Crush. Candy. Corpse. Page 2

  “Donovan!” I pulled my hands away.

  “What? It’s a green perfume, made from organic ingredients. Never tested on animals.”

  “I can’t get picked up for shoplifting again. Next time it will stay on my record.”

  “If I thought I would get caught, I wouldn’t have grabbed it.” He pushed the cologne to me.

  I shook my head at him.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not a small store.” He sprayed some in the air and it did smell nice. “No one’s gonna take a hit for it. They’ve got insurance.” Donovan smiled then, and his dimples melted my heart. “You know I would have bought it for you if I’d had any money.”

  I frowned. But I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. He’d stolen for me, after all. Finally I took the cologne and sprayed some on my wrist.

  Then Donovan kissed me.

  The next day Wolfie helped Alexis and me make coffee-bean necklaces. We found we couldn’t poke the needle through, so he stuck the beans in some putty and drilled the holes for us first. I had a green sweater the beads would really offset nicely. Maybe I’d wear my earth-toned gypsy skirt, too. Theme-wise it would go well with the Terre cologne.

  Monday after school I waited for Mrs. Johnson in the lobby of Paradise Manor. It was very cozy there. A gas fireplace burned cheerily and a few life-sized ceramic dogs sprawled across an oriental rug. Then a poufy-haired woman in a skirt and jacket set bustled in. All business, that was Mrs. Johnson. She made me fill out some forms as we sat on the leather easy chairs in front of that fire. Then she insisted I head for the counter to sign the guestbook and use the hand sanitizer. That stuff smells like insect repellent and vinegar combined. You can actually use it as a lice killer — I read that in a magazine. I took a quick whiff of my necklace and ran my hands over the beads to get rid of the scent.

  Next she introduced me to Gillian Halliday, the volunteer coordinator, who had a wide, white grin and a head full of tiny braids.

  “It’s time for the patients’ supper,” Gillian told me. “Let’s head for the dining room and you can help me feed Johann.” She keyed in four numbers to open the door. “The code is 7686, but if you forget, it’s written at the bottom of the box underneath this lid.” I peeked in and, sure enough, saw the numbers on a white paper. As Gillian pushed the door shut behind us, the cozy feeling left. The door itself was camouflaged with a mural of a bookshelf. “Be careful comin’ in so you don’t let any of the old folks out,” Gillian told me.

  “They want to escape?” She didn’t have to answer. The walls were beige and blank; the floor was speckled linoleum. Windows opened to a nursing station to the right. It was an airless atmosphere. Who wouldn’t want to get out?

  A sweet old couple strolled hand in hand towards us.

  “Hello, Fred. Hi, Marlene,” Gillian called in a jolly voice. “Almost time to eat. Don’t walk too far!”

  Fred shuffled along with one grey sweatpant leg tucked into a sock. So goofy looking — I wanted to run and pull it out. Why didn’t one of the aides do that?

  “I don’t understand it,” he grumbled as he tried the hidden door. “They must have changed something.”

  Marlene kept her head down, murmuring back at him. I could only see her forehead. On it was a lump the size of a dinosaur egg. “Should we stop in and pick up some bread?” she asked Fred.

  He murmured back, “Can’t stop now.”

  “Do they understand each other?” I asked Gillian.

  She shrugged her shoulders and then grabbed Fred’s arm. “This way,” she said, as she gently turned the couple around.

  We followed behind them. Dressed in pastel polyester — baby blue pants covered by a pink floral scoop top — Marlene’s colours actually worked for her. Still, her hair was an iron grey, and there’s so much a good colour rinse can do for that. “Nice that they can stay together anyway,” I told Gillian, getting more depressed by the minute.

  “Oh, they’re not married to each other. The Alzheimer’s makes them want to pace. So one day they just started strolling together, holding hands. I have to stop them sometimes. Fred once collapsed from all the walking.”

  “Really. What happened to Marlene’s head?”

  “The old folks lose their sense of balance as they get on. She fell out of bed.”

