“And do I have to tell you how bad it would be if I lost my job?”
“No,” he said. “I think I get it.” His tone was sarcastic as they’d been over this a thousand times.
She went over it once more. Money was tight. Very tight. A nurse didn’t earn enough to support a family. A single parent had a lot of trouble making ends meet. She never said it aloud but the truth was, they lived on the edge of poverty in an old rented trailer in a crappy mobile-home park. She hated leaving Charlie at home; their neighborhood was rough. Having him around Thunder Point so she could check on him now and then was much better.
“So, there’s a clean shirt. You can wash up and put on a clean shirt for dinner. Be sure to wipe up the bathroom behind yourself...”
“Why are you cooking?” he asked.
“I offered. Everyone was choosing a night to cook, even Mikhail, the old Russian. God knows what that will be...”
“Maybe borscht,” he offered.
Lin Su laughed. He was so funny sometimes. She looked over at him. So small, so nerdy. So adorable.
“What are you doing today? Any plans?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be busy on and off. Troy and Spencer don’t mind having me around. Troy said he might put me to work. When it’s not busy in Cooper’s it’s okay if I get a table inside and use my laptop. I get out of there if a lot of people come in. And if I’m charged up, I can always use it in the car. Don’t worry, okay? No one knows how to stay out of the way like me.”
Her vision blurred slightly. “Charlie...”
“Don’t get emotional, okay? Because we’re fine. Everything is temporary.”
“Not too temporary, I hope. Mrs. Banks is holding her own and with any luck she’ll be with us a good long while. It’s a nice place to work. You have money?”
“Never used the money you gave me two days ago.”
“How’d you buy lunch?”
“Didn’t have to,” he said. “I was hanging out at the dock and Troy made us sandwiches. I told him I had money for lunch and he said it wasn’t necessary.”
“I could have made you lunch,” she said. “I could have made something while I was fixing Mrs. Banks’s lunch. Or while she napped.”
Charlie sighed. “He made it in the same kitchen, Mom. We’re good.”
“Did you ask what was in it?”
“I checked, Mom. It wasn’t peanut butter or anything like that. You have to relax.”
She took a breath. “You have your inhaler? EpiPen? Sunscreen? Vitamins? Power bars and fruit drinks?”
He glanced at her. He pushed his glasses up on his nose again.
“Yeah, I guess you have everything,” she said.
“I think Troy or Landon might take me out on the paddleboard today.”
“Oh, Charlie...”
“It’s okay so don’t freak. I’m not falling in or anything.”
She appreciated that he wasn’t paranoid about his fragile health but she thought one plunge into the cold Pacific could bring on an asthma attack or bronchitis or pneumonia.
“I haven’t been sick,” he reminded her, reading her mind.
“Last winter,” she said.
“I didn’t go to the hospital and I haven’t had asthma attacks or allergic reactions. Not too many, anyway. I had a doctor who said there was a good chance I’d grow out of it and even though I haven’t grown that much, I’m leaving all that shit behind.”
“Your language,” she said.
“Is entirely appropriate,” he argued. “It’s all a lot of shit and you know it.”
She completely understood the attitude. It wasn’t just his disgust with chronic illness, it was also his impatience with a mother who watched every bite he took, every move he made, listening to every breath. In fact, those days she started out tired were usually caused by her inability to sleep, listening to him snoring or wheezing or the whistling of his sinuses.
There had been times during the first ten years of his life that he’d been so sick, so weak and fragile, that she feared losing him. Complicated allergies, a weak immune system and asthma conspired against him, leaving him vulnerable to infections and viruses.
It was true—in the past few years he’d gotten stronger. It was also true that she hadn’t relaxed enough yet. But what mother wouldn’t understand sitting vigil at the bedside of a small boy in an oxygen tent? She’d lost years of her life every time he was hospitalized. She’d felt so alone.
That wasn’t fair, she reminded herself. In the fourteen years since Charlie had been born there had been good friends here and there, coworkers or neighbors. They’d had to move around too much for a lot for reasons ranging from rent to changes in work, but she’d always known good people along her way. She’d been working in the small hospital in Bandon when they moved into the trailer park. When the hospital downsized, laying off a few nurses and staff, Dr. Grant suggested this job to her if she was willing to make the drive. Ha! Willing? She’d be willing to walk it! She was interviewed by Dr. Grant and his wife, Peyton, but then it was the patient herself who chose her, with Grace sitting in on the interview.
“When I do a background check, what will I learn about you?” Winnie had asked her.
She wasn’t surprised by the question. People who could afford a private nurse were usually well-off, worried about having their property plundered. So she answered, “I prefer private home health care when there’s a need for me. When there’s no job in the private sector I work in hospitals or clinics. I’m good at what I do and have an excellent job record.”
“And why don’t you work for an agency?”
She shook her head. “They don’t pay well. The patient will pay the agency a substantial amount of money for the luxury of having a bonded health-care worker but pay the actual professional very poorly. And then they’ll move the nurses around—not good for the nurse or the patient. The irony is—the bond won’t get you much. Who cares about bond? Find a professional who checks out instead. After a dozen years, I have references you can call. They’ll tell you if I did my job well. They’ll tell you I’m trustworthy. And I’m not limited to a shift or specific number of hours. I can be your primary caregiver. Provided you want me to be.”
