

## A Dove for Eddy

### Published by Sherry Elliott

### Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Sherry Elliott

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### Chapter 1

The screech of the faulty doorbell sounded throughout the house. Eddy trembled, her knees wobbling beneath her. "It's not Friday." Joe always delivered her groceries on Friday, and he always used the backdoor. Eddy peered over her crooked shoulder at the entryway. The door seemed so far away. "Who else could it be?"

"Hey la-la-ady, Are you in th- there?" Some unknown, prepubescent voice stammered from beyond the door.

She smoothed her soiled duster and set her shuffle steps cautiously. "Better not be those pesky kids again," she mumbled, as she ran her hands over her fuzzy, gray hair. "Who is it?" she barked from behind the triple latched barricade. There was no answer. She licked the tip of her nicotine-stained thumb and cleaned the peephole. Balancing on her tiptoes, she looked out.

She saw the back of a boy running across the street. "Darn kids," she yelled. "Think its funny bothering old people?" Then she noticed a piece of paper on the floor below the mail slot. "Oh, so now they are sending me hate mail. Why can't they leave an old lady in peace?" She walked around the paper, eyeing it cautiously, and then she ground her foot down on it as if she were putting out a cigarette. Crossing her arms over her chest she said defiantly, "I'm not reading it." The yellow tabby cat looked up at her and meowed. She placed her left hand on her hip and then leaned over to address the cat, "Worthless, half-blind old cat!" The cat rubbed up against her leg. "I should've got a guard dog instead of a cat. He would have scared off them no-goods." She pointed her finger in accusation, "Why you'd let anybody in here, wouldn't you?" The cat purred loudly as she rubbed up against Eddy's leg.

"Fifty-two years," she sighed. "Why did he have to leave anyway?" Eddy and the cat had the place to themselves since her husband, Fred, had passed away ten years earlier. "If he had listened to me instead of that crazy doctor he'd still be alive, but no. Did he ever take my advice about anything?" She stomped her foot, "No and now I have to manage this place all by myself!" The words like tinder ignited her smoldering anger and sense of hopelessness. "If you were here right now Fred, I wouldn't talk to you, until you apologized for causing me all this grief."

Abandoned houses with plywood windows stood like mute witnesses of the once thriving community. The remaining occupied homes were reinforced with barred windows and gated fences, and her house was no exception. Time had picked at the mortar and pulled on the gutters of their 1950's bungalow. Crumbling plaster bled onto the hardwood floors in the living room. A leaky faucet wept in the bathroom, and the metal bars on the front window were one bolt short of being secure. Still, the house held good memories. Sometimes the memories seemed so real to her that it was as if Fred was just in the other room and would walk in and join her at any minute. She knew his voice as well as her own, and sometimes she could still hear him. "Eddy," he would say. "The Lord gave us each other, and that's good enough, but I sure wish he would have seen fit to bless us with children."

How she wished she could have given him children, but the doctors had said that was impossible, and they had been right. _Why could those loose, ungodly women spit out babies like watermelon seeds? But,I prayed so hard for so long for children, and He never answered. I don't know if He even cares about common people._ She shook her head in annoyance. "Snap out of it, old girl," she said. Once again, she had been lured by his sweet memory and walked down that familiar road of regret.

She swiped her eyes and scratched her head "Now what was I fixing to do? Oh, that darn piece of paper. I got to have me a smoke first." She retrieved an unfiltered cigarette and slid it under her nose, inhaling the smell of the cigarette, assuring its quality before lighting up. She flipped the lid of the Zippo lighter; it still produced a tall blue flame, even though the engraving had long since worn smooth.

"These young kids think they're smoking cigarettes, but they're smoking a bunch of chemicals. Got to roll your own if you want to have a decent smoke." Eddy took a long drag and tilted her head up to blow the smoke toward the ceiling, like the sophisticated ladies used to do." Smooth as grandma's silk hankie."

She cranked the handle of the hand-operated cigarette roller. Except for a few squeaks it was still in good working order. Before they had sold the business, Fred had managed to retrieve the roller from the convenience store they had owned in downtown St. Louis. Known as Fast Freddy's to the locals, they sold everything from nuts and bolts to diapers. They even had an impressive imported tobacco selection, for those with more discriminating taste. "We were nice to everybody, even those snooty country club types." Eddy imitated Doctor Viviane's wife's thick New York accent. "James would just lawve some of those cigeahs from Cubeah, and that French cawfee." She never said hello or goodbye, just stated her business and hung up, which really irked Eddy. The good doctor's wife expected Fred to personally deliver her order, and of course, Fred always bent over backwards to please all of the customers. So, no matter how busy his day was, he found time to deliver Mrs. Viviane's order. "I wonder where she's getting her cigeahs from now. Ha!"

Eddy paced back and forth as she talked to herself. "We made a bundle on imports, until that ten-acre bargain basement moved to town and under-priced us on every item in the store." She shrugged her shoulders. "Our imports couldn't even keep the doors open." Shaking her head, she snarled, "They sold those lousy cigarettes." Then she spit out the loose tobacco fragments and wiped them from her lips with the back of her hand. "You won't catch me darkening the door of that place, no sir-eh-bob."

Looking at the folded letter on the floor, she talked to herself. "I guess there won't be any harm in looking at it. Never know. It could be a letter from the Prize Patrol telling me I won the sweepstakes. But if they do come over, I'd need to put on a nice dress, since I'd be on television. I'd wear the red one Fred got me on my fortieth birthday. I bet I could still wear it." She looked down at her figure and placed her hands on her hips. "But if I did win a bunch of money, those hooligans would be over here trying to rob me blind. I can't have any of that." She shook her head back and forth in disgust.

Then a wry grin spread across her wrinkled face. "Maybe, I could take that money and travel the world, making people wait on me for a change. I wouldn't have to be nice to anybody. I'd just tell them what I thought, and if they didn't like it, they could take a flying leap, see if I care." She savored images of waiters bringing her fruity drinks with little umbrellas.

"But, I wish Fred could be here with me when the Prize Patrol came to the door. He'd be so proud." She took a moment to conjure up a memory of Fred smiling at her approvingly, but the recollection slipped away far too quickly. She pointed her finger at the letter, "They'd better pay me all the money up front. I'm not settling for that fifty thousand a year for twenty years stuff, no way. They like to take advantage of old people who don't have twenty years to live. I'd take all that money, and I might even get me a boyfriend." She covered her mouth and snickered. "Now, that would sure enough make Fred come back from the grave."

She yanked her handkerchief out of her pocket, "Maybe I'd better just take a look at the letter." She braced her back with her freehand then bent over and picked up the paper, being very careful to touch it with the handkerchief and not her hands. "Blast it all. I think I touched it." She ran over to the germicide on top of the coffee table and generously applied it to her hands. "Now that's better." She felt in her pockets. "Where did I put my glasses?" Searching her pockets, she walked the familiar path to her bedroom. The wooden floors groaned and squeaked with every step.

Fred had papered the bedroom walls with palm tree wallpaper back in the 1960's, because it reminded her of their trip to Cocoa Beach. The room had always been a retreat for her, like crossing the state line into Florida, and it still had that effect, even though the paper had begun to fade and peel away from the walls. "Fred," she said, "this paper needs mending." She waited for a moment as if she expected him to answer, but there was only the stillness of the house.

Fred had let her decorate any way she wanted. "A happy wife makes a happy husband," he had said so many times.

She smiled and waved her hand in the air. "Just in case you're looking, Fred, you might want to turn your head, because this letter may make me cuss. People in heaven aren't supposed to hear those kinds of things, so excuse me." She found her bifocals and slid them over the bridge and into the indentions on the narrow part of her nose. Then she put on her rubber gloves and carefully unfolded the paper, laying it on the paper towels that she had spread out on the coffee table. "This paper better not be coated with Anthrax." She stepped back and shook her finger in the air. "If it is, I'll come back from the grave and haunt them no goods."

Dear Mrs. McGrath,

"Well, at least they spelled my name right. I hope it's not one of those chain letters that say you'll bring sickness on yourself if you don't send seven letters to people you know. I don't know seven people..."Her voice trailed off. "That would sure enough make me sick, worrying about something like that."

My name is Karen, and I live across the street. My family and I moved here two years ago from Chicago. The man that mows your lawn and delivers your groceries is the only person that I have seen come to your house.

"Well, she's nosey," Eddy said as she pulled off the rubber gloves and sanitized her hands. Taking off her glasses, she rubbed the narrow part of her nose. "I'm not reading any more of this letter. I got better things to do." Again, she applied hand sanitizer, making sure she covered the tops as well as the palms of her hands, as she walked into the kitchen. Filling the teapot, she set it on to boil. She put in a smidge of sugar in the imported Irish tea, and lifted the cup up to her nose, inhaling the subtleties of the fine leaf tea. She sipped the malty flavor then licked her lips, "Rich and smooth, just a bit of heaven on earth." Closing her eyes, she recalled the trip to the emerald isles that she and Fred had taken many years ago.

