Crush. Candy. Corpse. Read online

  Grouch, I thought and quickly signed in after him as he keyed in the code to unlock the door to the Alzheimer’s unit.

  The coffee-bean aroma filtered out most of the meatier smell of supper. My necklace was a lifesaver.

  Ahead, Marlene and Fred trudged along together heading right for us. Cole leaned back on the door so it would close faster.

  “Hold it open!” Fred called to us. “They’ve changed something.”

  “We need bread,” Marlene added, reaching one hand out.

  Blocking the door still, Cole took her hand and gently turned her back the way they had come.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore: same old sweatpants, this time grey and stained with something orange down the front. “Hi, Fred. Do you mind?” I crouched down and untucked his sweatpant leg from his sock.

  “Is that you Diane?” He looked down at me, head tilted.

  “No, I’m Sunny.”

  “Darn. I wish you were Diane.”

  Cole smirked at this one. Moron.

  I smiled and tried to sound cheery. “Sorry to disappoint you. Is Diane your daughter?”

  “Yes. I’m supposed to go with her today and buy a part for my car.”

  Cole still watched me. I’d show him just how patient and friendly I could be. “If you could tell me what part, I bet my dad could help me get it for you.”

  From the side of my eye, I noticed a quick headshake from Cole.

  Fred nodded, but then he frowned and his brow furrowed. His eyes moved from side to side quickly like he was looking for a clue to the puzzle in his head.

  Too late, I understood my mistake. Playing along with his delusion seemed to have woken him from some peaceful spell. I didn’t know what to do.

  Marlene rescued us both. “We better keep going,” she said, without raising her head. “Stores are going to close.”

  Incident immediately forgotten, Fred’s face smoothed as he looked down and continued along the hall with her.

  Another inmate with straggly grey hair sat near a window rocking a naked plastic doll in her arms.

  “Hi, Susan,” Cole called. “How’s the baby?”

  Susan just smiled and rocked it some more. She looked happy, like a new mom. It was too weird.

  “Guten tag, Johann,” I said when I saw Mr. Schwartz. But he didn’t look up. His eyes were open but he still seemed asleep. “I’m going to feed you dinner today, okay?” I grabbed hold of his wheelchair handles and pushed.

  “Hey, Grandma,” Cole called out and rushed to a woman with a walker. Even slightly stooped over the handlebars, she looked tall like Cole and she had his golden eyes. Only hers looked dazed. He gave her a kiss and a hug and she smiled.

  “You brought your mother.” She turned to me. “Nice colour, Claudine. Can you get the hairdresser to do that for me?”

  “It’s Sunny,” I corrected her, deciding I couldn’t humour the residents too much. Look how that had confused Fred.

  “Sunny is it, Claudine? Let’s go for a walk then.” His grandma immediately moved towards the glass door that opened onto a courtyard.

  “No, Grandma. This is the new volunteer and her name is Sunny.” Cole winked at me as he caught her elbow and tugged her back. “It’s almost suppertime. Maybe we’ll walk later. Come to the dining room with us.”

  I smiled when she said hello the second time.

  From around the next corner Jeannette shuffled behind her walker towards us. “Hello there, Gorgeous. What a pretty blouse!”

  I looked down at my green V-necked tee. “Thank you, Jeannette. Coming to supper?”

  “Well yes. It is my birthday.” She grinned as she stepped alongside us, and I wondered if she was trying to put one over on me. Cole’s grandma wheeled along at his side.

  I pushed Johann’s chair into the dining room to his usual spot. A man with shaggy black hair and sideburns was setting up some sound equipment in the corner. He wore a flashy white jumpsuit that looked like it might split when he bent over to plug his microphone in.

  “Hello. Here, put this on.” Gillian held out some paper party hats.

  Cole grabbed one and slipped the elastic around his chin, placing the cone over his ruffled hair. It was almost an improvement.

