T Is For Trespass

“You were here. You came into my room. I saw you looking for something in the closet.”

She shook her head, smiling at him sadly. “You were dreaming. You did that last week. Don’t you remember?”

He searched her face.

She kept her expression kind and her tone sympathetic. “I told you then you were imagining things, but you refused to believe me, didn’t you? Now you’re doing it again.”

“No.”

“Yes. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Your niece called me right after she spoke to you on the phone earlier this week. She said you were confused. She was so worried about you, she asked a neighbor to come over and check up on you. Do you remember Ms. Millhone?”

“Of course. She’s a private detective and she intends to investigate you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your niece asked her to pay a visit because she thought you were showing signs of senile dementia. That’s why she came, to see for herself. It wouldn’t take a private detective to determine how disturbed you’ve become. I told her it might be any number of things. A thyroid condition, for instance, which I also explained to your niece. From now on, you’d be wise to keep your mouth shut. They’ll think you’re paranoid and making things up-another sign of dementia. Don’t humiliate yourself in the eyes of others. All you’ll get is their pity and their scorn.”

She watched his face crumble. She knew she could break him down. As cranky and ill-tempered as he was, he was no match for her. He began to tremble, his mouth working. He was blinking again, this time trying to hold back tears. She patted his arm and murmured a few endearments. In her experience, it was kindness that caused the old ones so much pain. Opposition they could take. They probably welcomed it. But compassion (or the semblance of love in this case) cut straight to the soul. He began to weep, the soft, hopeless sound of someone sinking under the weight of despair.

“Would you like a little something to settle your nerves?”

He put a trembling hand over his eyes and nodded.

“Good. You’ll feel better. The doctor doesn’t want you to be upset. I’ll bring you some ginger ale as well.”

Once he’d taken his medicine, he sank into a sleep so deep she was able to pinch him hard on the leg and get no response.

She made up her mind to give notice at the first complaint. She was tired of catering to him.

At 7:00 that night, he’d toddled from the bedroom to the kitchen, where she was sitting. He was using his walker, which made a dreadful thumping sound that got on her nerves.

He said, “I didn’t have my di

“That’s because it’s morning.”

He hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. He flicked a look at the window. “It’s dark out.”

“It’s four A.M. and, naturally, the sun isn’t up. If you like, I can fix your breakfast. Would you like eggs?”

“The clock says seven.”

“It’s broken. I’ll have to have it repaired.”

“If it’s morning, you shouldn’t be here. When I said I saw you last night, you told me I’d imagined it. You don’t come to work until midafternoon.”

“Ordinarily, yes, but I stayed last night because you were upset and confused and I was worried. Sit down at the table and I’ll make you something nice for your breakfast.”

She helped him into a kitchen chair. She could tell he was struggling to figure out what was true and what was not. While she scrambled eggs for him, he sat, silent and sullen. She put his eggs in front of him.

He stared at the plate but made no move to eat.

“Now what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like hard eggs. I told you that. I like them soft.”

“I’m so sorry. My mistake,” she said. She took his plate and dumped the eggs in the trash, then scrambled two more, leaving them so soft they were little more than rivers of slime.

“Now eat.” This time he obeyed.

Solana was tired of the game. With nothing to gain, it might be time to move on. She liked her patients with a little fight left in them. Otherwise, what did her victories mean? He was a loathsome man anyway, smelling faintly medicinal and reeking of wet. Right then and there she decided to quit. If he thought he was so smart, he could fend for himself. She wouldn’t bother to notify his niece she was leaving. Why waste the time or the energy on a long-distance call? She told him it was time for his regular pain medication.

“I took that.”

“No, you didn’t. I keep notes for the doctor. You can see for yourself. There’s nothing written here.”

He took his pills, and within minutes his head was drooping and she helped him to his bed again. Peace and quiet at last. She went to her room and packed her belongings, tucking his wife’s jewelry in her overnight case. She’d been paid accumulated overtime the day before by mail, a stingy check from his niece, who hadn’t even included a thank-you note. She wondered if she might borrow the car she’d seen sitting in the garage. He probably wouldn’t notice it was gone since he so seldom went out. As it was, the car was of use to no one, and Solana’s secondhand convertible was a mess.

She’d just finished zipping up her bags when she heard a knock at the door. Why would somebody stop by at this hour? She hoped it wasn’t Mr. Pitts from next door inquiring about the old man’s welfare. She checked her reflection in the mirror on the dresser. She smoothed her hair back and adjusted the clip she was using to hold it in place. She went into the living room. She flipped on the porch light and peered out. She couldn’t place the woman, though she looked familiar. She appeared to be in her seventies and was well put together: low heels, hose, and a dark suit with a froth of ruffles at the neck. She looked like a social worker. Her smile was pleasant as she glanced at the paper she carried, refreshing her memory. She opened the door a crack.

“Are you Mrs. Rojas?”

Solana hesitated. “Yes.”

“Am I pronouncing that right?”

“Yes.”

“May I come in?”

“Are you selling something?”

“Not at all. My name’s Charlotte Snyder. I’m a real estate agent and I was wondering if I could speak to Mr. Vronsky about his house. I know he took a tumble and if he’s not feeling up to it, I can come back another time.”

Solana made a point of looking at her watch, hoping the woman would get the hint.

“I apologize for the hour. I know it’s late, but I’ve been with a client all day and this was the first chance I’ve had to stop by.”

“What’s this about the house?”

Charlotte looked past her into the living room. “I’d prefer to explain it to him.”

Solana smiled. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll see if he’s up? The doctor wants him to get as much rest as possible.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

“Not to worry.”

She let the woman in and left her sitting on the couch while she made a trip to the bedroom. She turned on the overhead light and looked at him. He was down in the depths of sleep. She waited a suitable interval and then flicked off the light switch and returned to the living room. “He’s not feeling well enough to come out of his room. He says if you’ll explain your business to me, I can pass the information along when he’s feeling better. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to tell me your name again.”

“Snyder. Charlotte Snyder.”

“I recognize you now. You’re a friend of Mr. Pitts next door, yes?”

“Well, yes, but I’m not here because of him.”

Solana sat and stared at her. She didn’t like people who were cagey about stating their business. This woman was uneasy about something, but Solana couldn’t figure out what it was. “Mrs. Snyder, of course you should do as you think best, but Mr. Vronsky trusts me with everything. I’m his nurse.”

“It’s a big responsibility.” She appeared to wrestle with the idea, whatever it was, blinking at the floor before deciding to go on. “I’m not here to promote anything one way or the other. This is purely a courtesy…”