Vivian In Red Read Online Free Page A
where? What does that mean?”
“They will likely recommend a nursing home setting for the time being, to keep an eye on him and for therapy, but it sounds like Aunt Rebekah is on the war path about it and he’ll probably come home with twenty-four/seven nursing care.”
“Well, good. Grampa Milo would hate those places.”
I finally look away from the brick to face my cousin, and his shiny forehead is creased. He’s tall and prematurely balding, and the combined effect is to make him look like he’s growing through his own hair.
“There are some excellent facilities with wonderful staff. But yeah, El. I know what you mean.”
A familiar movement in my peripheral vision snags my attention. Before I even turn my head all the way I can tell who it is. Daniel has a distinct, loping gait that I’ve always been able to pick out of a crowd long before I can even read his face.
Joel utters one confused syllable: “Huh.”
“Never mind,” I tell him, my voice full of warning.
By this time, Daniel has approached us. He thrusts out a hand toward Joel, makes his inquiries, and my cousin gives an abbreviated version of what he just told me.
After he sums it all up, and Daniel nods his sad commiseration, Joel doesn’t seem to be leaving, though he must have someplace important to be. I wish for his pager to sound off, to make him stop giving Daniel that “sizing up” look.
Daniel breaks the silence. “So Joel, how are those babies?”
“Hungry, my God. Either Jessica or the nanny are feeding one of them at any given moment. How do the families where kids outnumber the adults ever do it? Oy, I can’t imagine.”
I break in with, “You mean you haven’t heard the Eva Monologues on Proper Parenting?”
“I always make sure I get paged. Look, I better get back in. Hang in there, Ellie. Bye, Daniel.”
And so he’s sucked back into the building, looking at his watch, his white coat flapping away behind him.
Daniel steps closer to me and asks me how I am, and I answer with a shrug.
“So Joel knows? About us?”
“I had to explain why you weren’t at the family dinner. He’s trying to figure out why you’re here now.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t just abandon you at a time like this.”
“Well, he’s going to live, so you’re in the clear now.”
“Don’t do that, El. You called me, I came. I’m not the bad guy. But seriously, are you okay? I can’t tell, when you get like this. When you go all ‘statue’ on me.”
By this time I’m facing him, but he’s enough taller than me it’s easier to focus on the flaking print on his Pearl Jam concert T-shirt than it is to crane my neck to look him in the face. It’s bright, too. The sun is pouring out rivers of heat and light, and my head has begun to throb.
“I’m scared for him. He can’t talk, his right hand is affected, he can’t write. What kind of life is he going to have without words?”
Daniel turns so we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, both staring at the same masonry wall, and he drapes his long arm loosely over me, tucking his hand under my hair. For a moment he’s uncharacteristically still. I almost hate to break the spell.
But in the quiet, I answer my own question: at least it’s life of a sort. At least Grampa Milo is still here.
I reach up to briefly clasp Daniel’s hand where it rests on my shoulder, and step away from him. I lead the way back into the hospital, where my grandfather lies mute and scared, but alive.
A t my piano, I should be comfortable. It’s the first place I ever felt so, after all, way back in the Bronx days when my father finally made enough money to buy us one. It was meant for Leah, but she never took to it, not like me.
And it shouldn’t be so bad, either, playing one-handed. But it’s my right hand that doesn’t work, leaving only my left for harmony, unless I try to force my left hand fingers into straining awkwardly to play the melodic line.
Haltingly, messing up the phrasing, I plink
“They will likely recommend a nursing home setting for the time being, to keep an eye on him and for therapy, but it sounds like Aunt Rebekah is on the war path about it and he’ll probably come home with twenty-four/seven nursing care.”
“Well, good. Grampa Milo would hate those places.”
I finally look away from the brick to face my cousin, and his shiny forehead is creased. He’s tall and prematurely balding, and the combined effect is to make him look like he’s growing through his own hair.
“There are some excellent facilities with wonderful staff. But yeah, El. I know what you mean.”
A familiar movement in my peripheral vision snags my attention. Before I even turn my head all the way I can tell who it is. Daniel has a distinct, loping gait that I’ve always been able to pick out of a crowd long before I can even read his face.
Joel utters one confused syllable: “Huh.”
“Never mind,” I tell him, my voice full of warning.
By this time, Daniel has approached us. He thrusts out a hand toward Joel, makes his inquiries, and my cousin gives an abbreviated version of what he just told me.
After he sums it all up, and Daniel nods his sad commiseration, Joel doesn’t seem to be leaving, though he must have someplace important to be. I wish for his pager to sound off, to make him stop giving Daniel that “sizing up” look.
Daniel breaks the silence. “So Joel, how are those babies?”
“Hungry, my God. Either Jessica or the nanny are feeding one of them at any given moment. How do the families where kids outnumber the adults ever do it? Oy, I can’t imagine.”
I break in with, “You mean you haven’t heard the Eva Monologues on Proper Parenting?”
“I always make sure I get paged. Look, I better get back in. Hang in there, Ellie. Bye, Daniel.”
And so he’s sucked back into the building, looking at his watch, his white coat flapping away behind him.
Daniel steps closer to me and asks me how I am, and I answer with a shrug.
“So Joel knows? About us?”
“I had to explain why you weren’t at the family dinner. He’s trying to figure out why you’re here now.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t just abandon you at a time like this.”
“Well, he’s going to live, so you’re in the clear now.”
“Don’t do that, El. You called me, I came. I’m not the bad guy. But seriously, are you okay? I can’t tell, when you get like this. When you go all ‘statue’ on me.”
By this time I’m facing him, but he’s enough taller than me it’s easier to focus on the flaking print on his Pearl Jam concert T-shirt than it is to crane my neck to look him in the face. It’s bright, too. The sun is pouring out rivers of heat and light, and my head has begun to throb.
“I’m scared for him. He can’t talk, his right hand is affected, he can’t write. What kind of life is he going to have without words?”
Daniel turns so we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, both staring at the same masonry wall, and he drapes his long arm loosely over me, tucking his hand under my hair. For a moment he’s uncharacteristically still. I almost hate to break the spell.
But in the quiet, I answer my own question: at least it’s life of a sort. At least Grampa Milo is still here.
I reach up to briefly clasp Daniel’s hand where it rests on my shoulder, and step away from him. I lead the way back into the hospital, where my grandfather lies mute and scared, but alive.
A t my piano, I should be comfortable. It’s the first place I ever felt so, after all, way back in the Bronx days when my father finally made enough money to buy us one. It was meant for Leah, but she never took to it, not like me.
And it shouldn’t be so bad, either, playing one-handed. But it’s my right hand that doesn’t work, leaving only my left for harmony, unless I try to force my left hand fingers into straining awkwardly to play the melodic line.
Haltingly, messing up the phrasing, I plink