The Suspect List--Chapter Thirteen

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

I’m helping JB with his breakfast, attempting to get him to reveal some condemning fact about Abigail, when a towering man fills the doorway.

At the sight of Rev my heart starts beating double time–and not in a good way.

As far as I know he’s never visited JB here. So why now? What does he want? And did he have something to do with the barn and the evidence, burning last night?

Rev waves one massive paw in the direction he just came from. “Mrs. Finnigan is uh…I think she needs something.”

“She’s fine.”

Rev’s brown eyes widen and I know I must have sounded cold, uncaring. 

“I was in there a minute ago. There’s not really anything else I can do for her. She’s just, you know–” demented is the word that pops into my mind, but what I say is, “--sick.”

Rev nods, but doesn’t move from the doorway. I suddenly feel trapped, which is silly because I’m perfectly safe here–or as safe as one can be when they work in memory care.

“You have a visitor, Jabez.”

The old man looks up, grunts. Thinking he wants more food, I try to feed him another bite of scrambled eggs but he grabs the fork from me and the food lands on his bib.

“Oops.”

JB takes the next bite on his own, chewing with his mouth open.

“Maybe I should come back another time.”

Rev hasn’t moved from the doorway. The look on his face is part disgust, part pity, and something else–a powerful urge to flee maybe? Does he already regret showing up here? Sherry made excuses for the men in her family not visiting JB here suggesting that men aren’t aren’t as tough as women emotionally. She also said they would struggle with seeing their ‘hero’ in this condition. Not having known Jabez before it’s hard for me to imagine anyone admiring or looking up to the man.

While I’m not comfortable being around Rev I’m not about to help him make a quick getaway. “Your grandson, Rev, is here for a visit. Are you going to say hi?”

JB takes a sip of coffee. His hand shakes, but at least he doesn’t spill it.

Rev moves further into the room, and stands there looking like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Have a seat.” I point to a folding chair.

He sets it up and sits down. It’s too small for him. He looks like he’s sitting in a toddler chair.

“Hi Granddad.”

JB grunts again.

Grunting is preferable to all the nasty embarrassing things he said yesterday, in front of Zane. Maybe today he won’t mention his lust for sheep, or refer to me as pretty pussy.

An awkward silence descends. I’m wondering how long it will continue when JB looks right at Rev and asks, “How’s Eclipse?”

Rev’s head jerks back slightly, as if he’s shocked by such an ordinary-sounding question.

“We had to put him down, remember? He’d gotten too weak to stand on his own anymore. There was nothing we could do for him.”

“When?”

“Six years ago last month. You were there. You and grandma were both there.”

“You shot him?”

“No. We had the vet put him down. He’d been sick awhile and he was suffering.”

JB looks out the window at the sheep.

Please don’t say it, don’t say you like to fuck to sheep.

“Mary, Mary, my little lamb,” he whispers in a sing-song voice before turning back to Rev and using a normal tone. “Where is Mary?”

“She died, Granddad. We buried her in the family cemetery, in the spot you two picked out together, near that giant Cottonwood.”

Gripping his fork in his fist like a weapon, JB looks right at Rev. “Shoot me.”

The words hang in the air, rendering Rev and me silent.

“Shoot me,” he repeats, louder than before.

“Don’t talk like that,” Rev says.

“Shoot me you chicken shit mother fucker!” JB stabs the fork into his own cheek.

“Jesus.” Rev grabs JB’s hand, taking the fork from him.

I grab a napkin to staunch the blood with one hand, while pressing the call button with the other.

****

It’s been a hell of a day, and it’s not even noon.

FIrst the incident with JB and then a bedridden resident with a bad case of diarrhea. I washed and sanitized my hands a few more times than was necessary.

I’m still trying to find a minute to text Zane, and tell him what happened, when I see him in the lobby with his mother.

Sherry is signing the guest log we keep at the main desk. A slender woman with curly brown hair that always always looks like it needs a good conditioner, she’s a casual dresser, wears country jeans and button up shirts except on Sundays when she wears a sweater, usually one that she knit herself. Today it’s the peach sweater.

Zane is still wearing yesterday’s shirt and jeans. He looks good in those jeans. The memory of unbuttoning them in the wee hours of the morning pops into my mind, but this is no time for lustful thoughts.

Zane and I lock eyes and I’m sure he sees the question in mine–how did Sherry react when you told her what happened last night and asked her about Abigail? He gives me the tiniest shake of his head. I’m not sure what it means.

“JB had a bad night. And an even worse morning. We gave him a sedative and he’s sleeping now but he uh, well he hurt himself.”

“Oh, no,” Sherry says. “What did he do? Is he all right?”

“He’s okay.” In truth, JB is about as far from okay as it’s possible to be, but his injury is minor, and I’m assuming that’s what she really wants to know. I motion them over to the aquarium corner for a semi-private conversation though no one is behind the desk at the moment. 

“Last night he scratched his own face and this morning he, uh, stabbed himself in the cheek with a fork–but he’s okay, didn’t even need stitches, just a bandage and a painkiller.”

Sherry brings her hand to her mouth. “A fork?”

“The weird thing is right before that he was more lucid than usual. He was talking to Rev about that horse–”

“Rev was here?” Zane puts his hand on my forearm, his eyes widening in alarm.

“Yep.”

Sherry frowns even as she wipes away tears. “What did he say to Jabez that got him so upset?”

“Like I said, they were talking about Eclipse, the horse dying and then about Mary being gone and...” No way can I bring myself to tell Sherry that JB asked Rev to shoot him. “Rev acted fast, took the fork away before JB could do any serious damage.”

Sherry looks at the door that leads down a hallway to JB’s room. “He’s sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no point in seeing him now then. I’ll come by tomorrow after work.”

I swear I can see the guilt pouring off her. Wanting to reassure her that it’s okay to miss a Sunday, I say, “You know, he gets his days mixed up anyway.”

Sherry’s arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s biting her lip. I don’t think she found my comment a comfort, as I intended.

“Or, I can come back this evening.”

“Dad is barbecuing chicken tonight,” Zane says. “You don’t want to miss that.”

Sherry sighs. “I guess not, considering how seldom he makes dinner. I’ll come back tomorrow.” 

I want to assure her that JB will be fine until then but how do I know that? Instead I say, “I’ll be sure he’s well supervised at dinner. No sharp objects within reach.”

“Good idea.” Zane turns to me. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Sherry looks from me to Zane and back again, a tiny smile on her lips. “Why don’t you come over tonight after work, and have dinner with us.”

Embarrassed by the invitation, I turn to Zane to see what he thinks of the idea. He smiles in an, ‘I told you she likes you,’ way. “You should come. My dad makes good chicken.”

“Well, okay, I guess.”

“I‘ll text you the address.”

(Hello Friends,

Moving these last couple weeks has truly fried my brain. (Why, why, why do we have so much stuff? Seriously. So. Much. Stuff.) It hasn’t been great on my body either but I do feel good about being able to move heavy furniture without major injury.

While I’m not getting nearly as much writing done as I’d like my story world is never far from my thoughts and I hope to have more time for it in the coming months.

Happy Reading!)