“But he will be able to eventually?”
“If he works hard, sure. He’s elderly—claims he doesn’t know exactly how old he is, as a matter of fact—but he’s in good shape. Doesn’t smoke, says he doesn’t drink, isn’t carrying any extra weight.”
“That’s a biggie,” Dad said.
“You bet it is. Weight-bearing is a huge concern, especially in the elderly. The plan is for him to leave the hospital on Monday. There have to be safety bars installed on the sides of the toilet before then. Can you do that this weekend? If not, we’ll push his release back to Tuesday.”
“I can do it.” I saw more YouTube videos in my immediate future.
“He’ll need a urinal for nights and a bedpan for emergencies. You okay with that?”
I said yes, and I was. I had cleaned up vomit on more than one occasion; dumping poo from a bedpan into the toilet might actually be a step up.
Melissa closed her notebook. “There are a thousand other things—little things, most of them. This will help. Check it out.”
She took a pamphlet from the back pocket of her jeans. The title wasn’t Home Care for Dummies, but it could have been. I said I’d read it and put it in my back pocket.
“I’ll know better what’s needed when I see the place for myself,” Melissa said. “I thought of taking a run up there this afternoon, but he’s very insistent that I not go inside until he’s back.”
Yes, Mr. Bowditch could be very insistent. I had discovered that early.
“Are you sure you want to take this on, Charlie?” Mrs. Ravensburger asked. This time she didn’t face-check my father first.
“Yes.”
“Even if it means staying with him the first three or four nights?” Melissa asked. “I tried to discuss the possibility of a rehab unit—there’s a nice one called Riverview that has vacancies—but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he just wanted to go home.”
“I can stay with him.” Although the thought of maybe sleeping upstairs in a bedroom I’d so far not even seen was weird. “No problem. It’s school vacation.”
Mrs. Ravensburger turned to my dad. “Are you all right with this arrangement, Mr. Reade?”
I waited, not sure what he’d say, but he came through.
“A little worried about it, which is probably natural, but Charlie’s responsible, Mr. Bowditch seems to have formed a bond with him, and he really has no one else.”
I said, “Ms. Wilcox, about the house—”
She smiled. “Melissa, please. We’re going to be colleagues, after all.”
It was easier to call her Melissa than it was to call Mr. Bowditch Howard, because she was closer to my age. “About the house—don’t take it personally, like he’s afraid you’re going to steal stuff or something. He’s just… well…” I didn’t quite know how to finish, but Dad did.
“He’s a private person.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And you have to make allowances for him being a little grouchy, too. Because—”
Melissa didn’t wait for the because. “Believe me, if I had an external fixator holding my broken leg together, I’d be grouchy, too.”
“What’s his insurance situation?” Dad asked Mrs. Ravensburger. “Can you say?”
Mrs. Ravensburger and Melissa Wilcox exchanged a glance. Mrs. Ravensburger said, “I’m not comfortable going into detail about a patient’s financial arrangements, but I will say that according to the bursar, he intends to take care of his expenses personally.”
“Ah,” Dad said, as if that explained everything. His face said it explained nothing. He got up and shook hands with Mrs. Ravensburger. So did I.
Melissa followed us out into the hall, seeming to glide in her blinding white sneakers.
“LSU?” I asked.
She looked surprised. “How’d you know?”
“The notebook. Basketball?”
She smiled. “And volleyball.”
Given her height, I bet she had a hell of a smash.
CHAPTER FIVE Shopping. My Father’s Pipe. A Call from Mr. Bowditch. The Flour Cannister.
1
We went to the hardware store to get a safety bar installation kit, then to Pet Pantry, where there was also a walk-in veterinary. I got heartworm chewables and Carprofen for Radar’s arthritis. That stuff is supposed to be by prescription only, but when I explained the situation, the lady gave it to me, only specifying that the meds had to be a cash deal. She said Mr. Bowditch bought all of Radar’s stuff there, paying extra for delivery. Dad used his credit card for the safety bar kit. I used my own money for the pills. Our last stop was the drugstore, where I bought a urinal with a long neck, a bedpan, the disinfectant I was supposed to use for the pin care, and two spray bottles of heavy-duty window cleaner. I paid for that stuff, too, but not cash. I had a $250 limit on my Visa, but wasn’t worried the card would be refused. I was never what you’d call a shop-’til-you-drop type.