Page 50 of Cowboys at Coconuts

The nurse glanced at the clerks and motioned toward Hope and Larry. “Follow me to my office.”

Soon they were seated in a tiny stark office stacked with patient charts, one almost-dead fern, and two half-filled coffee mugs. There wasn’t a photo, nor a cheery wall hanging in sight.

Once the nurse got situated behind her desk, she pushed a button to hold her calls. Tightlipped, she crossed her arms as she scrutinized Larry and Hope.

No one said a word during this apparent cat-and-mouse game which continued for far too long. Normally beyond patient, Hope’s insides churned. Larry-Mac seemed content to watch a gray and orange Monarch butterfly that landed on the outer windowsill.

Eventually, the head nurse broke the silence. Her voice rose as she narrowed her eyes. “Come clean. Who are you two? Some scammers who want her belongings? Honestly, I’m sick of money-hungry family members. We take care of our lonely residents only to have so-called families swoop in after they’re gone.”

Hope popped out of her chair as if she were on a spring. Slamming her fist on the desk so hard, several files fell to the floor. “Howdareyou insinuate anything of the sort. I’m Montana’s adopted daughter and this-this is her husband.”

“Adopted daughter?” The nurse raised her eyebrows. “Convenient.”

“Go to hell,” Hope said.

Expressionless, the nurse said, “I’ll let that go. This time.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, there aren’t any belongings. We stripped her room. There’s no money either if you were after that.”

Hope held the nurse’s glare. “And I’ll let that go but don’t ever say it again.”

Staring at Hope, Nurse Helga said, “You can’t go in the room. Another resident’s moving in tomorrow morning. Her room has already been cleaned and sterilized.”

Glaring at the detestable woman, Hope said, “I hope to God you weren’t Montana’s nurse. If you were, that might explain her depression.”

“Well, I never.” The nurse clucked. Tapping her watch, she said, “We’re done here. You both need to leave.”

“Please.” Hope forced herself to soften her voice. “Can I take one quick look around her room? I promise I’m her daughter.”

When the nurse fell silent, Hope sat back down and nudged Larry with her elbow. “Dad-Larry, show her the photo.”

He plucked the dog-eared picture from his wallet and slid the worn family photo across the nurse’s desk.

The nurse glanced at the photo and peered from Hope to Larry and back again. Her tone changed. “I’ll admit this man looks like you, and the woman appears to be a younger Gypsy.”

“Who’s Gypsy?” Hope and Larry asked in unison.

“That’s what we called her. She didn’t remember her name. She came in here off the street nearly two years ago looking like a truck had run over her.”

“Actually, it was a train,” Hope said.

Eyebrows raised, the nurse said, “People rarely survive train accidents.”

Hope leaned forward. “I know at least two people who have survived one.” Pointing toward the photo, she repeated, “We’d be forever grateful if you’d let us see her room. We drove all the way from Crystal City.”

Larry nodded in agreement. “Six long hours on the road.”

The nurse handed Larry the picture. “You have five minutes.”

Chapter 47

Without a word to the nurse, Hope bolted from her office and raced down the hallway, dodged residents with walkers and wheelchairs. “Which room?” she shouted.

“Two more doors down on the left,” someone replied.

Flinging the door to Montana’s room open, Hope stepped inside. Larry was close behind, as was the charming nurse.

Once in the room, they scanned the place Montana had likely lived for nearly two years. The bed had been stripped and a ratty recliner sat in front of a tiny, ancient television. A narrow, silver shelf above the porcelain sink was bare. Hope stared at the shelf and imagined Montana had placed a hairbrush, toothpaste, hairbands, and possibly lotion on the ledge.

Standing in the middle of the room, the nurse said, “I told you there wasn’t anything in here. As I said, visiting hours are almost over. The room has already been cleaned, so if you’ll—”

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