up with her. “It’s not just the furosemide. There’s no Lidocaine cream and Mrs. Booker’s trazodone didn’t come.”

I glanced over my shoulder once, in time to see Griffin heading for the front door.

Images of what Mom might tell Griffin gave me a moment of hesitation. She’d been around for my crash-and-burn post-Griffin days, although she’d been so caught up in Alice’s diagnosis, maybe she hadn’t noticed me. Would she tell him I cried my eyes out and walked around like a zombie? Hopefully not.

It was too late to intercept their meeting now. And with Griffin taking care of Mom, I could give my attention to what sounded like an absolute clusterfuck of a non-delivery. “You’re kidding,” I said to Noreen, who was listing the missing and backordered items. “No insulin syringes? That’s fucked up. What do they expect us to do? Shove insulin up someone’s nose?” Noreen was the one hustling to keep up with me now, as I headed for my office to compare lists and then commence asshole ripping. And I realized that not once had I worried about what Griffin would say or do around my mom. I was damned sure the guy I’d loved was still a good man at heart.