Every Waking Moment (7 page)

After she left, Crenshaw reached for the light, pulled the switch, and sat in the dark looking out the window until Treha rode past on her bicycle. He sat in the dark with the truth. He could not remake his life. But he could deal truthfully with it. And he could force others to do the same. He could let the truth do its good work in her life.

Something inside rose, a whisper that said an old man could not make a difference. That no one would believe him. Digging up the past would bring scorn. Doing such a thing showed ingratitude. He shook the voice away and stood, shakily, and walked to his nightstand, pulling the bookmark, a business card that said,
Life Reviews
 
—Devin Hillis, President
.

He sat on his bed and caught his breath as he picked up the phone and dialed. A message said to leave his name and number.

“This is James Crenshaw. I am one of those you spoke with for your documentary. From Desert Gardens. I need your help. I want to enlist your services for something important. A story that needs to be told.”

Streams from Desert Gardens

scene 9

Wide shot of Ardeth Williams sitting in wheelchair in her room, plumping her hair.

But that girl. I think it’s the first time I ever felt like someone didn’t
need
. She was just there one day. Showed up and sat with me. She was patient. Like it didn’t matter how long it took. She was going to be there.

I don’t know that I’ve ever had that before.

TREHA ARRIVED
early the next day, riding her bike in the cool September morning air. The day would heat up and be oppressive by the time she rode home, but not for those in cars with air-conditioning, only for people like her who had to walk or ride a bike or the bus.

She avoided Dr. Crenshaw’s room. As soon as she passed the post office near Desert Gardens, she’d remembered the man’s letter and that she had forgotten it in the pocket of her other scrubs.

She avoided other residents and cleaned a hallway that had been waxed, arranged rarely touched books in the library, and dusted the dayroom mantel. Late in the morning she tired of the busywork and found Ardeth Williams, the new resident. The woman sat in her wheelchair with the television on and the volume loud enough to obscure low-flying jetliners or passing tornadoes.

Treha turned down the volume and the woman glanced up. “Tiffany. I didn’t know you worked here.”

Treha didn’t correct her. “How are you today, Mrs. Ardeth?”

“I suppose I’m all right, now that you’re here.”

“Do you need anything?”

She peered closer, leaning forward. “You’re not Tiffany.”

“My name is Treha.”

“Such a nice girl.” The old woman looked around for someone else. “You look like my granddaughter.”

“Would you like to go for a walk? I think you would like the view of the garden.”

Treha released the brake even though the woman told her she didn’t want to go outside. She placed Ardeth’s hands on the armrests and pushed her slowly toward the hall and then past an attendant’s station.

“There goes Mrs. Williams,” a nurse said, smiling. “Hey, Mrs. Williams.”

Ardeth nodded and waved as if she were the queen of England. Treha looked for Dr. Crenshaw but didn’t see him. They made a lap around the south wing and stopped by the window near the garden. Ardeth delighted like a child, patting her hands as she watched the fountain shoot water and saw the colors of the flowers planted in a mosaic.

As Treha returned Ardeth, Mrs. Howard’s voice came over the intercom. “Treha, could you come to my office, please?”

A few minutes later, Treha peeked inside and Mrs. Howard smiled and motioned her to sit. There were empty boxes stacked in a corner of the room and several full boxes of books by the shelf.

“I’ve been meaning to have a little talk before I leave,” Mrs. Howard said, crossing her arms. “You know there is a new director. Ms. Millstone.”

“Yes. I have seen her.”

Mrs. Howard seemed to be searching for the right words. “There may be changes after I leave. I have done things a certain
way, but I don’t pretend it’s the only way. Or the best way. I don’t want you to be surprised.”

“What kind of changes?”

“The board has given her carte blanche. That means
 
—”

“I know what it means.”

“Yes, of course you do.”

“It means free reign. She can do what she wants.”

“Exactly.”

“You think I should be wary of her?”

A look of concern clouded the woman’s face. “Treha, I’ve tried to explain to her how valuable each worker is here. Ms. Millstone may have a slightly different vision. I was thinking, if you could try to put your best foot forward, connect with her, that might be a good start.”

“Does she have a problem with her brain?”

Mrs. Howard smiled. “Not the kind of problem you are used to. Let’s just say her vision is limited.”

“Compared to you.”

Mrs. Howard stood and held out a small piece of paper. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Keep this. It’s my home number. If anything happens, call me. We can talk it out, work it out.”

Treha nodded and took the paper.

“Do you promise you’ll call?”

Treha nodded.

