part 1

It could be another Amex rep in India. It could be his boss telling him he needs to come in earlier. It could be a number of things. Thankfully, he is in the habit of answering his phone as someone else and deferring messages to himself later. He holds the phone to his ear.

“Who is this?”
“Uh, hello!?” fumbles the younger voice from within the receiver.
“Who is this?”
“This is Pete over at the Glen Oaks Senior Center.”

Larry snaps out of anonymity and back to attention.

“Was there a problem with the check?” He prays there wasn’t.
“No, it’s Mrs. D.”

A pause.

“Is she all right?” Larry found his voice suddenly small.
“I think you’d better come down here.”

Pete hung up as something shattered in the background. Larry stood for a moment in the enveloping steam before shutting the water off and scrambling to get dressed. He circled the kitchen table three times before Charlie pointed to the keys on the floor by the door. Charlie was dressed and eating cereal, watching him with an odd look on his face. Larry mumbled his thanks and headed for the door.

“What is it?” Charlie finally asked.
“It’s Danuta.” Larry replied, anxious to leave.
Charlie looked at him blankly.
“Your grandmama.”

Charlie stood, gulped the milk down and followed him out the door. Together, they jogged down the steps along the side of the building and headed for the car.
“What about your sister?” Larry asked, as he ducked into the driver’s seat. Charlie did not reply.

“Eh? Should we get your sister?” Larry asked again.
“Her?” Charlie said doubtfully. They did not use Emma’s name very often. It was generally understood that the pronouns her and she meant Emma. Charlie repeated his one word question. Finally, Larry started the car and drove to the edge of the city to the Senior Center.

The old building with faded pastel paint looks little worse than it did the last time they visited. The flowers in the front garden were alive this time. Charlie had remarked on their way in that the flowers had died in the winter and now that it was spring again, they were blooming. Larry suggested they’d been replaced thanks to his monthly check, and his alone. They entered and held their breath. Nurses and employees shuffled past in scrubs and booties. The young man at the desk flagged them down.

“Hi Mr. Thomas, we need you to sign this form here.”
Pete thrust a clipboard at him with an uneven bunch of papers stacked on it. The pen was dangling from the side from a small chain. Charlie peered around the familiarly dreadful place. Everything looked the same. The walls were still peeling, the carpet was still an indiscernible color and the air was strangely moist. Maybe they had spent all the money fixing the flowers outside…

Larry scanned over the form, brows furrowed. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Please, Mr. Thomas.” Pete looked frantic. Perhaps his wild hair and disheveled clothing—which was popular for his age was all that made him look so, Larry thought. “She’s at it again.”

Larry’s hands went cold and the hairs on his arm pricked up. Was Danuta starting up again? How long would this spell last he wondered?

“Just sign so we can give her the sedatives, we need your consent.”
“I can’t—
“Please, she’s getting out of hand, sir.”
“I can’t! I told my wife I wouldn’t put her back on them.” Larry mumbled at last and Pete fell silent.
“Let me see her.” Larry gestured toward the hallway with the clipboard.

Pete led the way, Larry followed and Charlie lagged behind. The hallway was brightly lit with fluorescent lighting, probably bright enough to burn a hole in the retina. A lone senior citizen sat in a wheelchair by his door, testing this theory. Larry shuddered. That guy was sedated. The noises grew louder as they were led further down the hall. The last room on the right threw echoing voices and clanging sounds down the hall at them. In the doorway were two of the center’s employees, cowering from the small woman inside.

She was four foot nine, sturdy and scowling. In one hand was a shattered family photo, being waved threateningly at the employees. Her eyes were wild, and the mess around the room was clearly her doing. Everything had been cleared from the top of her dresser and smashed upon the floor. Bedding was strewn about on top of this, and even the paintings on the wall were displaced, short though she was.

“You let me out of here!” cried the shrill voice of Danuta—lovingly called Mrs. D, in her lucid state. “I’ve got to save her!” She waved the frame and exposed photo at them all. Under her arm was her purse, stuffed with some odd bulky items.

Larry pushed his way into the room. Danuta looked relieved to see him.

“Laurynas, thank the Lord! Come here, you have to let me out! We have to save her! You have to save her!” Danuta thrust the picture at him, pleading for his help.
Larry looked long and hard at the photo in her frail hand. He looked until his eyes stung and blurred with tears. He snatched the photo from her hand and sent it hurling at the wall. The frame fell to pieces on the floor.

Danuta raised her hands to her mouth in shock. Charlie crept over and rescued the photo from the shards of glass.

It was a picture of a toddler Emma hugged by his smiling mother.

“I can’t save her! It’s too late!” Larry shouted at the small woman, trembling in his rage. But it wasn’t rage, it was something different. It was violence—yes, but born out of misery and guilt. The sort of misery one cultivates after analyzing their mistakes over and over until it is clear nothing could be done; and the sort of guilt that stems from being utterly useless when one you love needs you most.
Charlie yanked at Larry’s raised arm and shook it until he came back to himself. Danuta was watching him, silently. She looked angry and helpless at once.

“Laurence, I will tell you how to save her! It could work!” Danuta insisted.

“She’s already dead!” Larry tried to shout back at her, but his voice was caught in his throat. The words came out mangled and choked. Charlie tugged at his arm, frightened. He kept calling him, “Dad, dad, dad…dad!” soft and persistent. The boy was trying to calm him, despite his counterproductive methods.

“Laurence! She’s going to die!” Danuta exploded.
“Give me the clipboard!” Larry hissed at Pete. The wild haired intern promptly handed it to him and signaled the nurses.

“Laurynas, no! Don’t let them send me away! I can’t get back—I won’t get back in time to save her!” Danuta pleaded.

Larry held the clipboard in his trembling hand. The chained pen rattled along the back of it as the room was suddenly hushed. Charlie shook his head ‘no’ and the nurses stared hard at him. Larry fumbled for the swaying pen and brought it to the paper. Will he sign the form and sedate his mother-in-law?