"The most beautiful green country side that I have ever seen," she sighed. They had gone during the St. Patrick's Day festival and had enjoyed good food, good times, and good tea, not to mention a little ale. "Those were the days, weren't they, Fred?"

But even the glorious Irish tea could not make her forget the unread letter which nagged on her like a sore tooth. She carried her tea into the living room and stood above the letter trying to make out the words without the benefit of her glasses. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned over the letter. "Blast it," she said.

"Why'd they have to write so small?" She retrieved her glasses, applied the rubber gloves, picked up the letter and continued reading.

Could you help us? My brother found a dove in our yard, but I think it has a broken wing. Could you take care of it and help it fly again? I hope you can help, please say yes. My brother put it in a cage and set it on your porch.

"What do they think I am? A veterinarian?" Eddy sputtered. "I'm not taking care of a crippled bird."

` _My mom said I couldn't keep it, because I have a low immune system from the chemotherapy._

Karen

Eddy stood frozen in place. She let the word chemotherapy sink in. "Cancer, chemotherapy is given to people with cancer. That can't be. If there were a kid across the street with cancer, I'd know. Who do they think they're fooling?" Planting both hands on her hips, she squared her feet firmly on the floor. "They probably plan to lure me out and hit me over the head, then take all my money."

She walked over to the living room window and held back the corner of the drapes. Peering across the street, she saw that the neighbor's living room curtains were pulled back. She noticed the shape of someone sitting in the window, but she couldn't quite make out the person's appearance. "Where did Fred put those binoculars?" She foraged through the hallway closet, scooting aside stadium cushions, golf clubs, and other relics from younger, happier days. "Here they are." She pulled off her glasses, blew the dust off the binoculars, and then adjusted the lens until the scene across the street came clearly into focus.

A girl probably no older than twelve sat in a wheelchair looking directly back at her. Her head was as smooth as glass. Eddy rubbed her eyes then looked again. "She doesn't have any hair," Eddy whispered. Karen smiled back at her. Eddy's hand rose. Then she self-consciously brought it down to her side. "She looks as pale as a ghost . . . Maybe she is a ghost." Eddy scanned the lawn and then her porch. There it was: a dove in a cage.

### Chapter 2

"Ka - Karen," Porter yelled as he busted through her bedroom door. "I did - did it," he stammered.

"Awesome," Karen said. "No one saw you, did they?"

"No – no," he said as he waved his arms about frantically. "I – I – was real careful."

Karen struggled to pull herself to a sitting position on the side of the bed. "Did she open the door? Did she talk to you?"

"No - No," he gasped for breath, "sh - she didn't." Porter walked over to the closet and pushed the shirts and pants aside to get a house coat. "Sh – she seems weird. Are you sure she's the right one?"

"Yes, she has to be," Karen said. She forced herself to sit upright, even though her body was telling her to lie back down. "Can you bring me my wheelchair?"

"I was worried you – you -- wouldn't get up," Porter said. "You - you missed all the Saturday cartoons and – and \-- all the good movies," he said over his shoulder, as he went to get the wheelchair.

Karen fluffed her overstuffed pillows and straightened the pink striped comforter as best she could from a sitting position. She pushed and pulled on the worn stuffing, and fussed with the clothing on the Cabbage Patch doll. She remembered the smell of her grandmother's perfume, which had lingered on the doll long after it had been given to her on that first hospital stay. Lifting the doll to her nose, she inhaled deeply. But time had removed every trace of her grandmother's cologne. She combed through the doll's hair with her fingers, then sat it next to the princess lamp on the bookcase headboard.

She heard Porter swipe the wooden door frame in the hall again. "Dang – dang -- dang it," he yelled. Karen held her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. He always caught the edge of the doorframe, as he finagled the wheelchair through the narrow hallway. She speculated that one day the door frame would surrender to the constant barrage and be reduced to a heap of splinters on the floor.

He pulled the wheelchair up to the side of the bed and applied the brakes on the wheels. "Which ho – house -- shoes?" he asked.

"I want to wear the big red fuzzy ones today," she said. She pulled the collar of the flannel pajamas up around her neck. "They're in the closet."

Porter searched the closet, throwing shoes and toys over his back as he tried to find the red fuzzy slippers. "How about the pur – purple ones, or the ones - ones with the monkey face," he said, sounding a bit annoyed.

"No, do you see the lime green ones with the fur lining?" she said.

"I hate these," Porter said, as he held the shoes up for Karen's inspection.

"Why?" she said amused. "How could anyone hate house shoes?"

"You – you -- got these before," he said as he struggled to pull the shoes over her puffy feet. "Remember Aunt Marge sen - sent them to you. Then – then -- they got lost in the mail." Porter shoved the second shoe on with a grunt and pushed his bangs back out of his eyes. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "And then she – she -- died."

"So they were sent from the grave?" Karen held out her arms like a zombie."Oooo. . ." she moaned like a ghost.

Porter fell backwards. "Don - don't -- do that," Porter said, with his eyes as big as saucers.

"I ha – hate it when you act like th - that."

"Oh, Porter," she said as she held her arms out for a hug. "Come here."

Porter leaned across her lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on longer than he liked. "Can you – you -- let go of me?" He said. "Your hands are cold."

"So are my feet. That's why I wanted the warmest slippers. Help me with my housecoat," she said.

Porter tugged on the sleeves of her pink terrycloth robe. Then he pushed the sleeves up on his T- shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow. He gave her a big bear-hug, as he pivoted her into a sitting position in the wheelchair. "Do you – you -- think Aunt Marge still has a mustache?" Porter asked with a devilish grin. Karen chuckled. "Do – do -- ladies have mustaches in heaven?" he asked. Porter tucked the length of the robe around her back and lap.

Karen laughed, "I'm glad Mom didn't hear you." Porter grabbed one of Karen's dolls and held its ponytail over his lip, giving his best Aunt Marge imitation. "How – how's my little su –sugar dumpling?" he said as he pranced around the room.

Karen held her side and cackled. "Oh no, Oh no," she said. They both laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. The laughing led to a bout of coughing forcing Karen to look away from Porter in order to gain her composure. "Don't make me laugh; it makes my side hurt."

Aunt Marge's mustache became fodder for many a shared joke. Especially since their family never acknowledged the mustache and Karen and Porter had been instructed not to talk about it. The mustache became their shared secret, which included secured communication and hand gestures. One finger held under the nose, or the tapping of fingers on the upper lip at the dinner table elicited suppressed giggles.

She buttoned the front of the robe up to her neck, and then she rubbed her arms to generate heat, as she shivered. "I can't believe how cold it is in here."

"You – you – always say that," he said. Porter looked at the thermostat. "It's eigh - eighty -- degrees in here."

He grabbed a knit beanie from the hat drawer. "Mom put so - some food," he winced and stuttered as he pulled the hat over her ears. "She – she -- put food in the crock p – pot -- before she left for work."

"No, I want ice cream," Karen said.

"Mom said," Porter fidgeted with the brakes on the wheelchair and stammered. "She - she said, you needed to – to -- eat regular food."

"But it doesn't taste good," she replied. "The only thing that tastes good is ice cream, and it's a dairy product, so it's good for you."

"That's not," Porter said but was interrupted before he could finish his sentence.

"Would you bring me my mirror?"

Porter yelled over his shoulder, as he retrieved the handheld mirror from her dresser, "She - she said you have to eat bet - better."

Karen did not reply. She took a long look at her reflection. She did not recognize herself.

The eyes looked familiar, but the face was distorted and unnatural. She traced the dark circles under her eyes with her fingertip and then rubbed over her chapped lips. She pinched the pale, bloated skin over her cheeks. Then she adjusted the multi-colored beanie hat with its whirlybird propeller that her father had given to her. Her father had held it up for her approval and then gently placed it on her head. He spun the propeller, "Who needs hair when you can have a whirlybird propeller?" He had said.

She had always been Daddy's girl, but that was before the divorce, and before he transferred back to his old job in Chicago. She wondered if she was still Daddy's girl. He was the one person in her family that never treated her like she was handicapped, and she missed his silly jokes. She could relax around him and didn't need to put on her game face like she did with Porter so he wouldn't worry, and for her mother who always seemed to feel guilty. Of course, she had always taken very good care of Karen. But, her mother was very cautious; choosing her words carefully, preparing her meals strategically, and controlling the environment as best she could so that Karen would be safe. Although Karen was grateful, she felt like such a burden. She wished she could live like a normal kid. She even missed school. She tried to count the years on her fingers, but wasn't absolutely sure which grade she would be in when and if she returned to school. _Maybe seventh grade,_ she concluded.

"You – you -- look great," Porter said.

She tucked the mirror under her thigh. "You always say that. Do you mean it?" she asked.