Mrs. Howard leaned against the desk. “Treha, I’ve been trying to understand your gift. Trying to put it into words. And I think what you offer is safety. The residents feel safe talking to you. You listen. You validate.”

Treha stared at the floor.

A deep breath. “At some point, you’ll need to stop listening, though.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You listen but never tell. Do you think it’s because no one is safe enough to speak with?”

Treha looked up, teeth clenched. “There’s nothing to tell. I have no story.”

“Oh yes you do, my dear. You have a
 
—”

The intercom blared and a breathless voice said, “Mrs. Howard, come quickly. It’s Dr. Crenshaw.”

Treha followed Mrs. Howard, her mind whirring like a hard drive.
Dead. Deceased. Departed. Lifeless. Gone. Late. Passed away.
This was all she could think. Synonyms. She wanted to give him a riddle or just sit and talk and feel warm inside.

When they reached his room, a group of residents had congregated and Mrs. Howard asked Treha to help them. Treha looked inside as Mrs. Howard entered the room. The man was lying still in his bed with staff around him.

AT A TIME
like this, Miriam knew her two greatest allies were procedure and protocol. Everything that happened at Desert Gardens could be broken down to those two components. Fulfill the list of duties assigned and things would go more smoothly. Showing control and composure provided residents with comfort.

Treha stood by the door to Dr. Crenshaw’s room like a faithful dog waiting for its master. Miriam’s heart ached, but she had to focus. She put a hand to the man’s neck and felt a slight pulse. His eyes were fixed on some place on the ceiling, staring at infinity. His left side seemed to be wracked with spasms.

“We called the paramedics,” a nurse said.

“Good. Call Chaplain Calhoun as well. Ask him to come immediately.”

If she recalled correctly, Dr. Crenshaw had a son who had accompanied him years earlier. They would need to contact him too.

The paramedics arrived and took over, stabilizing Dr. Crenshaw and then lifting him onto a gurney. Miriam stepped into the hallway and put a hand on Treha’s shoulder as she stood with the residents watching the scene, too scared to ask
questions. The girl’s eyes moved but there were no sobs. No contorted face. No tears.

“Treha, these things happen.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“We’re not sure. The doctors will help him. It looks like he may have suffered a stroke.”

Miriam felt a shudder run through her as Jillian Millstone noiselessly entered the hallway. Her face also showed no emotion.

“There are two men here with camera equipment.” Millstone said it almost as an accusation. “They say they were here to talk with Dr. Crenshaw. Do you know about this?”

“That’s Devin and Jonah,” Miriam said. “I’ll speak with them.”

Millstone glanced at the residents gathered. “Shouldn’t we disperse the crowd?”

She spoke as if they were protesters at an illegal gathering or cattle too close to the killing floor.

“No, this is an important time. They need to know what’s happening.”

Miriam walked toward the exit and found the two men, Jonah shooting video of Dr. Crenshaw being wheeled to the waiting ambulance. She signaled to Devin that she would be right with him.

She returned to find even more residents spilling into the hallway near Dr. Crenshaw’s room. She knew each by name. Some hadn’t encountered paramedics yet; they were newer to the facility. Others were long-term and watched the proceedings as if anticipating the next moves of a running back.

She spoke loudly enough for them to hear but with a calm tone, the art of every good administrator. Show authority without being authoritarian. Sound the alarm without alarming.

“Everyone, please give me your attention. I have news about one of our friends.”

The people stood or sat like mannequins. This was like a reality show they watched on television except they couldn’t adjust the sound.

“Dr. Crenshaw became ill a few moments ago and the paramedics were called. He is in very good hands now.”

Miriam noticed Elsie with her wheeled walker, clutching a rolled-up paper towel that she dabbed at her nose.

“Is he dead?” Hemingway shouted from the back of the group.

“No, he has a strong pulse, and if I know Dr. Crenshaw, he will make it through this. He’s a fighter, and he’s been through many setbacks. I’ll call members of his family right away and let them know. Let’s keep him in our prayers.”

“What do you think happened?” Elsie said.

Miriam placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke softly. “I know how much he means to you.”

She nodded.

Miriam spoke again so all could hear. “I’m not sure. He may have had a stroke. We’ll just have to wait and see. As you know, getting the person treated quickly after a stroke is important. I don’t think we could have acted any quicker, so at this point we must leave things in God’s hands.”

There were tears in the hall and shaking heads and many far-off stares. A nurse relayed the news that the chaplain was on his way.

“I’ve asked Chaplain Calhoun to join us,” Miriam said. “If
you would like to talk with him or just be in a quiet place, you can move to the chapel. He should be there shortly.”

