Page 4 of Something About Silver

Referencing newly enacted child labor laws, the state of California put a stop to all that. But Harper knew where all the orchards were at the top of the hill, branches still reaching to the sky, working hard to produce oranges, cherries, pears, apples, and nectarines. There were even some walnut trees there. No one had pruned them for probably thirty years or more. No one sprayed them, but the fruit came anyway. And what managed to grow was small and spotted but pretty good. He had taken his dad up there on several occasions, and they brought back baskets of summer fruits for the staff and patients to enjoy.

The attendant at the front desk notified the staff on his father’s floor, and a heavyset nurse in a starched white uniform and bulky lace-up hospital shoes that squeaked appeared in front of him and gave him a firm and steady handshake.

“Mary. Evening supervisor.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary. I’m Harper. How bad is it this time?”

She immediately looked at the floor and then side-glanced to view through the blackened windows to some imaginary green garden.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Cunningham. Your dad’s too much for most of the female staff here to take care of. That and he seems to be regressing to something like teenage behavior. Difference is, he’s strong and still runs when we get someone to accompany him. He works out like crazy, so he could easily overpower just about anybody here. He’s fit otherwise. He might outlive us all yet!”

Harper chuckled at that, agreeing with her.

“Right now, he can be talked down out of things, and we are able to get close enough to him to give him medication to settle him down. But oh my gosh, the last two days have been pure Hell for all of us. I’m sure for him too.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I think he was looking for you perhaps. He might’ve been looking for your mother? He was pacing the room, shouting things to himself over and over again, making little sense. He was missingsomebody. Perhaps he was just lonely but didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Did he get hurt or did he hurt anybody?”

“Not yet. But he is restrained in his bed. He didn’t sleep last night at all—stayed awake, continuing on to today yelling and swearing at the top of his lungs. We finally sedated him about seven o’clock tonight. He’s snoring up a storm now. When he wakes up, we’ll see if sedation is needed again. I’ve had several other residents in the hall complain. At least he’s asleep for now.” She paused and carefully continued. “I’m just not sure this treatment, giving him access to run about the grounds, is good for him anymore. He could be a danger to himself as well as others.”

Harper was distressed with the news. “Well, let me go see him. You want me to ask him some questions or you want me to just leave him alone if he’s sleeping?”

“Let him sleep. But I want to show you some things he did. He made some drawings on the wall.”

Good grief. Now what’s he done?

“You want to tell me or just spring it on me?” Harper finally finished.

The nurse smiled behind her fingers, obviously feeling embarrassment. She whispered her answer out of earshot of the attendant at the desk, telling him, “I’ll use his words. Tits and ass.”

Evidently, her whisper carried farther than she’d calculated, because the receptionist looked up suddenly, staring back and forth between the two of them.

Harper chuckled. “I’m sure he has no idea what he’s done.”

“Oh, you’re right, of course. It’s just that it’s bothering the other patients too. I hate to suggest it, but we have other rooms that are more like padded lockdowns, like a safe cell, but I know it would petrify him. If he can’t be controlled, I’m afraid that’s your only other alternative. I hate to see him lose his room and that view of the garden. As you know, he has some things from your old house and from your mother that are dear to him, when he is cogent.”

“I get it. He spends most of his time being easy to work with, but he’s putting everyone in the place to have to treat him as if he is mostly out of control. That’s a shame. Let me see him. I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Smiley as well.”

“Yes, of course. I would never entertain any of this without his consultation. But I’ve heard him ponder how far gone he is. You need to know that.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“He seems to especially enjoy his rocking chair.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“Yes, he doesn’t mention her by name any longer, but he loves sitting in it. He also enjoys sitting in his closet. He likes hanging up his robe, going to get his slippers, little routines like that.”

Harper knew he liked those little routines. It gave him peace. As a boy, his father had all his fishing tackle so organized he could tell if Harper had stolen one of his lures or rummaged to look for hooks. It was the same thing for his tools in the garage. All the sharp edges faced the same direction; drawers were labeled and categorized by type of tool.

“Funny. He reminds me of me now. Not when I was a kid. I was never organized enough for him,” he said.

“He insists on shaving when he can and enjoys the community of taking showers with the other residents. He seems to perk up with the men’s locker room banter, like he felt he was playing football again in college. He has special buddies, teammates, he calls them. They sit in the card room. We don’t allow smoking, but they ask every time and complain when they’re denied. They talk about the old days.”

“Navy guys. I’ll bet he sticks to the Navy guys,” Harper said.

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