gone. Gone. Who is sick enough to steal a ring from an old woman in her sleep? You can try to blame another patient on that one, but I ain’t buying it.”
“Abby,” I say, but she cuts me off.
“I switched her facilities, but she was on Medicare and did you know that most decent nursing homes only have so many beds for Medicare patients? That the places where you want your loved one to be, the ones where they give a rat’s ass, cost money we didn’t have? So the new place? Grams fell. Out of her wheelchair. No one was watching her, and in case you’ve never been to one of these places, they strap people into their chairs to keep them from falling out because there aren’t enough people to watch them and somebody didn’t strap Grams into hers so she fell and she was hurt and she was in the hospital for days.
“She went back to the nursing home and I visited her to find her writhing in pain because one of her aids or nurses on duty was stealing her pain medication. Stealing it. And then when I demanded to see her prescription list, I found out that someone was ordering more pain meds than she needed and do you think she saw any of those? Nope, someone had formed their own drug ring at my grandmother’s expense.”
“Abby,” I try again and she keeps going.
“They gave her the wrong meds, they gave her too many meds, they didn’t give her enough meds, they tried to put her on things she didn’t need, doctors we didn’t request came, doctors we did need never showed, they let her piss and shit all over herself and wouldn’t clean her for hours. If I didn’t show up daily, they wouldn’t have even changed her clothes. They would have left her to rot with bedsores.
“She cried, Logan, every time I was there. Not understanding why I locked her up in that place, why I left her with people who yelled, who left her in the dark, and she begged me over and over again to bring her home so I did. I did what I had to do and I brought my grandmother home because they treat animals in zoos better than they treated my grandmother.”
God help for saying the following. “They aren’t all like that. The place my grandfather was at, it wasn’t like that.”
“I know.” The weariness in her tone only underscores the burden she carries. “But I’ll bet you the money hanging out in my cubby those places are filled and, in the end, I can’t take that risk.”
A cloud must have passed over the moon as the light streaming in through the blinds fades and then strikes Abby again.
I state the obvious. “You need an out.”
“There is no out.” She motions with her chin to the hand I still hold the pain meds in. “Except for stuff like what you hold in your hand. My job is a testament to that. Lots of people find an out in a high, but that’s not really an out, that’s just another form of pretending your reality is different.”
My stomach knots. “I care about you.” And from that kiss, she cares about me.
“None of this changes anything. I sell drugs and I refuse to hang around any of you anymore. There is nothing you are going to say or do to change my mind.”
I roll my neck as it tenses. “You care about me.”
“Yes,” she admits. “But I care about Grams more.”
I respect that. Drives me further to discover the out she needs. I leave the water bottle on the nightstand then dump the pill back into the bottle. “Still don’t think you’re capable of being a junkie.”
“I’ve learned that none of us are really aware what we’re capable of until we’re confronted with the options.”
The bunny I gave Abby at the hospital, the one she kept tight in the crook of her arm as she slept, sits on the dresser. I pick it up and pull the covers down. Abby tilts her head as she smirks. “Am I two?”
I smirk right back at her. “Two-year-olds are easier.”
That gains her genuine smile and she slips her legs under the covers then settles so that she’s lying down. “Remember that time when you snuck into my room night after night during third grade and stayed with me because you were scared of the monsters under your bed? We stayed up late