Crush. Candy. Corpse. Read online

  I was glad to be there, in costume, killing volunteer hours and sneaking in some fun with Cole.

  “Look at the cute baby cat,” Susan yelled as she pointed to a toddler dressed as a lion.

  The baby’s face, circled by a brown mane, crumpled at her loud voice. Then his mouth opened into a full-scale wail and his mom had to scoop him away to the balloons, jiggling and shushing to try to calm him.

  “Aw man, who cut the cheese?” a short ghost grumbled.

  The ghost’s dad tapped his head and told him not to be so rude.

  I grinned at Cole as I lifted my coffee-bean necklace to my nose. Nothing worked better, although at supper when we usually volunteered, the smell of meatloaf and broccoli or other cooked meats and vegetables covered the odour too.

  “Excuse me.” A little girl with a green face and a peaked hat tugged at my dress. “How many cookies are we allowed?”

  Oh gawd, tell me she didn’t think I worked here. “Ten,” I answered.

  Grinning, she grabbed up a handful from a plate on the table.

  “You must be a good witch,” her twin said as she snatched up the rest.

  “She’s Glinda,” Cole agreed, tipping his hat. “And I’m the scarecrow.” He picked up another plate of cookies and we visited with the old folks parked around the walls and on the couches.

  “Thank you,” Jeannette said as she took an orange-iced shortbread pumpkin from his plate. She waved it at me. “Those pants look so nice on you. I bet you make a good traveller.”

  I looked down at myself, confused. What was she seeing? I was wearing a sparkly white wedding gown I’d picked up from Value Village, not really a great travelling outfit. But Jeannette’s compliments seemed so specific, in a random way. Was my way of seeing things or hers the right one? Did it matter? “Thank you, Jeannette. I think you could travel well in your outfit, too.”

  Jeannette was wearing a burgundy dress with brown sweatpants underneath. Bag lady fashion, really. She smiled back radiantly. “Thank you.”

  “Happy Halloween.” I raised my cookie in a toast.

  She raised hers.

  From an old-fashioned boom box on the shelf a song began to play. “I did the mash, I did the monster mash.”

  “You there, little boy,” Jeannette suddenly snapped. She grabbed a short pirate with a skull-and-crossbones kerchief on his head. “Why don’t you dance to the nice music?”

  The little pirate boy looked back towards his mother, who shrugged.

  “Turn it up! Turn it up!” Jeannette waved her hand in the air. I flipped the volume knob to the right.

  Immediately, the pirate threw himself onto the floor into a Cossack kick. After a few energetic moments of that, he switched into some kind of twirl while he leaned on one hand. Breakdancing? And from there he straightened into a slow-motion moonwalk. None of the movements went with the beat or the music but he grinned as he danced and Jeannette actually grinned wider.

  “Bravo! More, more!” She clapped.

  It was awkward. The little boy looked helplessly around, like he didn’t want to keep going. So Cole started dancing alongside him in a sloppy scarecrow jig. No rhythm. Nothing smooth about him, so unlike Donovan, I thought, shaking my head.

  He held out his hand for me and I sighed, not wanting to dance this hokey pokey but knowing there was no arguing with Cole. I grabbed his hand and pirouetted into my best fairy plié. Silly dancing, nothing matching anything else: jig changing into a waltz, a breakdance into a twist.

  At one point I collided with Cole and the crash turned into a hug. He smiled at me. I couldn’t help smiling back, but still pulled away.

  When the song finished, I immediately volunteered to get Jeannette a glass of Boo juice — a punch the colour of berries or fresh blood, depending on your mood.

  “This is for your grandma.” Batgirl (aka the cafeteria goth) handed Cole a digestive biscuit and a plastic glass full of what looked like apple juice. “Have to keep those sugar levels down.”

  He brought them to her. She looked very much out of this world, slumped in her now permanent wheelchair. Even her pink streaks did nothing to liven up her face. It hadn’t just been a single bad day for her as everyone hoped. Imagine that: one day just forgetting how to walk.

