Chapter Seven
My grand plan of words for the week fails dismally. Every time I open up my laptop, the internet coaxes me in. On the work front, apart from organising the flower-arranging class for later today, it’s been cruisy. Monday through Thursday I’ve tried to check in on Sam, but each time he’s been asleep, and lunchtime today is no exception.
As I sign out a visitor, voices whisper at the back of the office.
“That young man is cranky as hell today,” Paige says under her breath to Kathleen. “He didn’t want me to help him get dressed this morning. He barely touched his soup at lunch. He just wanted stronger pain meds and to be left alone.” She shakes her head from side to side and puts her hands on her hips. She must be talking about Sam.
“The physiotherapy has been a bit intensive of late,” Kathleen says, picking up a chart and reading it, running her finger down the paper.
Paige tightens the grey hair of her short ponytail and smooths her hands down the front of her white uniform. “No more than normal. I think he makes matters worse because he just sits around. Too much time to focus on his pain. I’ve encouraged him to read something or watch TV—anything to occupy his mind. Can you believe the kid doesn’t like to watch TV?”
“Sam doesn’t watch TV?” I ask, drawing the attention of the two women.
“He doesn’t like to do anything, dear,” Kathleen says and sighs.
My heart aches at the thought. Someone so young, trapped. Physically, and in his mind. Maybe he’d like to read. I have heaps of books at home I can bring in. Even if Sam doesn’t want them, I’ve seen Shirley from room twenty-six devour a book every few days. She barely moves from the easy chair in the dining hall during daylight hours.
I glance at the clock on the wall.2:20p.m. I’ve got ten minutes before the class begins.I need to go see him. Maybe someone his age will be able to connect with him. I want to be able to do that. With that thought, I tuck in my chair, and prepare to excuse myself.
“Oh, by the way. Mrs Ferguson is in the hall, eager to start,” Kathleen says. “I said I’d send you straight there.”
Gah!I’ll have to check on Sam after.
I shut down my computer. “No problems. I’ll head there now.”
***
After two hours, I’ve had it with flower arranging. Whilst it was fun at first, thanks to arthritis issues with most of the residents I ended up doing most of the work. Not for Beatrice Ferguson, though. That woman wanted to do it all on her own, and the smile on her face at the end of class was priceless. Kathleen came in and took photos partway through, so it’ll be nice to check them out later.
After cleaning up, I decide to visit Sam. Ivy is ceremoniously draped down either side of my face, courtesy of the headpiece Beatrice insisted I wear for the rest of the day. It’s as if I have on a wig of ivy rather than a crown of flowers. On the way to his room, I grab a couple of worn novels from the bookshelf in the dining hall.
I find Sam flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.Probably focusing on his pain, as Paige said. He doesn’t budge an inch as I step into his room. I place the books on the foot of his bed and then lean over him. A strand of ivy falls loose and lands on his chin.
“What’s up?” I drawl.
“What the hell is on your head?” he says through a cheeky smile. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him since we shared lunch that day.
“I’m fully aware I look ridiculous, but Mrs Ferguson thinks I look simply fabulous. I’ve never seen someone have such fun with flowers.”
“You look like you just got dumped in the garden waste and crawled out for air.”
I roll my eyes and huff. “Now, now, don’t be mean. I promised her I’d wear it for the rest of the day.”
Sam tries to sit up in his bed, struggling to move onto his side. He gasps as if he’s just burnt himself.
Without thinking, I grip both of his shoulders and help him sit. I reach for the spare pillow beside the bed and stuff it behind his back.
“Thanks,” he says as he exhales and settles into the padding.
“No problems. You know, if you’re nice to the other residents I might let you wear this crown for a little while this afternoon.” Another piece falls from the headband. A handful of leaves litter Sam’s sheets. I shrug. “Well, that’s if it’s still together.”
He laughs, but it doesn’t take long for a frown to resurface. It’s as if he’s really thinking hard about something.
I think about mentioning that I saw his brother at the fundraiser on the weekend, but now doesn’t seem like the time. Besides that, the last occasion he brought up Ben I sensed some tension there.
He opens his hand which is on the blanket covering his lap, his palm facing upwards. Slowly, he moves it towards me.
I slip my hand into his. It’s surprising how natural it feels. He tugs me towards him, forcing me to sit on the edge of his bed.