  “Ouch!” But it wasn’t the big lump that made me squirm, it was the way her neck jutted out, like a turkey stretching to get a worm, head down. I pulled back my shoulders and rubbed at the top of my spine. Would my neck look like that someday?

  “Here we are, the dining room.”

  I could see it through windows in the hall — blue walls with murals of ’50s-type teens, blue cloths draped over wooden tables, a cafeteria-style counter where trays of food were lined up, ready to go. Prettied-up institutional. Imagine eating every meal of your life in there.

  Outside the door six wheelchairs circled the area, the residents in them paused in semi-doze mode.

  “Hello, Gorgeous. What a lovely dress you have on!”

  I turned to see a smiling, silver-haired lady with lively dark eyes and bright red lips. Lipstick? How civilized. She was sitting in a chair behind a walker. Was she talking to me? I was wearing a skirt, not a dress.

  “Jeannette, this is Sunny, our new volunteer.” Gillian winked at me.

  Jeannette continued to look at me, so I assumed it had been my clothing that she complimented. “Thank you,” I answered and smiled back at her. Perhaps there was one person not so far gone here. I mean, she mixed up her words but she still had taste.

  Jeannette grinned, teeth showing now and just a touch of that red lipstick on her incisor. “You’re welcome.” Her head turned slightly, attention somewhere else. Suddenly her lips pulled down into a vicious dog snarl.

  “If you touch my walker again, I will kill you.”

  Whoa! I stepped back. Did she have a hidden weapon? Who was she even mad at? The lady she seemed to be threatening slumped in her chair, mouth open as she lightly snored. Could she have moved in her sleep?

  “You should make her stop!” Jeannette snapped at Gillian. “Take her to her room or tie her hands to the chair.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that.” Gillian frowned at her and then abruptly changed the subject. “Have you seen the dinners you have to choose from tonight?” She gestured at a menu posted on the dining-room window.

  Jeannette shuffled to her feet. Was Gillian trying to distract her? Seemed to be working, anyway. She wheeled her walker closer to the door. The menu showed a choice of two meals: schnitzel or meatloaf. That sounded pretty good. At least if the seniors had to eat in a cafeteria the rest of their lives, it was nice that they could still choose their meals.

  Gillian faced me. “We have a Hungarian chef and he’s terrific. If you could take charge of Johann over there and get as much food into him as you can before he falls asleep, that would be wonderful.”

  I walked over to the man she had pointed to. He looked pretty skinny. His head slumped onto his hand. While he had a very high forehead, the hair he had left was jet black with silver wings at the side. A Dracula look. I liked it.

  “Just kick off the brakes and wheel him up to the middle table. I’ll hold the door for you,” Gillian instructed me.

  As I pushed the chair forward, Johann snapped up. “Was ist loss?”

  “He only speaks German.”

  “Was ist loss?” he repeated more loudly.

  My own grandma spoke German and I replied with some words I remembered her saying to me. “Ich liebe dich.”

  His face softened and he relaxed back into his chair. “Schatzie, ich liebe dich auch.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You love everybody, Johann.” Gillian chuckled. “You’re just a big playboy.”

  My face flushed as the meaning of the words came back to me. Omi h
ad hugged me and told me she loved me in German. And I had just told Johann.

  Gillian grinned broadly at me. “Honey, you’re a natural. You’ll have him eatin’ out of the palm of your hand.”

  After I parked him at his spot by the table, I covered my cheeks with my hands to stop blushing.

  “You’re doing great, Sunny. Keep up the good work.”

  It was an insane asylum, but I was doing great. It figured.

  “Put the bib around his neck.”

  The bib looked like a large pot holder. I laid it underneath Johann’s chin, fastening the Velcro at the back. Then a dining-room attendant set a tray down in front of Johann. “There you go, Papa.”

  I lifted the beige plastic lid covering his plate. “What is this?” I asked. The matching plate divided his meal into three sections: a plop of white mush, a plop of red, and a plop of brown.

  “You read the menu, it’s schnitzel, ground up so he can swallow it.” The dining-room attendant set another tray in front of Fred, sitting right across from us now.