“He’s such a dear man,” Elsie said, choking on the words. “I was just talking with him at breakfast.”

Elsie turned to Henry, half of the Lovebirds, who had wheeled himself down the hall to see the commotion. The man began to speak of deaths he had experienced in the war, in “the big one,” as he called it.

Miriam found Devin and Jonah, and both seemed shaken. The two had been shadows around Desert Gardens for months, recording residents, talking with the staff. Devin had first come because of his grandfather and, after the man died, continued his visits and interviews.

Miriam had wondered at first if Devin might be an opportunist, someone who preyed on the elderly, no different from contractors who promised a new roof or a paved driveway and then drove away with the down payment. But that fear was put to rest when he spent an hour in her office explaining his vision, in a seemingly unstoppable, passionate defense of his thesis about the power of stories and the interconnectedness of humanity. She couldn’t help catching his excitement. She had given them free rein after seeing some of his student work from the University of Arizona and talking to two of the references on his résumé, who had given glowing reports. And at a meeting with the residents, everyone voted in favor of letting them record their “movie.” Now they were recording not just the memories, but the dark side of the work, the loss.

“Did Dr. Crenshaw say why he wanted you to come?”

“He left a message. Said he had something important to say. A story that needed to be told.”

“They say timing is everything,” Jonah said. “Should I put the equipment away?”

“No,” Devin said. “You mentioned the chaplain was on his way. Could we record people’s reactions, from a distance? We won’t be intrusive. Maybe they want to talk about Dr. Crenshaw. What he means to them. We could use it at his memorial, if it comes to that.”

Miriam looked at Jillian Millstone, who was near the office on the phone. She put a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “Be discreet.”

She turned and saw Treha holding Elsie’s hands. The woman wept and Treha simply held on.

“This is going to be hard for the girl, isn’t it?” Devin said.

“You mean Treha?”

“Yeah, Dr. Crenshaw mentioned her. Said they spent a lot of time together. I’ve never spoken with her, though.”

“I’m sure it will be hard. But Treha will be a help to the residents. She’s quite gifted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps we can talk later. If you’ll excuse me.”

Devin and Jonah stayed at Desert Gardens for two hours, asking people to tell them about Dr. Crenshaw. When Chaplain Calhoun arrived, they moved their equipment to the chapel and recorded the impromptu service. The man read several portions of Scripture to try to comfort the little flock and then spoke individually with residents.

Devin couldn’t help watching Treha. She stayed near Elsie the most, but she was like the flower petals and the old people were the bees. The girl was short and heavy, pear-shaped, with pale skin that was even more pale when compared with her dark
scrubs. Her brown hair was pulled back so tightly that it seemed to draw her face upward, accentuating ears that jutted like an elf’s. She stared at the floor mostly. Or the walls. And there was a sway to her, a movement of the head and body like the world had become unstable and she was compensating.

She was the type of person you might see in a family photo and never notice. Not because she was hiding, just because she looked lost. An extra in one of life’s B movies. That was probably why Devin had never really noticed her before. He had seen her but never
saw
her.

Her tennis shoes remained untied, which was unnerving to him, but as she spoke with the residents in the chapel, Devin asked Jonah for the camera. From across the room he centered on the shoelaces and followed her around the room. Then he focused on her face
 
—the dark eyebrows, the eyes the color of some exotic ocean, sparkling blue-green. Despite the extra weight, she had a square jaw and high cheekbones. No earrings, no studs, no jewelry of any kind.

The more he focused on her, the more uneasy he became, as if he were a voyeur. Something was missing with Treha. Something wasn’t quite right. And then it hit him. He hadn’t seen one smile. In fact, there was no emotion at all. She took in the grief and solemnity of the crowd, absorbing it, but showed none herself.

A cinder block of a woman walked past the chapel, dark shoes squeaking on shiny tile. She looked out of place, out of her element. Proper and collected as she passed the grieving, she paused and stared at Devin, then quickly walked toward him.

“You’re still here,” she said.

He wanted to affirm her powers of observation but just nodded, unsure how to answer.

“I was told you were leaving. I think it’s time.”

He kept his voice low, almost a whisper. “We have an agreement with Mrs. Howard. We won’t be much longer.”

A scowl that tried to turn itself into a smile. There was something behind it, something powerful he couldn’t decipher. “We’ve had plenty of excitement for one day.”

She walked away and Devin lingered in the room, watching Treha, catching some of the conversation around him. Miriam had mentioned that Treha had a gift. The way old eyes came alive around her gave him an idea. And the more he watched, the more convinced he became.