  I stared at the polka-dotted one she offered me. I hate those hats. They don’t sit right, they never fit, the elastic under your neck pinches, and frankly, I spend a lot of time straightening my hair to make it look good. I don’t want to wreck it.

  “Go on, it’s Jeannette, Susan, and my grandma’s birthday. We have to celebrate.” Cole’s eyes, friendly as they seemed, watched me. Was I measuring up?

  I shook my head and looked around the room at the old people, sitting with their bodies bent over the tables. Some wore hats, some didn’t. I wondered if they even had a say. I sighed. “All these birthdays in one day. Guess that makes this party really special.” I took the hat and placed it over my head, pulling the elastic around my chin.

  Cole smiled at me and winked. “That should keep your hair from snapping.”

  The shaggy-haired dude in the corner called into his microphone, “Thank you, thank you very much.” Then he began singing an old Elvis song. “Wise men say . . .”

  A pretty dismal birthday party if you asked me. One silver, heart-shaped Happy Birthday balloon in the centre of the room and a fairly ordinary meal — chicken or fish sticks with macaroni and beets. I spooned a puddle of red into Johann, then a little brown. He wouldn’t take the beige.

  “What is this?” I asked out loud of no one in particular. Johann kept his lips solidly wedged together.

  “That’s a dinner roll put through the blender.” Cole lifted his eyebrows and nodded. “Try some. Tastes exactly the same.”

  “No thank you.” The shaggy-haired guy strummed and sang but everyone just chewed and swallowed, same as always. I gestured at the sleepy old people around us. “No one seems to be enjoying Elvis.”

  “Oh no?” Cole suddenly threw his arms open wide and sang along, loud and somewhat flat, looking my way as though he was serenading. “But I . . . can’t . . . help . . . falling in love . . . with . . . you.”

  I couldn’t help blushing. “You’re an idiot.”

  When the old people finished their meals, the goth cafeteria worker and a friend brought out a cake. None of the residents sang, only Elvis, the cafeteria workers, Cole, and me. “Happy birthday dear Jeannette, Susan, Fred, and Helen. Happy birthday to you.”

  No one blew out any candles, nor did anyone get any presents. “So many people born on the same day, what a coincidence.” I tasted the cake. It was crumbly and dry and not very sweet.

  “Only Jeannette really. They celebrate everyone’s birthdays for the whole month today.” Cole stuck out his tongue. It was covered in crumbs. “Dietetic. Yuck.”

  “So they don’t even get to celebrate their own day. That’s sad.” I pushed my cake plate away.

  “Yup.”

  “I’d like to get Jeannette a present. The others, too.”

  “You don’t have to, they won’t know.”

  Elvis started up another song. “Suspicious Minds” it was called.

  “Interesting choice,” I said, gesturing with my head to him.

  “Sing with me,” Cole said. “‘We can’t go on together . . .”

  I rolled my eyes but it didn’t stop Cole.

  The song ended. “He takes requests,” Cole said. “Don’t you, Elvis?”

  “Uh huh. What would you like, pretty lady?”

  For you to stop playing seemed mean. Instead I shrugged. Trouble was, none of the hip hop I liked was really for this crowd. Nor could this dude probably play it.

  I looked around at all the grey heads, some nodding as they chewed their safety cake. I watched Cole dab at his gran
dmother’s chin with a napkin. It all made me think of Omi. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could be caring for her the way Cole did for his grandmother? And then her favourite song came to me.

  “Do you know ‘You Are My Sunshine’?”

  “Yes, I do. But you’re gonna have to sing with me.”

  He began strumming.

  “Oh, I can’t sing. You wouldn’t want me to —”

  “Come on now . . .” He kept strumming. Cole started singing with him.

  I winced as I finally joined in. I don’t like the sound of my own voice, but couldn’t hear it anyway. Like screaming at the airport when the planes land, I was drowned out by fake Elvis, the loud electric strumming, and the clatter of plates as they were collected.