“No,” he said. “I think I get it.” His tone was sarcastic as they’d been over this a thousand times.
She went over it once more. Money was tight. Very tight. A nurse didn’t earn enough to support a family. A single parent had a lot of trouble making ends meet. She never said it aloud but the truth was, they lived on the edge of poverty in an old rented trailer in a crappy mobile-home park. She hated leaving Charlie at home; their neighborhood was rough. Having him around Thunder Point so she could check on him now and then was much better.
“So, there’s a clean shirt. You can wash up and put on a clean shirt for dinner. Be sure to wipe up the bathroom behind yourself...”
“Why are you cooking?” he asked.
“I offered. Everyone was choosing a night to cook, even Mikhail, the old Russian. God knows what that will be...”
“Maybe borscht,” he offered.
Lin Su laughed. He was so funny sometimes. She looked over at him. So small, so nerdy. So adorable.
“What are you doing today? Any plans?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be busy on and off. Troy and Spencer don’t mind having me around. Troy said he might put me to work. When it’s not busy in Cooper’s it’s okay if I get a table inside and use my laptop. I get out of there if a lot of people come in. And if I’m charged up, I can always use it in the car. Don’t worry, okay? No one knows how to stay out of the way like me.”
Her vision blurred slightly. “Charlie...”
“Don’t get emotional, okay? Because we’re fine. Everything is temporary.”
“Not too temporary, I hope. Mrs. Banks is holding her own and with any luck she’ll be with us a good long while. It’s a nice place to work. You have money?”
“Never used the money you gave me two days ago.”
“How’d you buy lunch?”
“Didn’t have to,” he said. “I was hanging out at the dock and Troy made us sandwiches. I told him I had money for lunch and he said it wasn’t necessary.”
“I could have made you lunch,” she said. “I could have made something while I was fixing Mrs. Banks’s lunch. Or while she napped.”
Charlie sighed. “He made it in the same kitchen, Mom. We’re good.”
“Did you ask what was in it?”
“I checked, Mom. It wasn’t peanut butter or anything like that. You have to relax.”
She took a breath. “You have your inhaler? EpiPen? Sunscreen? Vitamins? Power bars and fruit drinks?”
He glanced at her. He pushed his glasses up on his nose again.
“Yeah, I guess you have everything,” she said.
“I think Troy or Landon might take me out on the paddleboard today.”
“Oh, Charlie...”
“It’s okay so don’t freak. I’m not falling in or anything.”
She appreciated that he wasn’t paranoid about his fragile health but she thought one plunge into the cold Pacific could bring on an asthma attack or bronchitis or pneumonia.
“I haven’t been sick,” he reminded her, reading her mind.
“Last winter,” she said.
“I didn’t go to the hospital and I haven’t had asthma attacks or allergic reactions. Not too many, anyway. I had a doctor who said there was a good chance I’d grow out of it and even though I haven’t grown that much, I’m leaving all that shit behind.”
“Your language,” she said.
“Is entirely appropriate,” he argued. “It’s all a lot of shit and you know it.”
She completely understood the attitude. It wasn’t just his disgust with chronic illness, it was also his impatience with a mother who watched every bite he took, every move he made, listening to every breath. In fact, those days she started out tired were usually caused by her inability to sleep, listening to him snoring or wheezing or the whistling of his sinuses.
There had been times during the first ten years of his life that he’d been so sick, so weak and fragile, that she feared losing him. Complicated allergies, a weak immune system and asthma conspired against him, leaving him vulnerable to infections and viruses.
It was true—in the past few years he’d gotten stronger. It was also true that she hadn’t relaxed enough yet. But what mother wouldn’t understand sitting vigil at the bedside of a small boy in an oxygen tent? She’d lost years of her life every time he was hospitalized. She’d felt so alone.
That wasn’t fair, she reminded herself. In the fourteen years since Charlie had been born there had been good friends here and there, coworkers or neighbors. They’d had to move around too much for a lot for reasons ranging from rent to changes in work, but she’d always known good people along her way. She’d been working in the small hospital in Bandon when they moved into the trailer park. When the hospital downsized, laying off a few nurses and staff, Dr. Grant suggested this job to her if she was willing to make the drive. Ha! Willing? She’d be willing to walk it! She was interviewed by Dr. Grant and his wife, Peyton, but then it was the patient herself who chose her, with Grace sitting in on the interview.
“When I do a background check, what will I learn about you?” Winnie had asked her.
She wasn’t surprised by the question. People who could afford a private nurse were usually well-off, worried about having their property plundered. So she answered, “I prefer private home health care when there’s a need for me. When there’s no job in the private sector I work in hospitals or clinics. I’m good at what I do and have an excellent job record.”
“And why don’t you work for an agency?”
She shook her head. “They don’t pay well. The patient will pay the agency a substantial amount of money for the luxury of having a bonded health-care worker but pay the actual professional very poorly. And then they’ll move the nurses around—not good for the nurse or the patient. The irony is—the bond won’t get you much. Who cares about bond? Find a professional who checks out instead. After a dozen years, I have references you can call. They’ll tell you if I did my job well. They’ll tell you I’m trustworthy. And I’m not limited to a shift or specific number of hours. I can be your primary caregiver. Provided you want me to be.”