"Yep," he said.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," she said and poked him in the belly with her finger.

Porter put his hands in his pocket. "You al - always look good to me" he blushed.

Karen smiled, "Do you want to play Monopoly?" Karen covered her mouth and coughed.

"No, no," Porter said. "You - you always win."

Karen winked and said, "That's because I'm a genius." She pointed to her head. "I got a humongous brain under this hat." Porter rolled his eyes. "Then if you won't play my favorite game, how about your favorite, Old Maid?" She coughed and cleared her throat. "I'll let you go first,"

"Old Maid is not my fav – favorite," Porter argued. "Don - don't -- you want to - to read or watch TV?" Porter said as he shoved the wheelchair through the bedroom doorway. He knocked the hallway table over as he turned the corner into the living room. "Dang – dang -- it," he yelled.

Karen laughed. "You're a lousy driver."

"No, I'm not," he said indignantly. "I could \- could -- push this chair all over town, if – if -- I wanted to."

"Really, you would do that?" Karen said as she turned around and looked at Porter intently. "You promise?" She held up her pinkie finger. "Pinkie swear?"

Porter looked at her pinkie for a long moment, as if contemplating whether he should agree. Then he reached his hand forward and they interlocked pinkies. "Pinkie swear," he said slowly and deliberately.

Porter pushed Karen's chair under the portable game table which their father had erected in the living room. Reaching past the stack of romance books, she grabbed the cards from the low-rise shelving. "Cookie dough," she said.

"What?" Porter looked at her perplexed, and scratched his head.

"I want cookie dough ice cream with chocolate syrup," she said, as she shuffled the cards. "Bet you're going to be the old maid again."

"Ugh," Porter sighed as he headed for the kitchen.

With Porter safely out of sight, Karen set aside the deck of cards. She pursed her lips and took in a long deep breath and heard the familiar wheeze, which was followed by more coughing. The wheeze had started a few days ago, but she hadn't told anyone. Her chest felt heavy, and sometimes she had trouble catching her breath. She tried to ignore it, but it increasingly became more difficult. The fatigue weighed on her like the impossible pile of quilts her grandmother had placed on her during their last visit. Grandma had piled on one quilt after another until the weight became so oppressive that Karen couldn't move. Her grandmother meant well, and Karen had tried not to worry her, but when her grandmother died of a heart attack, somehow Karen held herself responsible. Her mother had told her that grandma's death wasn't her fault, but still she felt guilty. She felt guilty for everyone who worried about her and especially those who were required to provide her personal care.

Karen wished that she didn't have to rely on Porter who was spending his time caring for her instead of hanging out with friends or playing sports. If only she felt better then she could be more independent. She tried to be cheerful for Porter's sake, but she sensed that he was well aware of her suffering. At least, when the home tutor came, Porter had some reprieve from her constant care. The school had told them that they didn't have funds to pay for a specialized tutor, and after their divorce, her parents couldn't afford it either, so the tutor hadn't been there since last spring. Her mother worked late every day, "To pay bills," she had said. So on most days Karen was home alone until Porter came home from school. She wished there was someone who could help them so that Porter could live like a normal kid, and her mother wouldn't have to work so hard.

Karen and Porter had become increasingly reliant on each other, and she wondered what he would do when the inevitable came. She grasped the cross necklace from under her pajama collar and rubbed the warm silver metal between her thumb and fingers. "Please, God, help me and my family."

She heard the kitchen cabinet doors slamming followed by the sound of silverware crashing on the floor. "Dang – Dang it," he yelled. Karen smiled. Retrieving the mirror from under her thigh, she again looked at herself in the mirror, and imagined what she would look like if she wasn't sick. _My hair would be reddish blonde, just like it was when I was a little girl,_ she thought. She heard Porter coming and tucked the mirror under her fragile thigh.

"Here," Porter said. "But – but -- don't tell on me."

"I won't," she replied. Porter watched her closely, as she brought the spoon to her lips, but after only a few small bites she pushed the ice cream away. "I guess," she swallowed hard to suppress the wave of nausea that she felt, "I'm not as hungry as I thought." She coughed and cleared her throat.

"Why don't we do some of your homework?" She pointed to Porter's book bag which had been tossed in the corner.

"No – no." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "No – way!"

Karen knew that his grades at school were low, but she didn't feel well enough to argue. "Maybe later?" She waited for his answer.

"May – be," he said defiantly.

"Could you push me in front of the window so I can see outside for a little while, and would you bring me the soft pink blanket?"

Karen looked out at the murky gray sky which had all but smothered the sun. A few rays penetrated through the clouds like long fingers reaching for the earth. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried desperately to feel the sun's warmth upon her face.

She removed her hat and ran her hand over her soft, smooth head. She saw Mrs. McGrath in the window across the street and waved. "I hope that she will help," she mumbled. Porter arrived and placed the blanket over her shoulders.

"Do – do – you want your notebook?" he asked.

"I don't need it today."

The picture window began to vibrate as a carload of young people drove by with the car stereo blasting and the bass pounding. She often saw groups of people driving by or hanging out at the street corner. They wore sunglasses and knit caps. She wondered why they always wore sunglasses even on a cloudy day. She watched them curiously as they bobbed their heads in time with the drum beats.

She and Porter had been instructed to stay inside, but just hours earlier they had broken the rules. Her parents would not approve, but she rationalized that she had felt an urgency to reach out for help, not for herself, but for Porter. She hoped that her parents understood.

The activity on the street died down. A few grey squirrels came out of hiding and scurried about, somehow managing to maintain their footing in the misty rain. Karen watched the squirrels as they packed their mouths full of acorns before returning to the safety of the tall oak tree. The summer had come and gone so quickly, and soon it would be colder than she could bear.

### Chapter 3

The fluorescent light buzzed above Eddy's head, as the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock patiently counted out the minutes. The steam from the Chamomile Tea fogged Eddy's glasses, as she sipped from her vintage mug. She sat at the Formica table, with her feet swinging above the kitchen's black and white checkered floor. She started to speak, and then her voice fell silent again. "Humph," she said. "What if I, Oh, how silly!" Pushing herself up from the chair, she began to pace with one hand in her pocket and the other in active gestures. She had lost track of time. The streetlights were on, encroaching upon the darkness that crowded the corners of the house. Reluctantly, she turned on the living room lamp. "It costs thirty-six cents a day to burn that bulb. I need to be careful and not waste."

The bird remained on the porch in its cage. "That bird is probably infested with lice. I'm not touching it, gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it." Feeling a shiver run down her spine, she gyrated around the kitchen as if trying to shake off the mere thought of it. She shrugged her shoulders, sighed, and then reached into her pocket for her cigarettes. "But I can't just leave it sitting on the porch. What would the neighbors think?" She retrieved a cigarette, held her hair back with her free hand, and then lit the cigarette on the stove. The tabby cat circled around her ankle. "Why are you wasting time with that nonsense? Why don't you earn your keep around here and get that mouse that's holed up in the cupboard? That mouse is eating me out of house and home." She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a box of cereal. The corner of the box looked as if it had been placed in a paper shredder. She held the box out for the cat to inspect, "Would you look at this?" The cat lifted her tail, turned, and walked away. "You never did listen to me." Eddy threw the cereal into the trash. "Nope, you were Fred's little 'Princess.' Ha! What a name for a cat. He spoiled you rotten. I would've named you a proper cat name, so you wouldn't think that you were too good to catch a mouse."

Following the cat into the living room, Eddy eyed the RCA radio. "Best invention since sliced bread," she said. She squirted germicide on the top of the radio and then rubbed the sleeve of her duster over the surface. Patting the top of the console she said, "Good as the day we bought it back in 1950. Only needs a few minutes to let them tubes warm up, and then I'll listen to the ten o'clock news."

The news reporter announced, "An elderly woman was robbed at gunpoint this evening in the 4700 block of South Kingshighway. The suspect allegedly shot a bystander and then escaped on foot. The shooting victim is listed in serious condition at an area hospital. The suspect is described as. . . . " Eddy turned the radio off abruptly. "That's not far from here," she felt her stomach drop. "They're a bunch of nuts, people killing each other for no good reason. What's the world coming to? Why, just last week there was that mugging two blocks over, and that poor old man was killed." Eddy checked to make sure the front and back doors were locked. She walked into the bathroom and turned the night light on. She shook her head. "The world's just not safe anymore . ."

Turning on the porch light, she peeked through the curtains to see if there were any suspicious characters lurking about. She strained her eyes to see past the spilled light and into the shadows.

Satisfied that she was safe, at least for the time being, she let the curtains fall back in place but not before noticing that the bird was still there. It flapped its injured wing frantically.

"People are evil now-a-days. They could have wired that bird with explosives. Yep, that's their plan. They'd watch the old lady go out to get it, and then they would sit back and laugh like hyenas. All a big joke for those crazies, but I'm not a fool." She removed her handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned her glasses.