  I never heard her ask for his menu selection. When Fred lifted his lid, I could recognize the meatloaf, peas, and potatoes.

  I stared at the attendant, a tiny woman with hair way too dark for her pale complexion. Accidental goth. I know she would be happier if I could tone down that black to a chestnut and maybe add some highlights. And if she were happier, maybe Fred could have had his choice of suppers.

  Suddenly, something clattered to the floor and I looked towards the noise. A red bicycle helmet spun across the room. A tall kid who looked about my age chased after it. That helmet probably accounted for his stick-up blond hair. Once he scooped it up, he joined a lady at another table.

  “Meatloaf, Grandma. Your favourite!” he said to her as the cafeteria goth set down another tray. He beamed at her as he helped her spoon some of her supper up. What fun he seemed to be having.

  How come I wasn’t having any? I frowned as I concentrated on feeding Johann. One way or the other I was going to get through my forty hours. Despite the craziness surrounding me, I would get this meal into Johann and show everyone how well I could do at this placement. One spoonful, then another, then another. I was going to get it in him and write about it for my A in English. He clenched his mouth shut now. “Come on.” I nudged his lips with a spoon. Were his eyes drooping? He couldn’t fall asleep on me yet. He’d hardly eaten anything on his plate.

  “Ich liebe dich,” I called out in desperation. I didn’t even care that he wasn’t my type.

  His eyes and mouth popped open and I shoved another mouthful into him.

  “Isn’t he a little old for you?” the scrawny kid called. “Do you want my phone number, instead?”

  “As if!” I rolled my eyes. “Have some apple juice, Johann.” I tipped the glass and some trickled down the sides of his mouth.

  Hek, hek, hek. He began coughing. From my St. John Ambulance course I knew he was fine. As long as his colour remained normal and he could make a noise, he could breathe. I gave him another sip but it didn’t help. Hek, hek, hek.

  From out of nowhere the supervisor, Mrs. Johnson, rushed at me. “Slower, slower! Can’t you see the poor man is choking!”

  I pulled the cup away. She wasn’t exactly yelling, but definitely scolding with a stiff tone, kind of the way my mother talked to me sometimes. My cheeks burned. Too bad, for a moment there I’d been brilliant.

  chapter three

  “Does the defence have any questions for Mr. Brooks?”

  My lawyer, Michael McCann, stands up, straightening his robe behind him. “Thank you, Your Honour, yes,” he says to the judge and then turns to the witness stand. “Mr. Brooks, from your classroom discussions and Sonja’s volunteer journal, can you explain how the position was working out for her?”

  Mr. Brooks nods. “At first, I didn’t think she’d go back because of the odour issues. I knew she was sensitive to smells when after the second class she’d asked me privately to switch seats because of a student’s perspiration problem.” Mr. Brooks struggles for a second. “I thought the seniors in that part of the residence might prove too upsetting for her. But I was pleasantly surprised. Not only did she return, but I got the impression that she was almost enjoying her placement.”

  My lawyer looks down at his binder of notes, flipping a page over. “And back to that first volunteer journal entry, how do you explain why she returned if she didn’t truly believe that the odour was a temporary problem?”

  Mr. Brooks pulls at the knot of his tie again with one finger and frowns. “I don’t know. I just thought she reached for something bigger inside herself and forced herself to overcome her aversion. It’s what we hope for when we assign students volunteer work — that they become better people.”

  My lawyer turns to the jury and repeats in a louder voice, “Becoming better people . . . No further questions.” He sits down again.

  A few of them nod and the lady in the front smiles. He’s scored some points for me, I can tell.

  The buzzard rises. “The Crown calls to the stand Katherine Filmore.”

  Now what can she possibly know about the events of that day? And it has to be bad stuff or the Crown wouldn’t use her as a witness.

  Katherine walks up to the witness box and gets sworn in. Occupation? “Receptionist,” she tells everyone. She’s medium old and usually wears half glasses when she mans the front desk at Paradise Manor. Today she’s specless and sports a bright silk scarf around her neck.

