Crush. Candy. Corpse. (2 page)

The prosecuting buzzard tips his beak expectantly. “Mr. Brooks, for this volunteer project, what did Mrs. Johnson, Paradise Manor’s supervisor, tell you about Sonja’s duties and how her attendance would be monitored?”

Looking uneasy, Mr. Brooks folds his fingers on the desk. “Mrs. Johnson insisted on Sonja signing in and out.” He frowns then and opens his fingers again as though he needs their help. “Sonja would assist with feedings and various recreational activities for the residents.”

“From your statement, I understand that after Sonja failed to show up for volunteer training the first day, you called Mrs. Johnson and asked her what happened.” The buzzard cups his hand around his chin. “Could you tell the court what you found out?” He sounds genuinely interested, as if he hasn’t pored over the notes and heard the story a hundred times already.

Mr. Brooks nods sadly. “Mrs. Johnson said that she hadn’t seen Sonja and that she hadn’t signed in. When I asked her whether there had been a sewer problem, she became defensive. She said the residents may have had digestive issues but her staff did their best to clean them up quickly. There just weren’t enough hands. She said that Sonja would see that if she ever came back.”

“Your Honour, I would like to point out that while Mr. Brooks’s testimony is largely hearsay, it is entered with consent, as Mrs. Johnson will be testifying later in the trial.” The buzzard flips through his notes. The clock on the wall seems to stop entirely.

The lady in the kiwi-coloured sweatsuit closes her eyes. As long as she sleeps only during the Crown’s time, I should be fine.

The buzzard looks up at Mr. Brooks. “In order for Sonja to return to Paradise Manor, what conditions did she have to fulfill?”

Mr. Brooks glances my way, but it’s as though he sees through me. “Mrs. Johnson and I agreed that she could attend a St. John Ambulance course to make up for some of the volunteer training she missed at the residence. The rest she could pick up on the job.”

The prosecutor speaks louder. “And what did she learn at the course?”

The lady in the sweats wakes up again.

“As I understand it from the St. John Ambulance outline, basic first aid.”

“Could I direct the court’s attention to exhibit A again, the next entry?

The Second Visit — thirty-six hours left

Mr. Brooks, I went to the all-day St. John Ambulance course to learn emergency first aid like you and Mrs. Johnson said I had to. The instructor taught us how to tend to cuts, bleeding, and broken limbs. Also how to perform abdominal thrusts and CPR on a big, grey plastic dummy.

Then I went to Paradise Manor after school on Monday. It seems they fixed their plumbing problems because it didn’t smell so bad. Lucky because it was dinner time. I was assigned to help feed Johann Schwartz, which was difficult because he talked a lot — in German. He choked all the time and he looked frail. I wondered whether jabbing the heel of my hand under his ribs to perform the Heimlich wouldn’t crush a bone or two. I mean, I’m glad I learned all that first aid and I’ll use it at Salon Teo if any of the clients ever have a heart attack or choke on a stick of gum or something. But here at the residence, I’ll call a nurse.

What’s he getting at by showing that entry? Is he trying to convince the jury that I never intended to use first aid to help any of the seniors? Does the jury realize how hard you have to jab into a person to perform the Heimlich? They should all go see for themselves how fragile the residents are.

As for the odour, Alexis had a method for conquering smell that she used when she volunteered at the animal shelter. I decided to test it. I put some Vicks VapoRub up my nose and called Donovan. He agreed to a walk at Sulphur Springs, where the water smells like boiled eggs.

“If you have a cold, we could have gone another time,” he complained when I got in the car.

I explained my experiment.

“Oh Sunny, no. You can’t block up stink with more stink. Let’s go to the perfume department at The Bay. I’ll get you a nice musk and that will be way more pleasant for everyone around you.”

When he says “get,” I’m never sure he means “buy.” But I didn’t want to insult him, so I let him drive me to the mall. First I washed off the Vicks in the ladies’ room, then we headed for the cosmetic department where I sampled a number of scents. “Donovan, what about this one?” I asked after a third lady in a white jacket sprayed my wrist. Why was Donovan so far away? “Donovan?”

From the third counter over, he shook his head at me and winked.

Oh no. I stepped away from the woman all ready to spray me with Excitement, the latest cologne out for the fall. “Um, that’s all right. I can’t smell the difference anymore.”