She remembered Karen's smiling face from earlier that day. "But she doesn't look like one of those mean kids that they talked about on the news. Maybe . . . " she walked through the kitchen and into the utility room. She picked up the mop handle and inspected it for size and sturdiness. "Maybe I could slide the mop handle through one side of the cage and out the other side. Then that way I wouldn't have to touch it. You know, people can get sick from handling birds."

After unbolting the triple-latched door, she looked around the corner. She gazed out into the darkness for suspicious characters. Grabbing her binoculars, she looked down both sides of the street. She didn't see anyone. "I have to hurry," she muttered.

Eddy fumbled with the latex gloves and then grabbed the mop handle with both hands. She ran out the front door with a ferocity that would frighten any would-be attacker. With the skill of a seasoned whaler, she harpooned the birdcage and then kicked the door wide open. While holding the cage at an angle, she made a dash for the mudroom in the back of the house, and then dropped the cage like it was on fire.

She sprinted for the front door and then secured all of its bolts. Bracing herself against the door, she panted. "I . . ." She bent over with both hands on her knees, inhaling deeply.". . . Still . . ." She threw her head back and gasped for air." . . . got. . . it . . . ," she wheezed.

After sliding down the back of the door, she sat for several minutes. It certainly took longer to recover than she expected. Her legs felt as wobbly as gelatin, and her arms felt like they had been put through a ringer. Finally, she gathered her strength and made her way to the bathroom. "I better wash my hands, just in case I got some germs on me." Lathering up with the antibiotic soap, she gave her hands a thorough scrubbing. Then she stopped by the mudroom in the back of the house.

The bird seemed dazed as it limped around the cage. She noticed the birdseed which had spilled on the bottom of its enclosure, but she estimated that there was still enough left in the container to last through the night. After filling the watering can, she stuck the spout through the cage and topped off the water bowl. The cat meowed in a long, pitiful protest as she walked around the cage. "You better leave that bird alone, and you two better not keep me awake tonight. A lady needs her beauty sleep," she said, with just a trace of giddiness in her voice. She threw a tarp over the bird's cage and then grabbed the hand sanitizer from the kitchen table and applied it up to and including the elbows. Then she heard someone at the front door.

### Chapter 4

"Porter, please take me to my room," Karen said. Porter gave her a concerned look, but did as he had been instructed. "Lock the door on your way out."

"But – but what . . ." he stammered through the gap in the doorway.

"Porter, please just lock the door," she pleaded. Soon she heard him turn the lock and shut the door.

She waited until she heard Porter playing video games and knew that she wouldn't be disturbed. She grabbed the long blond wig off the Styrofoam manikin and pulled the nylon mesh cap down on her head. The wig made her scalp itch, so she only wore it for short intervals. She held the mirror as she adjusted the wig so that it was properly centered, and then she pushed and pulled on the bangs until they met her approval. Reaching behind her collection of stuffed animals, she retrieved the well-hidden trinket box where she kept all her prized possessions. She pulled out the brown eyebrow pencil that her mother had given her. After licking the tip of the pencil, she drew eyebrows where previously there had been none. She very carefully aligned the brows and then smiled in satisfaction. Then she held the package of lashes up to read the instructions. The lashes along with the romance books had been a gift from Aunt Marge who had seemed to understand Karen's curiosity. Her mother had said she was afraid that Karen would get glue in her eyes. Then her mother had thrown the lashes away. But Karen had retrieved them and hidden them in her secret container. She traced a ribbon of glue on the edge of the long black lashes, and then set them very carefully in place. Batting her eyes, she felt the wisp of the lashes against her face.

Loose facial powder covered the bottom of the box, but there was still enough powder left in the compact for today. Karen rubbed the sponge around the edges of the container, absorbing as much of the powder as possible; then she patted it on her face and around her eyes. The lipstick rolled out of the box and onto the pink shag rug. She struggled, trying to reach for it, but the tube was beyond her grasp. She stretched her foot forward, clutching the tube with her tip of her house shoe, and then rolled it within reach. She leaned over and picked it up. All the bending and stretching provoked a bout of coughing leaving Karen teary eyed and gasping for breath. She told herself, "slow your breathing down," as the nurses had so often instructed her, and "take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth." Karen caught her breath, dabbed at the wet lashes and wiped her nose. She twisted the bottom of the lipstick tube, outlined her lips, and then filled them in with the Passion Pink lip color. She smiled as she admired her reflection in the mirror.

"Karen," Porter called at the door.

She scrambled to return the make-up to its hiding place. "You can't come in, I'm busy," she answered.

"What – what – are you doing?"

"Porter, just leave me alone," she answered. He stood outside the door for a moment and then she heard him walk away.

Karen held the mirror up and admired the radiant glow of the suntan facial powder which covered her pale skin. But, her cheeks were too pale, she thought. So, she pinched them to add a rosy blush.

She smiled, and held the mirror close as she examined her teeth for lipstick smudges.

She felt under her mattress and found the teen magazine that she had taken from the hospital. Her mother had said, "It isn't good to think about those things right now." But Karen wanted to think about what other kids were doing and what kind of clothes they wore. The pages were fanned out from frequent turning and several pages had their corners turned down.

The red leather Gucci boots and matching bag had been circled with a red marker. She ran her fingers over them and closed her eyes, imagining herself in front of the school lockers surrounded by a group of adoring fans telling her how much they loved her boots and asking her where she got them. "Oh, these old things?" she said. "They were in the back of my closet." They talked about her, as she walked away. "She's the coolest girl in the school, and the prettiest." She gloated. Karen turned to the advertisement of the latest fragrance and scratched at the perfume swatch. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled deeply. The wheezing had returned, making a funny musical sound when she inhaled, but she couldn't worry about that now. She rubbed the page vigorously with her finger then dabbed the fragrance behind her ears.

Porter knocked on the door, "Are – are – you sure you're okay?"

"I'm alright. Why don't you do your homework and leave me alone?" she yelled. She immediately felt guilty for raising her voice. "Porter, I'm sorry, but I just want to be alone right now." He mumbled something. Then she heard the sounds of the artillery fire from his favorite video game. She turned the page and found the girl with the impossibly long legs wearing American Eagle jeans. The tall redhead was surrounded by boys who were obviously smitten by her beauty. The girl completely ignored the boys, as she talked on her cell phone. Clearly she was used to boys chasing her. Karen lifted up the mirror and compared herself to the beautiful redhead. Then she retrieved the tube of lipstick and applied a second coat.

Karen thumbed through the magazine to find the article: "How to Know if He Really Likes You." She had memorized the top ten give away clues; "He looks directly in your eyes," she read aloud. "He prefers your company to his friends," she grinned. Closing her eyes, she thought about Trevor Saborn who had been the most popular boy in her class. She imagined him looking directly in her eyes and asking for her phone number. She twirled her finger in her hair. "I'll think about it Trevor, but I'm really very busy." She giggled as she returned the magazine to its hiding place. She coughed several times, revealing pink-tinged frothy sputum on her tissue. _I must rest_ , she told herself. She sat quietly and breathed deeply until she caught her breath.

_Which necklace should I wear?_ She carefully eyed the contents of the jewelry box, which was filled with Aunt Marge's old jewelry. Karen had worn every piece albeit in the privacy of her room. Just beyond the strand of colored beads was the pearl necklace and matching earrings. She felt for the smooth pearls and then picked them up and examined their luster in the light. Then she placed a ring on each of her fingers. She opened the hot pink nail polish her father had mailed to her. Holding the bottle between her knees, she painted her fingernails then waved her hands in the air, so they would dry faster. She held them up to see the glitter polish sparkle in the light. She coughed.

_Enough_ , she thought. _It would have to be enough_. Hot tears beaded upon her lashes. Although she wanted to experience as much of this life as she could, she was growing too tired. _I should've listened to Mom; it is too painful to think about these things_. "Please God, help me," she whispered.

The portable CD player was within easy reach and contained her favorite CD. She pressed play. She had committed the words to memory but was too short of breath to sing along. She struggled for a long, deep breath, but it was becoming more difficult. Karen felt exhausted. Even her make-up and wig felt heavy. She felt as if she was breathing through a straw, not being able to get enough oxygen to sustain her. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Porter knocked on the door. "Karen, Karen," he called, but she didn't answer. Porter began to bang on the door.

### Chapter 5

"For Heaven's sake, no rest for the wicked," Eddy said as she stared at the door in disgust. "Who in the world could that be, at this hour?

"Please call 911," a woman yelled hysterically as she pounded on the door. "Please, help us - - Karen needs help. Please."

The woman's voice was so filled with panic that Eddy felt compelled to put aside all suspicion and open the door. "Please, call an ambulance." She held her cell phone up and shook it violently. "I can't get a signal on my phone." Eddy stood petrified. The woman grabbed her shoulders and yelled, "Help us!"