  Such a bouncy little song, but it made me sad. I could remember singing it with Omi. I was her sunshine, she had told me. She’s the one who started everyone calling me Sunny. But I didn’t think I was anyone’s sunshine anymore. Especially not my mother’s. I had to wipe tears from my cheek.

  “You have a beautiful voice,” Jeannette told me when it was over. “What a gift.”

  Wow, I couldn’t believe how a compliment from a slightly loony lady made me feel so much better. “Thank you!”

  Her gift comment also reminded me about the presents I wanted to buy, so I asked Cole to help me find out the residents’ real birthdays.

  “Grandma’s lands on your next visit, actually. But you’ll go broke if you get things for all of them. Come with me.” He took me into his grandma’s room and I sat on her flowered couch as he removed an envelope of money from her drawer. “Here’s twenty dollars. I wonder if that will be enough. I have something particular in mind.”

  chapter four

  Right away the buzzard starts in on the receptionist. “What did you observe, if anything, about Sonja’s visits to Paradise Manor?”

  “She didn’t like to pay attention to the rules. I had to remind her about signing in and out. She made a face when I asked her to use the sanitizer.”

  The buzzard sniffs at his notes. “What exactly did she tell you when you asked her to wash her hands?”

  “She suggested that the residents needed the sanitizing. That they would pass her their diseases, not the other way around. She also said that they would be lucky if she brought them some illness that would kill them off quicker.”

  The lady in the kiwi-coloured sweatsuit cringes in her seat.

  Okay, maybe I said that, I don’t remember. And I shouldn’t have — not out loud. I didn’t think everyone would be listening and storing my words to judge me with later. But I bet everyone who walks into the Manor thinks it. The residents are ancient and they sleep all the time anyway. Plus I was annoyed about using that sanitizer. I don’t think it really kills germs, just the moisture on your skin.

  “No further questions. Counsel?”

  My lawyer immediately stands up and tilts his head. “Can you tell me, did Sonja often forget to sign in?” His voice sounds bright and cheery, and he smiles as though he’s not defending an evil teen.

  “She always signed in because she needed proof of her forty hours.”

  Like that was a crime, I think. Wanting to get my volunteer time counted.

  “What about signing out? Did you have to remind her to do that?”

  “Yes, most often she forgot to sign out.”

  Michael nods in acknowledgement. There, great, now the jury knows that I forgot to sign out often. Not just when I supposedly killed someone.

  “Were there any other rules she broke?”

  “That I personally knew of?”

  “Yes. Only those she broke in front of you.” He planned for at least one of my hostile witnesses to mention the gifts I gave the seniors.

  “Um . . . I know she brought in a pair of sweatpants for one of the patients. But she refused to take them to laundry to label.”

  Bingo! The chubby guy in stripes sits up.

  “What was her explanation for this refusal?”

  “She said she wanted to see Fred in new, clean clothing on his birthday at least, and she didn’t want to wait. She took out a pen and marked the label with his room number.”

  The bearded guy with all the pins looks interested too. The guy with the taped-up glasses straightens his head.

  “Do you remember whether she signed in on this occasion?”

  “As a matter of fact, she said she was just ducking in for a minute and it wasn’t her volunteer hour. She didn’t sign in or out.”

  Sometimes I went to Paradise Manor on my own. Truly volunteering. I liked the old people. My lawyer gets that. Only, does the jury? ’Cause I also brought Fred the old stick shift from my father’s Mustang. On another day, I brought Susan’s naked baby some doll clothes of my own. I had to reattach the doll’s head constantly, too, which really meant a lot of pushing and twisting. For Jeannette, I brought a new lipstick and for Cole’s grandma, I did something entirely different. Something I got into a lot of trouble over. But the buzzard doesn’t show any more journal entries. Maybe if I’d written how Cole begged me to do it, how he said it was the only thing that would make her happy, my lawyer could have used the fourth one.