“Here.” She offered me a coffee bean. “Wave it under your nose. It will cleanse the palate.”

I did and the little brown bean actually overpowered all the sweet flowery smells. Wow. Right then and there I realized the solution to my problem with Paradise Manor. No purchase or theft required. “Um, thank you.” I waved madly at Donovan, then smiled at the cosmetics clerk. “We’ll come back another day.”

Still, back in the car, Donovan proudly presented me with an Eau de la Terre tester. “Sorry. Couldn’t get you an unopened bottle.”

“Donovan!” I pulled my hands away.

“What? It’s a green perfume, made from organic ingredients. Never tested on animals.”

“I can’t get picked up for shoplifting again. Next time it will stay on my record.”

“If I thought I would get caught, I wouldn’t have grabbed it.” He pushed the cologne to me.

I shook my head at him.

“Oh, come on. It’s not a small store.” He sprayed some in the air and it did smell nice. “No one’s gonna take a hit for it. They’ve got insurance.” Donovan smiled then, and his dimples melted my heart. “You know I would have bought it for you if I’d had any money.”

I frowned. But I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. He’d stolen for me, after all. Finally I took the cologne and sprayed some on my wrist.

Then Donovan kissed me.

The next day Wolfie helped Alexis and me make coffee-bean necklaces. We found we couldn’t poke the needle through, so he stuck the beans in some putty and drilled the holes for us first. I had a green sweater the beads would really offset nicely. Maybe I’d wear my earth-toned gypsy skirt, too. Theme-wise it would go well with the Terre cologne.

Monday after school I waited for Mrs. Johnson in the lobby of Paradise Manor. It was very cozy there. A gas fireplace burned cheerily and a few life-sized ceramic dogs sprawled across an oriental rug. Then a poufy-haired woman in a skirt and jacket set bustled in. All business, that was Mrs. Johnson. She made me fill out some forms as we sat on the leather easy chairs in front of that fire. Then she insisted I head for the counter to sign the guestbook and use the hand sanitizer. That stuff smells like insect repellent and vinegar combined. You can actually use it as a lice killer — I read that in a magazine. I took a quick whiff of my necklace and ran my hands over the beads to get rid of the scent.

Next she introduced me to Gillian Halliday, the volunteer coordinator, who had a wide, white grin and a head full of tiny braids.

“It’s time for the patients’ supper,” Gillian told me. “Let’s head for the dining room and you can help me feed Johann.” She keyed in four numbers to open the door. “The code is 7686, but if you forget, it’s written at the bottom of the box underneath this lid.” I peeked in and, sure enough, saw the numbers on a white paper. As Gillian pushed the door shut behind us, the cozy feeling left. The door itself was camouflaged with a mural of a bookshelf. “Be careful comin’ in so you don’t let any of the old folks out,” Gillian told me.

“They want to escape?” She didn’t have to answer. The walls were beige and blank; the floor was speckled linoleum. Windows opened to a nursing station to the right. It was an airless atmosphere. Who wouldn’t want to get out?

A sweet old couple strolled hand in hand towards us.

“Hello, Fred. Hi, Marlene,” Gillian called in a jolly voice. “Almost time to eat. Don’t walk too far!”

Fred shuffled along with one grey sweatpant leg tucked into a sock. So goofy looking — I wanted to run and pull it out. Why didn’t one of the aides do that?

“I don’t understand it,” he grumbled as he tried the hidden door. “They must have changed something.”

Marlene kept her head down, murmuring back at him. I could only see her forehead. On it was a lump the size of a dinosaur egg. “Should we stop in and pick up some bread?” she asked Fred.

He murmured back, “Can’t stop now.”

“Do they understand each other?” I asked Gillian.

She shrugged her shoulders and then grabbed Fred’s arm. “This way,” she said, as she gently turned the couple around.

We followed behind them. Dressed in pastel polyester — baby blue pants covered by a pink floral scoop top — Marlene’s colours actually worked for her. Still, her hair was an iron grey, and there’s so much a good colour rinse can do for that. “Nice that they can stay together anyway,” I told Gillian, getting more depressed by the minute.

“Oh, they’re not married to each other. The Alzheimer’s makes them want to pace. So one day they just started strolling together, holding hands. I have to stop them sometimes. Fred once collapsed from all the walking.”

