Page 1 of Crush & Byte
Chapter One
River
I breezed through the doors of Evergreen Assisted Living Home at precisely six twenty-six in the morning, greeted by the familiar buzz of fluorescent lights and an antiseptic smell that never quite masked the underlying scent of cooked cabbage from the cafeteria.Early, as always.Not to have a bid for employee of the month, but because the bus either got me here twenty-six minutes early or fifteen minutes late, and my supervisor had the memory of an elephant when it came to tardiness.
“Morning, River,” Melissa, one of the LPNs called out from behind the nurses’ station, her curly hair bouncing as she looked up from her computer.“Y’all got a madhouse today.The Wilsons’ son is visiting, so Mr.Wilson’s been up since five asking when he’ll arrive.He didn’t have his usual afternoon snack or a proper supper yesterday, and he’s a tad cranky.”She grinned up at me.Mr.Wilson had family in and out all the time, but his son lived in Southern California and his visits were only once every few months, and the older man always got excited to see his youngest child.
I hung my jacket on the rack and tied my hair back.“Thanks for the heads-up.Any other surprises waiting for me?”
“Mrs.Peterson had a rough night.Her service dog, Jody, had to go to the emergency animal hospital.”
“Oh, no!What happened to Jody?”
“Poor thing got startled when Jim started the vacuum and took off around the corner to the bathroom.Unfortunately, the door was shut and the little rascal knocked himself out.We all think he’s fine, but Mrs.Peterson wanted him to get checked over just to be safe.Can’t say I blame her.Poor Jody couldn’t walk straight for several seconds.”Melissa fought a grin but looked appropriately sympathetic.“I didn’t want to laugh.I really didn’t.And I loved on little Jody too, but it was still funny as shit.”
I winced, even as a smile tugged at my lips.I could practically see the little high-strung dog exactly as Melissa described.“When do we expect little Jody back with us?”
“If they’d gotten her to the vet before five yesterday afternoon, she’d likely have been back today.I thought I heard Mrs.Peterson tell someone they were keeping Jody overnight.Her son’s the vet, so he’ll take good care of her.”
“Oh, good.But I bet Mrs.Peterson’s had a rough night.”
“Probably.But she also knows her son will take care of precious Jody.Also” -- she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper --”The Collector was asking about you yesterday.”
The Collector.That’s what the staff called Margaret Walsh when she wasn’t within earshot because she was always picking up what she called “evidence”.That usually consisted of crumpled receipts with scribbles on them, books in the library with pages torn out, and other odds and ends, seemingly at random.I’d been at Evergreen for almost six months and Mrs.Walsh had been watching me from day one.She routinely sought me out and insisted I take her for a walk around the grounds… for which she didn’t really need my help.The woman set such a brisk pace that I struggled to keep up.How could a woman in her eighties be in better shape than me?Our conversations never made a whole lot of sense to me.She asked me personal questions at random.But she enjoyed herself, so I was happy to answer her questions.
“What’d she want to know?”I asked, signing into the computer system and pulling up the schedule for my patients today.I wasn’t a nurse or even a certified aide, so I didn’t have to give medications or anything.But I did give baths and pass meals and help with crafts and other activities.I couldn’t help but smile.Maggie -- Margaret insisted I call her that, though I rarely did -- was an acquired taste.Feisty, argumentative, and stubborn to the core, she seemed to act that way on purpose, like she wanted to keep people at arm’s length just so she could study them.Everyone but me.Around others, she stayed gruff, but when we were alone, she softened -- like she saw me as a favorite granddaughter or something.I couldn’t lie.I liked the thought she might see me as family.
Melissa shrugged.“The usual.When you’d be back, what shift you were working, if you had any family in the area.”
“She knows I don’t have family in the area.”I loaded my cart with snacks and ice in a cooler to make sure everyone had a pitcher of ice water.“Maybe she’s just lonely.”
“Maybe.”Melissa didn’t sound convinced.“Or she’s adding you to her spy network.”The other woman grinned as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.“Have fun, River.I have a feeling you’re going to have an eventful day.”
I chuckled.Mrs.Walsh claimed she’d been a CIA analyst during the Cold War, though most of the staff dismissed it as an elaborate fantasy brought on by dementia.I’d seen enough residents with colorful pasts they’d invented to fill the emptiness.One man insisted he’d been Neil Armstrong’s backup for the moon landing.Another swore she’d dated Frank Sinatra in the ‘50s.Mrs.Walsh said she’d been the CIA agent on the ground in Cuba during the Bay of Pigs.What?It could happen!
The morning unfolded like evenings always did, a carefully choreographed dance of vitals checks, bed baths, and assisting with snacks.Not necessarily in that order.I helped Mr.Grayson find his dentures (in his shirt pocket, as usual), coaxed Mrs.Fernandez into taking her heart medication by mixing it with a spoonful of applesauce, and listened to Mr.Wilson practice what he’d say to his son for the fifth time that week.He always said the same thing, but if he wanted to make sure he got it right, I wouldn’t complain.If it eased his mind, I’d gladly listen and jump in with prompts when he needed them.Sometimes he messed up on purpose, just to see if I was paying attention.I always paid attention.
“You think he’ll notice I’ve lost weight?”Mr.Wilson asked, patting his still-substantial belly.
“I’m sure he’ll notice how good you look,” I said, adjusting his collar.“Did you want your glasses for breakfast?The newspaper just arrived.”
His face lit up.“Oh, would you?They’re on my nightstand, I think.”
I fetched his glasses and handed him the day’s paper, folded to the sports section the way he liked it.These small gestures weren’t in my job description, but they were why I liked working in nursing and assisted-living homes.These were the people who needed a little something special in their lives to make them happy and that’s what I tried to give them.
By midmorning, I’d made my way to the communal lounge, where a few residents were gathered for the daily craft activity.Sunlight streamed through the large windows, creating warm patches on the worn carpet where several residents had positioned their wheelchairs.
Margaret Walsh sat apart from the others, watching quietly.Unlike the other residents who huddled together over yarn and colored paper, Mrs.Walsh sat erect in an armchair by the window, her silver bob perfectly styled despite the slight tremor in her hands.She wore pressed slacks and a crisp blouse without a wrinkle in sight, and a cardigan draped precisely over her shoulders.
I made my way to her.One thing about Mrs.Walsh -- when she came looking, you’d be smart not to avoid her.Mrs.Walsh kept to herself, but she absolutely would not be ignored if she didn’t want to be.
“Good morning, Mrs.Walsh.Not interested in macramé today?”
Her sharp blue gaze flicked up to meet mine, missing nothing.She had this ability to fix you with a stare that dug into your thoughts and left you feeling mildly judged.
“Tangling string into knots hardly seems a productive use of my remaining faculties, don’t you think, Miss Brooks?”She spoke with a clear, cultured voice.No wavering uncertainty that some of the other residents often showed.Aside from her claims about being a former CIA operative, she came across as surprisingly sharp.When she wanted to be.I kind of had the feeling that, sometimes, she pretended to be more confused and disoriented than she really was.
Then her words penetrated and I blinked.“How did you know my last name?”We didn’t give out our last names.Even our name badges had our first name only.