The woman ran back across the street, as Eddy dialed the phone. Soon Eddy heard the sirens and saw the red flashing lights. She watched as Karen was wheeled out on a stretcher. Her mother followed closely behind them, wringing her hands. The little boy who had ran across the street earlier that day now stood motionless as he watched the medics load the girl in the ambulance. The boy looked no more than seven or eight years old, and he seemed so helpless. Eddy instinctively walked across the lawn and stood next to him. She remembered a time before barred windows when neighbors helped each other because it was the right thing to do.

"He can stay with me," Eddy heard herself say, "While you go to the hospital."

The woman looked around the area nervously as if trying to find someone else, but Eddy was the only other non-medical person there. "Aren't you Mrs. McGrath?"

"You can call me, Eddy."

"Oh . . . Would you?" She gave Eddy one more scrutinizing look, as if to convince herself that Eddy was trustworthy. "Son, you know the number. Call if you need me," she said.

The boy followed Eddy across the street with his head down as the ambulance sped out of sight. "She - she's -- been sick a long time," he said. "She - she -- says she's fine, but she - she's -- not. I don't think she - she's -- going to come back. I mean – mean -- I'm not sure if. . . " His voice faded to a whisper.

"Come on in the house," Eddy said. She applied the hand sanitizer liberally and then handed the bottle to the boy and instructed him to do the same. Then she trekked to the kitchen and searched through the cabinets for something that kids like to eat. Pushing aside prunes and crackers, she found some sugar wafers in the back of the closet. Holding them up, she inspected them closely to see if the mouse had sampled them. When she was sure they were safe, she offered them to him. "Do you like these cookies?" He nodded his head yes, so she handed him a handful of wafers and served him a cup of hot tea. "I don't keep milk, because it upsets my digestive system." He looked at her perplexed.

"What's a – a – di - digestive system?" He asked. But Eddy didn't answer.

"You're not one of those no good kids who come into people's houses and case the joint so that they can come back and rob them later, are you?" Eddy said.

"No – no," he said.

"Now you listen to me." She pointed her finger at him. "What you see in this house stays in this house. Do you understand?"

He lowered his eyes and nodded his head. He ate the sugar wafers in silence.

Eddy dipped her sugar wafer in her cup, and then nibbled on the moistened morsels. Porter watched her carefully, then asked, "Why do - don't -- you have any teeth?"

"Of course I have teeth," she said. "But I put them up for safe keeping. I don't want anybody coming in and stealing them."

"Oh," he said as he lifted the hot tea to his lips. He quickly jerked it away as his eyes filled with tears. "Ouch! That - that's -- hot." He held his fingers to his lips and rocked back and forth.

"Its hot tea; it's supposed to be hot." Turning away from him, she muttered, "Don't they teach these kids anything anymore?" She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand _. No wonder I never had any kids: I don't know how to take care of them._ "I'm sorry," she said. "I should've known that kids don't drink hot tea." She took the cup from him and poured it into the sink.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "I guess you need to go to bed. I think kids are supposed to go to bed early," she said as she motioned for him to follow her to the living room. "Tarnation," she said as she snapped her fingers at the cat. "Get down, you old bag of fur." Clucking her tongue, she motioned for the cat to get off the couch. Eddy brought a pillow and blanket from her closet and created a make-shift bed. "Here, you can rest on the couch till your mom comes to get you." Then she noticed the baseball logo printed on his T-shirt. "Do you like to play ball, kid?"

"I – I – used to," he said. The boy pulled up his baggy pants before sitting on the couch, then he removed his scuffed up high tops and pushed them under the coffee table. "You better put those shoes by the front door, just in case there's anything contagious on them," she said, as she pointed to the entry way. "What do I call you?" He looked at her, baffled. "What's your name?" she said.

"Port – Port -- Porter."

She felt annoyed, not so much at his difficulty speaking, but that he obviously hadn't received help to speak clearly. "I never heard of anybody named Port - Port - Porter," she said curtly. "Do you mean Porter?" Porter nodded his head yes. "Here, repeat after me," she said."Por ter."

"Por ter," he said slowly and purposefully.

"One more time, Por ter," she said. Again he repeated his name. "See, you're getting the hang of it," she said. "Before long you'll be reciting the Gettysburg address."

She rubbed her chin, "I used to know a man who was a Porter. A long time ago, Porters carried your bags at a hotel or on the railroad." Pausing, she took a moment to really look at Porter. His hair was bright red, and his face was crowded with freckles. How could someone who appeared so lively look so sad? Weren't children supposed to be happy and carefree?

"My mo - mom," he said.

"Slow down and try again," Eddy said.

"She . . . named me . . after my dad," he said slowly and precisely.

"Where is your dad?" she asked.

"He lives - lives – in Chi - cago. They yelled all - all -- the time, so – so -- he moved out."

She touched the smooth gold ring on her left ring finger. "Life can throw you some curve balls, and you can't always see them coming."

_Porter had more than his fair share of curve balls,_ she thought. "Maybe one of these days you'll hit one out of the park just like Babe Ruth. You know about him, kid?" Porter shook his head. "What are they teaching these kids in school?" She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "He was the best slugger that ever lived, that's all. But now you need to get some sleep, and I'll tell you about the Babe some other time."

Eddy returned to the kitchen and lit a cigarette. It was past midnight, but she couldn't sleep.

Why has this child suffered so, and was his sister really dying? Why were there curve balls in life? More questions without answers swirled around her mind, taunting her until the early morning hours. Why didn't God protect children from disease? Why had Fred died, leaving her all by herself? "Why?" Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator and the soft coo of the dove in the nearby cage.

She began to pace the familiar length of the hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms. The same creak from the hardwood flooring outside her bedroom had been there for years. The reassuring, familiar sound seemed to say, "Nothing has changed, and all is still the same." But she knew that wasn't true. Things had changed, and they would never be the same.

### Chapter 6

"Mrs. Mc - McGrath, wake up." Porter pulled on the sleeve of her duster. "It's get-getting late, please wake up."

"What?" She held her hands over her eyes, protecting them from the sunlight that poured through the blinds.

"I tried-tried to take- take care of her, but she- she looks bad. She-she looks really bad," he said.

"Who looks bad?" Eddy asked as she sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"The - the -- bird. I tol- told Karen that I would help, so – so - she wouldn't die, and..." He looked down at his feet. "I don't -don't know what to-to-do- to -- make her better."

Sitting on the side of the bed, Eddy searched the floor with her feet, and then eased them into the well-worn soles of her slippers. "Alright, give me a minute to get my bearings. Oh," she groaned as she stood. "I feel like I got hit by a Mac truck." She straightened her back and cracked her knuckles. "Now, let's check on that bird."

Porter had been right. The bird was lying at the bottom of the cage barely moving _. I can't let this bird die; it means so much to those kids,_ she thought. "I'll call Joe up and have him take it to the vet. After all, he owes me a few favors. I give him twenty bucks a week to bring me a few groceries and mow the lawn. He's been overpaid for years." She put her hand on her hip and shook her finger. "Joe ought to pay me for putting up with him."

She lifted the handset from the cradle of the black rotary dial phone. "Now what was his number?"

"What is that- that – thing?" Porter said.

"This here is a real phone," she answered.

"Is it plu – plugged -- into the wall?"

"Well, of course it is," she said. "Now, leave me be, so I can dial this phone." Placing her finger in the finger hole, she rotated the dial to the finger stop and then listened to the click, click, and whoosh sound as the dial returned to its resting position. She did this for each of the seven numbers. At last she heard the familiar sound of a completed connection.

"What do you mean this isn't Joe?" she said a little too loudly. Her face turned crimson, "Look, lady...Watch your mouth... That's all you had to say, wrong number." She hung up the phone abruptly, and then cleared her throat. "She talked like a sailor." Eddy put on her glasses and steadied her hand, then dialed again. "Joe, I got a job for you. . . .And bring me some more hand sanitizer." Then she hung up the phone, smoothed her hair, and straightened the collar on her duster.

"My mom uses a- a -- cell phone," Porter said.

"You can't depend on cell phones. Besides that, people can eavesdrop on your conversation with those things." She pointed her crooked index finger at him. "You know spy's use cell phones to keep track of people."

"Really?" Porter said as he scratched his head.

Placing her hand on her hip, she leaned toward Porter. "Listen here, kid," she began.

"Somebody's got to tell you about the things that go on in this world," and then she pulled up a chair.

As she jabbered about this and that, they heard the rumble of Joe's truck in the driveway followed by the creak of the truck's door. Soon, Joe was at the backdoor with his customary double knock followed by three longer knocks. It was his own personal Morse code that seemed to say, "Its Joe, let me in." Eddy checked her reflection in the mirror before opening the door.

