“Doc!” he wheezes. “Ah, love, thank ya for comin’。”
Evelyn smiles. “Of course, Chester.”
“Do an old man a favour and open them damn curtains, eh? Can’t see ya properly.”
“There isn’t any air conditioning. I think they’re closed to keep you cool.”
“Bah,” Chester scoffs, waving his meaty hand through the air in dismissal. “I’ll be stone-cold once I’m dead. Let me feel a bit o’ heat for now.”
Evelyn heeds his request, throwing wide the heavy curtains. The blaring light of the summer sun pours into the room.
“Ahh, ’at’s better,” Chester mutters.
It’s as though a dam has burst, and Evelyn feels it, too. She glances down into the back garden, taking in the lush greenery of the hedges and lawn, the roses and peonies happily sunbathing in full bloom, flaunting the peak of their glory. A lawn mower sputters in a neighbouring yard. Children laugh in the street. The twitter of birds fills the room. Evelyn wasn’t at the home during the summer months. She had no idea its surroundings were this idyllic. The curtains were almost always drawn to protect the identities of the residents. Why couldn’t there have been more light?
“Pull up the chair,” he says, somewhat indignantly. “Stay awhile. Not planning on leaving right away, are ya?”
Evelyn tears her eyes away from the window. “No. I can stay for a bit.”
“Good.”
She pulls the guest chair over to his bedside and settles down into it. They look at each other for several long moments.
“I’m on my way out, Doc,” Chester says.
Evelyn swallows a larger lump than she would have anticipated. “I know.”
“I’m all right with it, ya know. Dyin’。 That isn’t botherin’ me too much. Everyone has their time. My clock’s just run out.” He chuckles, and it turns into a violent cough that lasts a full minute. He sips some water and shakes his head.
“Have you had a whiskey since you’ve been here?” Evelyn asks.
“Pff. No. Bunch o’ do-goodin’ prohibitionists ’round here. Won’t let me.”
“What medications are you on, Chester?”
“No idea.”
Evelyn consults the chart hanging at the end of the bed.
“Hey, now,” Chester says, “don’t bother yaself with all that nonsense. I wanted ya here for a visit, not a checkup. I got doctors in every bleedin’ hour lookin’ at that chart.”
Satisfied, Evelyn sets it back on the hook and reaches for her purse. “I was looking at it to see what meds you’re on, because…” She withdraws two minibar-sized bottles of whiskey and two rocks glasses from the depths of her bag. “I thought we might share a drink finally, after all these years.”
The look on Chester’s face makes Evelyn’s heart swell to twice its normal size before it breaks. “God bless ya, Doc. Jesus H.”
Evelyn sets the glasses down on Chester’s bedside table, twists the caps off the tiny bottles, and pours them out. “I hope you don’t mind neat. If you want rocks, I can go try to hunt down some ice chips.”
“Nah, this is perfect.”
Evelyn hands one of the glasses to her patient. She doesn’t particularly like scotch, but she’s dragged herself here for Chester, so she’s determined to make the most of the sacrifice.
“A man shouldn’t drink his last whiskey alone,” Chester says, as though reading her thoughts. “Cheers, Doc.”
“Cheers, Chester.”
Their glasses clink. Usually it’s the sound of celebration, not grief. But maybe this moment is both. Evelyn blinks several times and scratches her nose. Chester takes a sip.
“Don’t go cryin’， now, Doc.”
“I’m not crying. The scotch is just smoky, that’s all.”
He smiles again, his dentures slipping a little. “Thanks for keepin’ me alive all these years, eh. I know I was a grumpy old bugger.”
Evelyn laughs through a sticky throat. “You’re welcome, Chester. It’s my job, but it was also my pleasure.”
“I know it was. That’s what sets ya apart.”
Evelyn smiles, sips her own drink. Today she finds she’s rather enjoying the taste. “You were my first patient, did you know that?”
“I figured. I was watchin’ from down the road when ya moved in. The medical equipment and such. Didn’t want to have to walk far for appointments, see.”
“Well, I must say, I’ve nursed rather a soft spot for you, Chester. I’ll—I’ve missed your visits.” She can feel her nose starting to swell and takes another sip to disguise it.
“Ah, I’m too old for ya, Doc.” He winks.
Evelyn sighs. They’ve both finished their drinks now, and a sense of finality settles over them like dust in an empty house. Evelyn reaches her hand out to clasp his. His grip is still strong.
“You’re a kind soul, Doc,” he says. “You make other folks’ lives easier just by bein’ you. You’ve got a reservation about ya, though. You were a hard nut for me to crack, kid. You… you risk a lot, doin’ what ya do, and maybe it’s made ya a bit tough.”
Evelyn holds her breath, feels the rough skin of Chester’s hand in hers, trembling slightly. He squeezes it.
“It’s okay. I seen them all comin’ and goin’ over the years, waitin’ out on your porch in the dark. You’re a brave one. Ya did a good thing. Ya help people, that’s what I’m sayin’。 Just don’t let it make ya too hard.”
A quivering tear slips from the corner of Evelyn’s eye.
“Oh, come, now,” Chester says. “Give us a hug and be on your way.”
Evelyn leans down and wraps her arms around the old man’s thick frame. “Thank you, Chester,” she whispers.
“You take care, now, Doc. I’ll see ya on the other side.”
She leaves one of the empty whiskey bottles for him. He’ll twist the cap off and breathe in the smoky scent every night until he dies, six days from now on a warm Thursday evening. The window in his room will be opened wide like a gate, welcoming the tender soul that passes through it.
Evelyn doesn’t look back as she closes the door of the room that used to be the Watchdog’s. But it’s Chester’s now. She takes a minute to compose herself, looking around at the second-floor hallway and the many memories it conjures. From now on, she’ll choose to think of Chester when she pictures Room 207, not the Watchdog. She’ll hear his laugh instead of the echoes of so many girls’ cries. She’ll remember how the Goodbye Room was the only room in the home that glowed with natural light, a detail she’d been too distracted to notice at the time. She’ll recall the sweet face of her friend as they sat knitting by a warm fireplace in the dead of winter. Evelyn understands now, for the first time, that she can choose what memories she takes with her from this place, and what to leave behind.
CHAPTER 17 Nancy
SUMMER 1983
Nancy hikes her purse and canvas bag up onto her shoulder and strides across the nursing home lobby toward the big wooden staircase. She climbs the stairs, her steps creaking on the bare floorboards. The sound is magnified in the quiet of the afternoon. The house is nearly silent at this hour; most of the patients will be napping before dinner, sinking into the dense, foggy dreams of loved ones both present and past, the place where time becomes meaningless and they can be young and whole again.