“Really. What happened to Marlene’s head?”

“The old folks lose their sense of balance as they get on. She fell out of bed.”

“Ouch!” But it wasn’t the big lump that made me squirm, it was the way her neck jutted out, like a turkey stretching to get a worm, head down. I pulled back my shoulders and rubbed at the top of my spine. Would my neck look like that someday?

“Here we are, the dining room.”

I could see it through windows in the hall — blue walls with murals of ’50s-type teens, blue cloths draped over wooden tables, a cafeteria-style counter where trays of food were lined up, ready to go. Prettied-up institutional. Imagine eating every meal of your life in there.

Outside the door six wheelchairs circled the area, the residents in them paused in semi-doze mode.

“Hello, Gorgeous. What a lovely dress you have on!”

I turned to see a smiling, silver-haired lady with lively dark eyes and bright red lips. Lipstick? How civilized. She was sitting in a chair behind a walker. Was she talking to me? I was wearing a skirt, not a dress.

“Jeannette, this is Sunny, our new volunteer.” Gillian winked at me.

Jeannette continued to look at me, so I assumed it had been my clothing that she complimented. “Thank you,” I answered and smiled back at her. Perhaps there was one person not so far gone here. I mean, she mixed up her words but she still had taste.

Jeannette grinned, teeth showing now and just a touch of that red lipstick on her incisor. “You’re welcome.” Her head turned slightly, attention somewhere else. Suddenly her lips pulled down into a vicious dog snarl.

“If you touch my walker again, I will kill you.”

Whoa! I stepped back. Did she have a hidden weapon? Who was she even mad at? The lady she seemed to be threatening slumped in her chair, mouth open as she lightly snored. Could she have moved in her sleep?

“You should make her stop!” Jeannette snapped at Gillian. “Take her to her room or tie her hands to the chair.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.” Gillian frowned at her and then abruptly changed the subject. “Have you seen the dinners you have to choose from tonight?” She gestured at a menu posted on the dining-room window.

Jeannette shuffled to her feet. Was Gillian trying to distract her? Seemed to be working, anyway. She wheeled her walker closer to the door. The menu showed a choice of two meals: schnitzel or meatloaf. That sounded pretty good. At least if the seniors had to eat in a cafeteria the rest of their lives, it was nice that they could still choose their meals.

Gillian faced me. “We have a Hungarian chef and he’s terrific. If you could take charge of Johann over there and get as much food into him as you can before he falls asleep, that would be wonderful.”

I walked over to the man she had pointed to. He looked pretty skinny. His head slumped onto his hand. While he had a very high forehead, the hair he had left was jet black with silver wings at the side. A Dracula look. I liked it.

“Just kick off the brakes and wheel him up to the middle table. I’ll hold the door for you,” Gillian instructed me.

As I pushed the chair forward, Johann snapped up. “
Was ist loss?
”

“He only speaks German.”

“
Was ist loss?
” he repeated more loudly.

My own grandma spoke German and I replied with some words I remembered her saying to me. “
Ich liebe dich
.”

His face softened and he relaxed back into his chair. “
Schatzie, ich liebe dich auch
.”

“Yeah, yeah. You love everybody, Johann.” Gillian chuckled. “You’re just a big playboy.”

My face flushed as the meaning of the words came back to me. Omi had hugged me and told me she loved me in German. And I had just told Johann.

Gillian grinned broadly at me. “Honey, you’re a natural. You’ll have him eatin’ out of the palm of your hand.”

After I parked him at his spot by the table, I covered my cheeks with my hands to stop blushing.

“You’re doing great, Sunny. Keep up the good work.”

It was an insane asylum, but I was doing great. It figured.

“Put the bib around his neck.”

The bib looked like a large pot holder. I laid it underneath Johann’s chin, fastening the Velcro at the back. Then a dining-room attendant set a tray down in front of Johann. “There you go, Papa.”

I lifted the beige plastic lid covering his plate. “What is this?” I asked. The matching plate divided his meal into three sections: a plop of white mush, a plop of red, and a plop of brown.

“You read the menu, it’s schnitzel, ground up so he can swallow it.” The dining-room attendant set another tray in front of Fred, sitting right across from us now.

I never heard her ask for his menu selection. When Fred lifted his lid, I could recognize the meatloaf, peas, and potatoes.