"It's about time you got here," she said. He ignored the comment and greeted her with a toothy smile. Joe was tall and thin and a couple of years younger than Eddy. His clothes were well worn, but they appeared clean and pressed. He removed his ball cap, and then ran his hand over his salt and pepper flat top. "How are you today, Ms. Eddy?" He leaned over to kiss her hand.

"Look here, Joe," she jerked her hand back hastily. "People just don't do that anymore." Wiping the back of her hand with her handkerchief, she said, "Do I look like the Queen of England?"

"No ma'am. Well, what I meant to say," he faltered and then handed her the sanitizer she had requested. "I am still a gentleman, and that is the proper way to greet a lady."

"You didn't get the right brand," she said. "I want the kind that kills 99.999% of germs. This kind only claims to kill 99% of germs. What if I come down sick after using this stuff?"

Joe gave her an amused look of concern. "I think God will protect you from that 1% that's on the loose." He cleared his throat. "Is this the bird you were telling me about?"

She threw up her hands. "Just how many birds do you think I have in the house, Joe?"

He chuckled and pulled his ball cap down over his brow. "You sure are a funny lady, Ms. Eddy."

"Now, Joe, I'm not joking. That bird needs to go to the vet," she said.

"Well, I'll take him there for you." He leaned forward on his cane and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket. "Humph," he searched through all the niches of his wallet. "I'm just a little short on cash."

She crossed her arms over her chest and widened her stance. "I gave you gas money last week," she said.

"You know that I just have a small pension to live on, and it doesn't cover the cost of gas for all these errands you been sending me on lately." He arched his eyebrows. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you liked having me around."

"If that's not a bunch of mush and molasses," she said, as she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Well, if you don't mind then, I just need a little more gas before I can head across town."

"Joe, I'm not your sugar momma," she retorted.

"No, ma'am," Joe chuckled as he shook his head in obvious frustration.

She retrieved a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket. "That bird better arrive safely at the Southtown Vet, or I'll be looking for another lawn man."

"Now, there's no sense in getting all riled up. You know you can trust me to help you out," Joe said. "Which one is the Southtown Vet? Is it on Grand Boulevard or by the diner on Broadway?"

"Don't you have one of them GPS things in your rig?" she retorted. "It's where it's always been by the diner." She gave the new bottle of germicide a quick pump and rubbed her hands together. "Money is filthy, just filthy, I tell you." He smiled and winked at Porter, "You know, young man, once you get to know Ms. Eddy, you'll see that she's a nice lady."

A trace of a smile crossed Porter's face.

"Hey, don't you live across the street?"

Porter nodded his head.

"It's good you two are getting to know each other," he said as he steadied his cane.

Joe managed to carry the cage with dignity, with only a slight trace of a limp. Eddy watched him walk away before securing the door.

"Is he - he -- your boyfriend?" Porter asked.

"If he's a boy, then he's the oldest boy I've ever seen," she said. "Boyfriend," she said a little too sharply. "If that isn't the silliest thing I've ever heard!"

### Chapter 7

_Why hasn't she come to pick up Porter?_ Eddy wondered. She hadn't planned on watching the boy this long. After all, she wasn't running a boarding home for orphans and injured wildlife. Then Eddy felt a twinge of guilt. _Well, I guess I could at least be nice to the kid_ , she thought.

"Porter," she said, trying to use her best nice voice. She smiled and continued. "When I was a little girl there was a man, named. . .Tarnation! What was his name?" She scratched her head and then shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well, it don't matter what his name was. He lived down the street from us, and he raised doves. He loved those birds and took care of them like they were his children. They would eat right out of his hand, like this." Cupping her small, wrinkled hand, she held it out for Porter to inspect. "See here, you could fit a whole bunch of seed in here." Porter looked in her hand, as he had been instructed. "You know that he even trained them to deliver messages."

"But – but -- birds can't talk," Porter said.

"Of course they didn't talk. Little smart aleck," she muttered. "They carry a message written on a little piece of paper tied to their leg," she said.

"But - but after they deliver the message, how - how do they know how to get home?" Porter said.

"I heard they can see really well and remember what things look like as they fly over them. Maybe they just know how to get there, I don't know," she said. "What difference does it make?"

"Maybe they want to see - see the man who loved them and took care of them. They might look for - for him because they miss him," Porter said, as he fidgeted with his clothes. "Or maybe, they can - can feel his love so - so strong that it helps them find their way home," he said.

Eddy gathered up the blanket and shook it out several times before folding it into a nice tight bundle. She smoothed the plastic covering on the crème brocade couch and tidied the living room, as she carefully considered Porter's words. "Hmm," she said, as she pumped the handle of the germicide vigorously.

It was getting late in the day, and she had still not heard from Porter's mother. She wondered if they should go to the hospital, but then she remembered what she had heard on the news. _What about all those criminals on the loose just looking for easy prey like a defenseless old lady with a small boy? How could we protect ourselves? But_ , she argued, _Porter's mother needs help_. Her hands trembled, and bile filled her mouth, as she contemplated the notion of venturing outside. She swallowed hard and wrung her hands. _I can do this,_ she told herself. She held her head high, as she announced, "Now, I think we better go to the hospital. You can watch TV while I get ready." She turned on the television, then handed Porter the remote. Pointing her finger at him, she said, "Don't turn it up loud, and don't sit close to the screen, or you'll go blind."

Porter sat silently as he scanned the channels for cartoons, while Eddy made her way to the bedroom. She jabbered, as she rummaged through her bedroom closet, "I heard that fifty percent more Americans have poor vision since the invention of the television. It should be illegal for kids to watch TV and ruin their eyes. You know, you have to be twenty-one years old to drink booze, because it can damage your liver. Everybody wants to save other people's livers, but nobody cares about people's eyes.

You know what, I'm making a stand, starting today," she said to herself. "That boy will not ruin his eyes on my watch. Turn that blasted TV off," she yelled. Click, the TV fell silent. "It's for his own good," she said.

After removing the house dress, Eddy held it up to the light. She noticed the soiled collar and tattered hem and wondered how long it had been since it was laundered. She couldn't remember. Was it two or three weeks? She sniffed the underarms. "Phew." She swayed and caught the doorjamb with her hand. "It must have been three weeks." Eddy rummaged through her closet, but it took longer to get ready than she planned. Inspecting her reflection in the mirror, she noticed that her clothes didn't seem to fit right. "I must have lost weight," she mumbled.

She knew that she didn't eat as much as she did when Fred was alive. Fred didn't forget to eat. "Don't you think we had better eat," he would say. "We don't have to cook." Then he would ask her what restaurant she wanted to go to, but since she knew what he liked, she often picked one of his favorite restaurants. But without Fred here to remind her to eat, she frequently skipped meals. The cigarettes, though, wouldn't let her forget about them. They had a way of gnawing on her gut till she gave in to the craving. She lit up a cigarette and laid it in the ashtray.

Holding up a brown polyester pantsuit, she inspected it in the scrutiny of the sun's light. "I don't know why polyester isn't as popular as it used to be. It never needs to be ironed." She shook her head from side to side and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "People just don't have good sense anymore." Eddy placed some coins in her pocket then folded up a twenty-dollar bill and tucked it in her bra. She pulled the neckline of her top out and visualized her shoes. "I hope that don't fall out." Just to be safe; she decided to secure the twenty in place with a piece of tape. Then she slipped a ten-dollar bill in her shoe. Applying the hand sanitizer, she briskly rubbed her hands together before putting in her dentures. She chomped down several times to make sure they were secure. She eyed the wedding ring on her left hand and contemplated whether she should wear it or leave it at home. After much debate, she decided to leave it at home. Lastly, she put the house key on her necklace chain, and then hid it under her blouse. "Got to play it smart now-a-days, since all of them knuckleheads are on the loose."

Eddy snuck in another smoke before going to the living room. There she found Porter napping in the Lazy Boy recliner. She felt a surge of anger course through her. That's Fred's chair; she hadn't even sat in his chair. Grabbing a pillow, she popped Porter on the head. "Get up," she barked. Startled, Porter jumped up and gawked at Eddy. He rubbed his eyes. "It's time to go," she said.

The rain pelted the umbrella, as Eddy and Porter walked toward the cab. The cab smelled like sour milk, and it was cluttered with clothes and toiletries. Shoving the contents onto the floor, she toppled onto the back seat. Porter scurried behind her. Eddy spent most of the trip holding on to the side door handle, as the driver jerked around sharp corners and weaved in and out of traffic. Porter's eyes were plastered on the road ahead, and he held his arms stiff to his side, clasping the vinyl seats. His face had grown pale, and she wondered if he was going to throw up. She scooted her feet away. _He'd better not mess up my good shoes,_ she thought. Finally they arrived at the entrance of the hospital. Eddy fumbled with the money to pay the fare. "I hope you aren't expecting a tip." Her voice was shaky. "You know, the way you drive could give a person a heart attack."