  I barely talked to the lady — except when she was reminding me about the rules, which I tried to follow most of the time. Why don’t they check the rest of my journal entries instead of talking to her? They have them all. They would learn more about me that way.

  The Third Visit — thirty-four hours left

  Next visit I arrived early, signed in, and washed my hands. Then I used the code to open the lockup unit and walked in by myself. I smiled and said hello to all the seniors I met. I chatted with a few, helped some with basic grooming, and, as usual, took Mr. Schwartz into the dining room where we celebrated Fred, Jeannette, Susan, and Helen’s birthdays.

  Donovan couldn’t drive me that day. At lunch he told me he had detention, so I texted my brother who answered, Busy. Use bus. xoxoxo. Drat, he was the one person I could always rely on. Now how was I supposed to get to Paradise Manor on time? Honestly.

  Then, just before last period, Donovan caught me at my locker and asked if I wanted to shop for my prom dress.

  “No, Donny. I’ve got my volunteer work today. Remember?”

  He put his arm around my waist. “Cut it short and I’ll come get you. We can spend a couple hours together.”

  “Not today.” I shrugged away. “I have to be at Mom’s office by seven tonight or she’ll figure out I’m still seeing you.”

  Donovan squinted at me and frowned. Suddenly, he smiled at someone walking behind me. I turned to see. Summer. A senior (not the grey-haired kind) with long hair and legs. She smiled back.

  How could she not? Donovan’s eyes are this smoky brown . . .

  I elbowed him. “Tomorrow or the next day we can go shopping. We just can’t hang together after school today.”

  He caught my chin in his hand. “You don’t have to do your volunteer work this year just because Brooks is forcing you to journal.”

  I hesitated half a second, distracted by his fingers touching my neck. “Yeah, I do. And I have to do well, too, not like Some People.” I pulled away. It was always so hard to do the right thing around Donovan. I found myself explaining. “Mom said I could work at Salon Teo next year if my grades were good.” Dream eyes or not, he couldn’t wreck this for me. He caught my arms and pulled me close. Then he kissed me, long and slow so I couldn’t breathe for a moment. That made me late for class, but it still didn’t change my mind.

&n
bsp; Last period I had Mr. Brooks, so I asked if I could leave before the bell to get the 3:20 bus and he let me. I wasn’t looking forward to working around Mrs. Johnson — clearly she didn’t like me — but as I arrived at Paradise Manor that tall kid rode up on his bicycle, which was red like his helmet. The brightness of the colour perked me up and I waved at him.

  He took off his helmet. His hair was standing up, kind of like a rooster’s comb. “Hi there. I’m Cole . . . Cole Demers, Helen’s grandson. You’re that new volunteer.” He grinned as he held out the hand with the helmet in it. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to shake it. “The one who’s in love with Johann.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I shook my head. “I’m Sonja Ehret. My friends call me Sunny.” I looked into his eyes, which were the nicest thing about him. They were a golden caramel colour and they seemed friendly.

  “Could you just hold onto that while I lock up my bike?”

  “Sure.” My fingers itched to pat down his hair. “Um, do you want to borrow some product?” I asked when he straightened and began walking with me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “For your hair. I have some Smooth in my purse.”

  “Smooth?”

  “You know, it’s that new hair de-staticking stuff. I need to use it all the time. School makes me tense . . . and then my hair just snaps.”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay.” He patted his own head but only some of the hair flattened. He took back his helmet. “I like my hair to snap.” He walked quickly ahead.

  “Wait up!” I followed him into the building.

  “Hi, Mrs. Johnson,” he called.

  She looked up from her desk behind the counter, smiled, and waved at him.

  “I’m here too!” I called. “Remember? Sonja Ehret?”

  She raised an eyebrow and nodded.

  “Teacher’s pet,” I grumbled at Cole. I took a big inhale of my coffee-bean necklace.

  “I don’t care about any ‘teacher.’” He frowned as he signed the guest log. “I’m here to look after my grandmother. And I’m nice to everyone so that they will be good to her when I leave.”