  The Fourth Visit — thirty-two hours left

  I’m really making a difference volunteering at Paradise Manor. They celebrated five of the residents’ birthdays all on one day. How efficient is that? They hired a tribute singer, and I led the old folks in a few ditties. I also made visits on their real birthdays and did something special for Mrs. Demers. She really enjoyed it. It’s like I told you, Mr. Brooks, when you’re happy with your hair, it gives you a more positive outlook on life.

  I asked my mother for fifty bucks so I could buy the seniors some birthday presents.

  “You are very generous with other people’s money,” Mom said. Her words always sound stiff, disapproving even. Wolfie told me once it was because she had learned Oxford English in school back in Germany. That gave her that upper-crust tone.

  “Nobody hires a sixteen-year-old without experience,” I grumbled. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Eat your toast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  I bit into an over-crisp corner of bread. I should have hit dad up for the money. Mom likes us to work for everything.

  “We came to this country with nothing.” She straightened her neck as she poured herself another coffee. People say we look alike, but I didn’t see it. My hair is dark like Dad’s, though, okay, our eyes are the same pale blue. Mom hadn’t dyed her hair since the treatments and there were strands of pale yellow framing her short, curly ’do — exactly where my hair was pink — which made her seem more fragile.

  I thought about cutting mine short like Mom’s, for Donovan’s grad. I’d leave my two long, pink strands. That would make a statement.

  “You can come to the condo office. Work there like Wolfgang,” Mom suggested. My parents manage five condominium buildings, hiring and paying all the repair and maintenance people. They also attend all owners’ meetings and listen to plenty of complaints, as they tell it. “I can teach you to do the bills on the computer.”

  “In between school, homework, and my volunteer hours, sure. Can I have the money now?”

  “No. Tell me one hairdressing salon where the customers pay before they get their hair done?”

  I sighed. There it was, her looking down on my job plans. It always came down to that. “You’re not a salon, and I need the money to buy the presents in time for a birthday.”

  My mother just arched an eyebrow. “And then you will never show up to work.”

  If she seriously needed me to, sure I would. But she didn’t seem to know this about me so I didn’t argue any further, just finished my toast and went to school. And after school, even without a contribution from Mom,
I still went shopping . . . with Donovan. We browsed the men’s formal-wear shop in the corner of the mall. He wanted to really stand out for this grad, his third. Maybe a kilt?

  I wrinkled my nose.

  Maybe a white tuxedo instead of the standard, silky lapelled black one?

  I shook my head. “You know what? Once I get a dress, we can try to coordinate your outfit, Donny. Let’s go look at track pants.”

  “Why?” he squealed. “Who wears track pants?”

  “My brother Wolfie when he works out. And it’s all the old guys ever wear at Paradise Manor. Look over there! The sales rack in front of Sport X. It’s a sidewalk sale, two for one.” I dragged Donovan over by the arm. “What size would you wear, Don?”

  “I wouldn’t wear any.”

  “Medium?” I held up a pair against him. “One black pair for Johann and one navy pair for Fred.”

  “Do you have any money?” he asked.

  “Ten bucks left from my allowance. Don’t you have any?”

  “Oh, Sunny!” He rolled his eyes. “Go into the shop and look at shoes for yourself.” He laced his fingers through each other and stretched them.

  The track pants weren’t for me, they were for the old people. Charity, not stealing, I reasoned with myself nervously. I drifted to the shoe wall. A clerk in a referee’s striped shirt approached. Jacob, his name tag read.

  “Anything I can help you with?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t really jog.”

  “Then these cross trainers might be for you.” He took down a pair of striped, red-suede runners. “They’re on sale, too.”

  A sporty look without that industrial functionality jogging shoes always seemed to have. I couldn’t resist and tried them on. “They’re great, really.” I looked past him to the sweatpants rack. Donovan had disappeared already. “Sorry, I’ll have to come back for them another day.”

  Jacob smiled at me “Sure. Want me to put them aside?”

  I felt bad. If I’d had money, I would have bought them. But then I would have paid for those sweatpants, too. “No, that’s okay.” I walked away quickly.