"Jeez," the cab driver said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't be picking me up when I call for a ride home. I want to arrive alive," she said.

The color was beginning to return to Porter's cheeks, but his voice was still trembling. "Yeah - yeah," he said. He looked at Eddy for support.

"Yeah," she echoed.

"Don't worry; it won't be me picking you up," he said, as he looked at the handful of coins Eddy had given him to pay for the fare.

Eddy felt a little woozy. "A person needs a pill for motion sickness to ride with that guy." She grabbed the hand sanitizer from her purse. "Here, use some of this," she instructed Porter, as she pumped on the handle repeatedly. "No telling what kind of germs that derelict was carrying around."

Once inside the hospital, Eddy made a beeline for the information desk. Eddy was only a little taller than Porter, and together they looked up at the young woman seated at the elevated platform. She peered over the desk at them and smiled warmly. "What can I help you with today?" she asked.

_Well, at least there were still a few people in the world with manners,_ Eddy thought. The young woman gave them directions and then handed them a map to the pediatric oncology floor.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, the odor confronted her like an old enemy seeking to engage her in yet another battle. The sickening mixture of disinfectant and bodily fluids reminded her of Fred's long fight with cancer. Tears stung her eyes. Eddy was tempted to bolt for the door as fast as her feeble body would carry her. But, Porter needed someone to be there for him, she reasoned. She straightened her spine and pushed the feelings back down to her gut where they had been for ten long years.

They rounded the corner and saw the nurses clad in scrubs lined up at the nurse's station like combat soldiers preparing for war. She heard the phones ringing, the beeps and bleeps of the monitors, and the overhead speakers paging for some doctor stat. Beads of sweat lined up on Eddy's upper lip, and her mouth felt sticky and dry. She looked around for help. She was relieved to see Porter's mother at the end of the hall. "Look Porter, isn't that your mom? What's her name?"

He scratched his head. "Mom? I think – think \-- I heard someone call her Ca - Carol once," he said. Carol looked as if she had aged during the night. Her eyes were puffy and her shoulders had the slump of someone who had carried a heavy weight for a long time.

Porter ran towards his mother and then threw both arms around her waist. Soon Eddy joined them. Carol looked up as the tears rolled down her face. "Thank you," she said. She looked down at Porter, and held his shoulders. "The doctor said she's very sick. We have to be strong, because she needs us more now than she ever has." Carol then looked at Eddy, pleading with her to hear her unspoken words: Karen was dying.

Eddy wanted to run away to keep the rising tide of grief from enveloping her and choking out the little bit of life she had left. Her instincts told her to get away from this place, to run and not look back, but her heart told her to stay. "Are you the grandmother?" the nurse asked. Eddy wasn't sure if she nodded yes or no, but she felt the nurse escort her toward Karen's room. "You'll need to put a mask and gloves on before you enter the room. Karen is in isolation, because she has a very low white blood cell count."

Eddy carried out the instructions, but it was all surreal. Fred had been in isolation before he died, which required her to wear a mask and gloves to visit him. But at least Fred had lived to be eighty-two years old, so she had reasoned that it was his time to go. But Karen hadn't yet begun to experience life.

Eddy's feet felt shackled in place. Porter looked at her expectantly, but she couldn't force herself to enter the room. She turned abruptly and walked away. She glanced over her shoulder and made eye contact with Porter. His mouth was drawn and tight as if he wanted to yell for her to stay, to help, but he did not allow himself the indulgence.

Eddy made her way through the corridors and stumbled out the exit doors into the cold drizzle. The skies were gray, and the pavement was covered in a layer of dirt and grime from the local construction, making a muddy mess of her shoes. She smelled the roasted coffee beans from the local coffee factory which she had always found reassuring. But today, she found it sickening.

She tied her rain bonnet under her chin and lit up a cigarette. A passerby gave her a disapproving look and pointed to the sign above Eddy's head, which read, NO SMOKING. So many changes, Eddy thought. Not only had smoking become unfashionable; in some places it was illegal. Right now she didn't care what he or anybody else thought. She stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.

"Cute," he said sarcastically.

She blinked hard to clear the rain and tears from her eyes. "Now what should I do?" she mumbled. The reckless cabby let his engine idle as he waited for his fare. _Some poor sap called for a cab and ended up with that maniac,_ she thought. She looked over her shoulder at the hospital entrance and then back at the cab. Eddy was tempted to jump in the back of it and speed off to the safety of her home. She didn't even care if she arrived alive.

### Chapter 8

_This isn't my family or my business_ , she told herself. _I can't help that girl anyway. I'm not God. Why did I get involved with people who were complete strangers just a couple of days ago?_ She remembered the disappointment she had seen on Porter's face. She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to erase the memory. "I got to get out of here." She turned around looking for help, but there were no familiar faces. "Well, I'm not too old to walk," she said stubbornly. She looked at the bony outline of her toothpick legs protruding through the polyester pants, and argued, "I could walk home." Then she remembered the news stories she had heard about drive-by shootings. "Blasted cowards!" A few pedestrians glanced at her and then quickly walked away. "Shooting at people who are unarmed," she yelled.

People didn't used to do such things. It used to be safe for people to walk and even hitchhike. She recalled the time she and her friend Betty Lou had hitchhiked into town when they were teenagers. An old man had picked them up and asked them where they were going. He then drove out of his way to drop them off right in front of the movie theater, and he even gave them spending money before driving off. The two girls had spent the day in the big city without any trouble.

She would never forget it; they had seen "Key Largo" with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Betty Lou had told her that she looked a little bit like Bacall, only a lot shorter. But unlike Bacall, Eddy's voice had always been high-pitched and a bit squeaky. "They don't make great movies like that anymore," she said. Eddy wished her friend Betty Lou was with her today, but she, like so many others in her life, had died many years ago. "Well at least when I do get there, there'll be a crowd to greet me," she said. "They might even throw me a party. Did you hear that, Fred? I'd like to have a party waiting when I cross over." Then she caught herself; she wasn't at home.

Eddy had stood in the rain long enough to get cold and wet. She sneezed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Pulling her collar up, she wrapped her arms around her chest. Then she tottered back into the hospital. She saw the lobby to her left and ventured into the crowded waiting room. The room still had the same blue walls and gray carpet that had been there when Fred had been hospitalized. The paint was sorely in need of a touch-up, and many of the chairs were damaged. She found a tan vinyl recliner chair, and after making sure there were no obvious stains, she plopped down. Eddy was ever mindful of her purse and kept it close at hand.

She kept a little spending money in her pocket, but never in her purse. Her purse was a decoy, which was stuffed with old paper and hand sanitizer. But, it was a good purse, and she didn't want to lose it or the germicide, so she carefully wrapped the strap of the purse over her left shoulder, and then weaved her right arm through and positioned it over her abdomen, and lastly she intertwined her fingers over the handbag's opening. "Those knuckleheads don't think old people are smart enough to hide their money. I'll show them," she mused.

She scanned the waiting room for suspicious characters, and satisfied that, at least for the moment, she was safe; she reclined and closed one eye. Easy listening music was playing on the overhead speakers. She recognized some of the tunes, but most of them sounded like a bunch of racket.

The paging system periodically interrupted the music with a page for this doctor or that doctor to call some number. It was all too much. She needed to get back home where life was safe and predictable. Trying to devise a plan of escape, she fought the exhaustion. But, her head began to weave and bob, and soon she was fast asleep.

"Ms. Eddy, wake-up now." Joe took his cane and tapped the sole of her shoe. "What are you doing here?"

Eddy roused up and wiped the drool from her mouth. She felt disoriented. What was he doing in her house? Then she looked around at the strangers seated beside her and remembered that she was in the hospital. "What do you mean? Asking me; What am I doing here?" She fingered through her hair and straightened her collar. "I'm over twenty-one. I can sure enough do as I please." Looking at him indignantly, she said, "What are you doing here?"

"Excuse me, Ms. Eddy. I'm just here visiting my sister, and I see you here, by yourself, and I was worried about you," he said. "I usually come here about this time." He pulled out his wallet and examined its contents. "It's lunchtime, would you like to get some lunch?"

The hair on the back of her neck bristled. _If he's not trying to get more money,_ she thought. "What's a matter?" She clutched her purse to her chest. "Are you trying to get a free lunch?"

"Lord, no." Joe looked at her with the disappointment clearly showing on his face. "I never have tried to take you, and I'm not about to start now." He removed his hat and shifted his weight to his good leg. "Can't you accept an invitation to lunch, without getting suspicious?" He turned and started to walk away. "I have always been a stand-up man, and it looked like you could use a little help, that's all."

