Page 41 of Sing it, Sam

“Are you okay, Jane?” Kathleen asks.

“I just need a minute.” I excuse myself and run down the hall towards the far end of the home.I need air.

Something moves in my vision to the right.Wheels. I move to the left to avoid the resident. My sneakers squeak against the lino floor. My ankle jams against something metal. I fall to the ground.

“It’s been a while since a pretty thing like you threw herself at me,” Sam says.

It’s funny. It is, but I can’t even think. She died. That lovely lady is gone. Just like that. I stop a cry from climbing up my throat.

“What are you doing out?” I push myself to sit up.

“I’m not under house arrest. Anyway. What’re you doing running down the hall? You know the rules.”

I close my eyes and rub them with the heel of my palms. All I can see is her glowing face, proud as punch as she crowned me with her floral masterpiece.

“She’s, she’s ….” My chin trembles as I look up at Sam. Words get lodged in my throat.

Gone. She’s gone, Sam.

Sam offers his hand to me. I take it, careful to hold my own weight. He tugs me to my feet with strength I didn’t know he had. “Come with me.”

His room only two doors down. I hobble behind him, blubbering like a baby as he steers his wheelchair inside. He pulls the vehicle up alongside the bed and points to the comforter, directing me to sit.

I sit and rest my elbows on my knees. He moves the chair so his knees connect with my shins.

He holds out two hands and I take them in mine, his skin cool to the touch. I rest our linked hands on top of my thighs.

“What’s happened?” he asks in a soft voice.

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Warm liquid seeps from my eyes, running down my face.

“You’re breaking my heart with these tears,” Sam croons, squeezing my hands in his.

I open my eyes and stare into a pair of sad blue orbs. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

I take a few moments, breathing deeply in and out before I steel my resolve and sit up straight. I need to be professional. This is my place of work. I can’t go around bawling my eyes out. Not here. “Mrs Ferguson died.”

Sam huffs out a breath through his nose. “Oh, Janie. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “The ambulance was for her?”

“Yeah,” I say and sniff.

“Shit. That’s really sad.”

Anger boils beneath the surface as I remember what Kathleen told me in her office. “And her family ... they forgot her. They hadn’t visited in years, and they live here! How could someone do that to one of their own? Old people are still people. They might not be as put-together as us, they might be a little crazy, but they’re still people. They don’t deserve to be forgotten.”

“Shhhh,” Sam says. “You’re completely right. She didn’t deserve that. No one does, but you know what?”

“What?” I bark.

“Mrs Ferguson was lucky.”

I free one hand from his grip and use the back of it to swipe the moisture from my cheeks. “Yeah? How do you figure that?”

“Because she had you in her life. You gave her the time of day. You let her express herself, and nurtured her creativity, even if she did make the most godawful head-thingy I’ve ever seen. You let her dress up as the Hulk, for God’s sake.”

“Do you really think she was happy? That I helped?” Because I want to help people. Ever since I was little, it’s been all I’ve ever wanted. If I wasn’t squeamish when it came to blood and stuff, I would have totally studied to be a nurse or, dare I dream, a doctor.

“You’ve made more of an impact in here than you know ... and not just with Mrs Ferguson.”

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