  “I don’t know why they don’t let her enjoy herself at Halloween at least,” he told me as he held up the plain-looking rectangle to her mouth.

  I strolled over to Johann, a few chairs down along the wall, taking a cookie plate with me. He didn’t have any family visiting, in costume or not.

  “Was ist loss?” he asked me, his forehead crinkled with anxiety.

  “Halloween,” I told him, offering him the plate.

  He winced at me, still confused.

  “Oktoberfest?” I tried again.

  He nodded, looking satisfied and took a shortbread, crumbling it against his mouth.

  “Easy. Taste some.” He was used to mushed food but the cookie was too delicious to miss. I opened my mouth and pretended to eat something.

  The next time he actually opened his mouth. I shoved a small piece in. He didn’t seem to know what to do with it for a while. He didn’t chew or swallow. But his mouth stretched into a smile. Maybe it had melted in his mouth. Good.

  Marlene and Fred shuffled through the recreation room and puppy dog Gillian tried unsuccessfully to get them to sit down.

  “We’re out of bread,” I heard Marlene say.

  Both Fred’s pant legs were tucked into his socks today. I hated the look but at least his legs matched. Around the room most of the residents sat slumped, staring out expressionless. A few slept. Did they really need or appreciate a Halloween party?

  The pirate and his mom left. The witch twins kissed their grandma goodbye. The lion baby refused to hug Marlene, and her mother had to finally leave with him. The ghost drifted after his dad.

  In the corner, Susan stood alone rocking her doll.

  I asked Cole what he thought of the party.

  “Some kids came. The old people love them.” He shrugged. “If they enjoy it for a second, it’s still good. People with Alzheimer’s have to live in the moment. Moments are their lifetime.”

  Definitely there was that one moment with Jeannette during the dancing and maybe half of one when Johann enjoyed his cookie. Still. One second of enjoyment didn’t seem enough for a lifetime. Same as those last five minutes with Helen Demers shouldn’t have destroyed my life either.

  chapter seven

  The judge leans over and looks at my lawyer. “Does the defence wish to question the witness?”

  “Yes, Your Honour.” Michael McCann stands. No fussing with his notes, no playing with his tie. The jury members relax back into their seats. “Mrs. Swanson, what would you say is the attitude of most of the visitors to Paradise Manor?”

  “Some are very grateful for the care their loved ones are given.”

  The jury member with the broken glasses starts cleaning them. One of the goatee twins strokes his beard. There’s a ring piercing his chin, too. Oh my gawd!

  “And how do the others react?” Michael asks brightly, giving her his teddy-bear eyes.

  “Well, some are sad about the state the patient is in.”

  He lifts his hands as though asking for help. “And how does that sadness manifest itself?”

  “They can be angry.”

  He leans forward. “With the patient?”

  “No, with the staff. They can question caregiving, routines, rules.”

  He nods. “The way Sonja Ehret did?”

  Sheila frowns as though caught in something and nods.

  “Could you respond out loud for the record?”

  “Yes, the way Sonja did. But she wasn’t related to the patients. There were no emotions involved for her.
”

  Objection, I think. You don’t have to be related to a person to care about them.

  “No further questions,” my lawyer says.

  Heh, heh. The guy in the plaid shirt coughs. So there, it sounds like.

  I did too have emotions about those people, I want to yell at him. Look in my journal! If they kept reading it, they would see. I cared about the patients and sometimes they really wiped me out.

  The Seventh Visit — twenty-six hours left

  Mr. Brooks, my volunteer hours are giving me a better understanding of what caregivers and families experience. One of the patients became anxious and I tried to calm her down. It didn’t work and she looked like she was going to hit me, so I had to leave for a while. I didn’t think I could even come back, but I did. I’m going to try harder to be nicer to her because it’s not her fault her brain is shutting down. I’m trying really hard with all of them.

  It was warm and sunny that day, great weather for November! I actually rode my bike to Paradise Manor. Because I didn’t have to wait around for a bus, it took way less time than usual to get there and the sound of the swishing rust-coloured leaves along the road put me in a great mood. The last few blocks I rode alongside Cole. Also a mood booster.

  “You should wear a helmet,” Cole told me when we locked the bikes to the rack in front of the home.

  “Look at your hair, look at mine,” I told him as I shook my head and raked through it with my fingers.

  “Yours is . . . great,” he said, staring at me for a second.

  “Thank you.” My hair is thick and lustrous (from Dad’s side). I smiled and looked back into his eyes. “Here, why don’t you let me fix yours. It’s my thing.”

  “Oh, fine. Go crazy.” He put his chin down obediently so his hair faced me.

  I took out my Smooth, rubbed some in my palms, and ran my hands over his hair. I flicked some into spikes. “There. Nice.”

  He lifted his head again and I saw a perfect reflection of me in the gold of his eyes. He caught my wrist. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “You’re welcome.” I pulled my arm back again but it tingled all the way up from where he had touched. We strolled into the Manor through the sliding doors. I used the hand sanitizer, without a lecture, and signed in. Cole followed my example and then keyed in the code.

  “Hello there, Gorgeous. That’s a nice dress.” Jeannette shuffled up to me.

  Cole hung back.

  I was wearing tight, brown leggings so as not to get any clothing parts caught in the bicycle chain. “Thank you.”

  “Can you help me get out of here? I’m lost and I don’t know anyone.” Jeannette shuffled closer, her eyes dazed today.

  Standing in front of the bookshelf-camouflaged door, I shrugged and shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t know the way either.”

  “You must,” her voice dropped low.

  “Is it over around that corner?” This was the way the nurses did it — distracted, delayed, changed the subject, lied. It didn’t feel good.

  “You have to help me,” Jeannette pleaded. “None of my friends are here.”

  Cole touched my elbow, warning me or letting me know he was there to help me escape.

  I brushed him off. Didn’t I know how to handle Jeannette? Hadn’t I watched the nurses and aides enough times? “Well, maybe you have to make new friends,” I suggested in a bubbly voice, giving her the line all adults use on kids when they move into a new neighbourhood or change schools.

  “Don’t be so stupid!” Jeannette snarled, baring her teeth. “Tell me the way out.”

  “Sor-ry.” I backed away.

  She pushed her walker towards me again. “Wipe that smile from your face. It’s hideous. You make me crazy.” Her face closed in on mine. Did she intend to bite me?

  Cole stepped closer.

  I stopped smiling.

  “You’re ugly.” She grabbed my shirt now. “Why do you keep me here?”

  I yanked back sharply.

  “Jeannette,” Cole spoke to her as she reached again, her fingers bent like hooks. “Don’t touch,” he said gently. He pushed her hand away.

  While he stepped between us, I turned to the door and keyed in the code at world-record speed.

  Cole chased after me through the passageway. “Don’t go! Sunny, don’t!” He caught up to me just as I was heading through the double-door exit. He swung me into his arms and I started crying.

  “Come on, Sunny. She’s crazy. She didn’t mean any of that.”

  “But I thought she liked me.” Just the way my grandmother did. Omi also made a big production over how pretty I was or how nice my clothes were.

  “Like you?” Cole said. “I’d say she loves you.”

  I looked up and stopped crying. “No she doesn’t. She hasn’t known me long enough.”

  “For Alzheimer’s patients, a moment is their lifetime. You’re someone who is nice to her. She likes the way you look. I would say, in her own way, she loves you.”

  I shook my head. “I do my best with them. I don’t know how to handle her anymore.” I felt more tears sliding down my face. Why did I care about some old biddy? It’s just that I liked hearing her say nice things about me, even if they were about articles of clothing I wasn’t wearing.

  “No one knows what to do with them. That’s always a problem.” Cole led me by the hand to the lobby to one of the couches next to the fake fireplace. “Sit down here a second. Let me get you a tea. Just don’t move.”

  By the couch lay a big ceramic English bulldog. I sat down and touched the dog’s head. I didn’t know what the decorators thought when they were accessorizing this place — fake dogs don’t make you feel better. I picked up a clothing catalogue from the table. Independence, dignity, and fashion, it advertised on the cover. All opposites of what the residents got when they moved in here. I flipped through. Inside were full-colour spreads of a special accessible clothing line. Boxy, easy-wash casuals with plenty of Velcro on the back to make putting the stuff on or tearing it off easy.

  My worst nightmare. I’d be angry if I were Jeannette, too.

  Cole rushed back out in that moment, carrying my tea in a brown plastic cup. He handed it to me. “I just guessed how you like it.” A wedge of lemon floated on top.

  “I don’t even drink tea,” I answered, sipping. But the warmth of the cup against my hands felt nice, and the hot tea refreshed me. “What did you tell Gillian?”

  “I didn’t see her. I just spoke to the cafeteria lady and said you needed a minute.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The residents probably get to the staff too. Those seniors can be nasty.”

  I shook my head and sipped some more tea. “I don’t think I can face Jeannette anymore. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have told her she needed to make new friends.”

  Cole smiled. “Don’t worry. She can’t carry a grudge.” He chuckled then. “The good thing about Alzheimer’s patients is they’re so good at forgetting.”

  I laughed, too. “You don’t think she’ll still be mad at me?”

  “Finish your tea and then let’s go back and see.”

  I slowly sipped up the last mouthful.

  “Ready?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and stood up.

  “Here. Let me just do this.” He reached over and kissed me, gently, sweetly on the lips.

  “What’s that for?” I mused.

  “For me, what do you think?” He paused for a moment. “Honestly, it’s just ’cause you care so much.”

  I smiled. He thought I was a good person. That meant a lot to me.

  Together we passed into the lockup ward again. I saw Jeannette ahead but marched forward anyway. What if she wanted me to help her escape again? I wished I could take her away. How could she live
like this? But I couldn’t help her leave; I was stuck here myself. I had to complete my volunteer hours no matter what.

  As we drew nearer, her sharp brown eyes greeted mine. “Hello, Gorgeous. Those are lovely pants. Have you been travelling far?”

  chapter eight

  “The court will recess till tomorrow at ten a.m.” The judge lifts himself from his chair, gown floating all around him. The man with the clipboard and the two witnesses who hung around, the receptionist, and the cafeteria worker rise as he leaves out his side door. They stay standing as my parents and I exit too.

  Mom says goodbye and makes a dash for her car. She’s got an appointment with her doctor; if she doesn’t hit any traffic she should just make it.

  Dad and I drive back to the condo building where the office is. The lobby has high-gloss marble walls and a spectacular water fountain. The three offices where my parents work are painted in autumn green. I helped choose the shade. They’re furnished with rosewood desks and chairs and huge flat-screened computers. In my mother’s office, where Wolfgang is working, there are school photos of my brother and me on the desk. On the wall is a large print of a woman carrying a young girl on the beach. “You and your mother,” Dad had said when he bought it.

  Michael McCann said it would be best if both of my parents came to court. The judge would think better of me, my upbringing, and my chances for rehabilitation, God forbid the jury should find me guilty and he have to decide on a sentence.

  But both my parents want to be there anyway, even if Michael hadn’t suggested it.

  Still, they can’t lose any more business. As it is, the last condo unit they bid on chose another management company. Lots of seniors live in condos; the board couldn’t afford to hire elder killers.

  My parents need to keep earning a lot of money to pay my lawyer. They hired the best because I needed him. They also promised to pay the court fifty thousand dollars if I don’t follow my bail conditions. Otherwise I’d be sitting in jail until the trial was over.