"I don't need any help." The words slipped out before she could measure them. She immediately wished she had not been so stubborn, so defiant. Joe shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Eddy recalled Joe's words, "Invitation to lunch." The words spun around her head, until she felt almost dizzy. Joe had invited her to lunch? He always helped her out, but she thought he had only wanted the extra cash. She cleared her throat. "Blast it all. Wait, wait just a minute," she called. "I did have plans, but since you're buying, I might be a little hungry." Scooting to the edge of the cushion, she pushed herself up and out of the chair. Joe waited patiently for her, and then they set off down the long corridor toward the cafeteria.

"My sister works in the kitchen, and she gives me a discount," Joe said. He glanced over at Eddy to see if he had her attention. "I usually just get the soup of the day."

"Soup de jour," Eddy chuckled. "It has been a long time since I heard about the soup of the day."

"I can't recall you leaving the house," he said.

"Well, there might be some things you don't know about me, Joe."

"Oh, I didn't know I was going to have lunch with a mysterious lady," he teased. "I thought that I had grown to know you pretty well over the years, but I guess I don't know everything about you." He pointed to the right with his cane. "This is the way to the cafeteria."

"Maybe you'd like to get out of the house again sometime," he said. "When was the last time you left the house?"

Eddy couldn't remember the last time she had gone anywhere. She had gone to the grocery store just last year, or had it been two years? She couldn't remember.

Had it really been that long since she had ventured out? She became annoyed by his question and snapped, "Are you spying on me?"

"Now, you know that I would never spy on you, Ms. Eddy." He stopped walking and looked directly in her eyes. "You don't really believe that, do you?" Eddy shrugged her shoulders. "Don't you know me better than that?" Joe asked. Eddy looked away from him. "I'm just thinking that it would do you good to get out more often, that's all," Joe said.

"I wouldn't be out here traipsing around today if I didn't have to," she said. "The world's just not safe anymore."

"It never has been safe," Joe said. "But it's still meant to be shared, and not holed-up away from people." He winked at her and smiled. "You never know, you might even find someone special and fall in love again." He quickened his pace.

Love? She thought the word sounded strange and foreign, as if it belonged to another time, another place. Like some once visited, but now secluded, area, and she had grown too old and feeble to find its hiding place. Why was he speaking to her about love? After all, they were too old for such foolishness.

Fred had been the only man in her life. Before Fred died, he had put everything in order so that Eddy would have minimal bills and minimal responsibility. He had even instructed Eddy to live her life and had given his blessing for her to marry again. But it was just prideful to think that love could visit a person twice in their life. Not only prideful, but just plain silly, she thought.

Fred, now that was a good man. And I don't know if he would approve of Joe. Fred was an easy going type of man, but he always knew when it was time to stand-up. He was a stand-up kind of man like Joe said he was.

She wondered what Joe thought about her. Did he think she was attractive? After all these years, could it still be true? Her cheeks burned red, and she felt a little lightheaded, but she thought it might be good just to know one way or the other. Eddy decided to throw caution to the wind. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "Look here, Joe." She made sure she had his full attention. She looked up at him as if she was posing for a photograph, gave him her best smile, and said, "Do you think I look like Lauren Bacall?"

Joe stepped back and looked at her intently. "I can see a resemblance, yes I sure can." Then he smiled approvingly. "You look a little like her, only a lot shorter."

Eddy felt her face flush. "That's just what my friend Betty Lou used to say."

"I never heard you talk about her before. Does she live around here?" Joe said.

"She used to live here." Her voice trailed off, "But now she stays over at the Pine Lawn Cemetery." She slowed her pace and caught her breath, "Next to Fred."

Joe stopped and braced himself against the chair rail as he waited for Eddy. "I got some friends over there too," Joe said. "Now, we can't worry about the ones who have crossed over. They don't have any worries anymore."

Soon they arrived at the newly remodeled cafeteria. The entryway was lined with an assortment of exotic plants. Eddy put on her glasses, so that she could more closely inspect the foliage. But still not gaining enough perspective to identify if they were real or plastic, she bent over, and suddenly she lost her balance. She grabbed for the plant's container to catch her fall but knocked the planter on its side, as she fell to her knees. Potting soil spilled all over the floor and all over Eddy. She scrambled to get up, but she wasn't quite sure how to get back in a standing position. After crawling several feet, she sat down against the wall with her legs outstretched. "Confound it all, I wouldn't have fallen if it wasn't for those cheap imported pots!" She wiped the dirt from her hands. "They just don't make things like they used to."

"Ms. Eddy, are you alright?" Joe leaned over to help her up, but Eddy shook her head.

She grunted and coughed, "What do you mean? Am I alright? Of course I'm alright."

Joe cleared his throat and looked around for spectators. Luckily, much of the lunch crowd had already left, but there were a few troublesome teens huddled together in the corner pointing and laughing. Aiming his cane at them, Joe shook his head in disapproval. A few moments later, two security guards rounded the corner, and the taller guard escorted the misbehaving teens out the exit door. The remaining guard made his way over to Eddy. He tried unsuccessfully to persuade her to go to the Emergency Room, "Just to make sure you're not injured," he said.

"If that's not a bunch of hooey," she said. "I'm not going to let some doctors poke and prod on me like I was a piece of meat. You can forget about that Emergency Room business." She crossed her hands across her chest in stubborn defiance. "Well, that's one way to drum up business," she said, as the officer walked away. The housekeeper swept the spilled soil, while Eddy maneuvered into an upright position. "Let's get out of here, this place is a mess," she said, as she wiped off the dirt and sweat with Joe's handkerchief. She found the hospital's hand sanitizer mounted on the cafeteria wall, and liberally applied it to her hands and forearms.

All of the cafeteria staff seemed to know Joe and greeted him warmly but not without a speculative look at his messy companion. A tall, olive-skinned woman waved at Joe. "I see you brought a friend today, Joe." She smiled at Eddy. "My name's Eloise, Joe's baby sister." She extended her hand to Eddy, but noticing Eddy's dirty hands, Eloise quickly pulled her hand back.

Eddy grabbed a napkin and wiped her hands. "I need to get this dirt off my hands before I get impetigo or something even worse like that flesh eating bacteria." Eddy shook her hands nervously. "Who knows where they imported that dirt from?" Eddy shifted her feet from side to side as she swiped at the dirt. "Then I need to get me a smoke to settle my nerves."

Eloise smiled. "The restroom is right down the main hall, but this is a no-smoking facility." She reached under the counter and pulled out a mint. "Here, take one of these." She dropped the mint in Eddy's front coat pocket. "I have to go without smoking for an entire eight-hour shift, and I go through a lot of mints."

"What's the world coming to?" Eddy said, "Making it illegal to smoke. That's unconstitutional."

She pointed her finger upward to make her point. "All those great people in history smoked: Franklin D. Roosevelt and Dwight D. Eisenhower. That was the good ole days. Makes me so mad I could just spit."

Eloise seemed amused by Eddy's ranting. "I hear you, girl," she said. Eloise arched her eyebrow at Joe and then winked. "Do you want the usual, Joe?"

Joe nodded his head, "But that'll be two bowls of soup today, please."

"Well then, take your bad self on back to your favorite seat, and I'll serve you like you were at a big fancy restaurant," Eloise teased, as she motioned with her hands to shoo them away. "And I'll show you a place where you can smoke without getting caught," she whispered to Eddy. "Heaven knows, we don't want to keep you from smoking too long. It could be dangerous." Eloise chuckled.

Eddy took longer than expected in the restroom, but when she emerged, her face had a nice pink glow, and her nails and cuticles were meticulous. She had even removed her shoes and rinsed them off in the sink.

Joe waited patiently for her. "Do you see that fountain?" He pointed to a water fountain with a statue of St. John Nepomucene holding a cup of overflowing water.

"Well, I'm sure not going to take a bath in it," Eddy said as she brushed the soil from her clothing.

"No, I was trying to tell you something, Ms. Eddy," Joe said exasperated. "A long time ago, Father Michael told me that a king had Saint John drowned, and now he's known as the patron saint of water."

"Humph," Eddy sighed. "What did he do? Knock something over?"

Joe looked at her, startled, as if not sure if he should be offended or laugh. "He was a saint. People tortured and killed saints." Joe shifted his weight onto his good leg. "They were good people who didn't deserve to die."

"I didn't know you were religious, Joe," Eddy said.

"No, I'm not religious, but I believe every word in this book." He reached in his front pocket and pulled out a small New Testament with tattered corners and yellowed pages. He kissed the worn cover and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Hmm, it's been a long time since I went to church." Eddy said. "Some of them ladies at the church are like Fred's cat; think they are too good for common folks. I don't need any of that," she said, then spit in the fountain.

Joe gasped as he staggered backward. "What in the world are you doing, Ms. Eddy?" He looked around to make sure no one had seen them. "Lord Jesus, forgive her."

"That water isn't clean anyway. Look at all that dirty money lying around in the fountain." She pointed at the numerous coins. "It's a shame to throw good money away when there are people who could use it." _They must have a guard posted or a surveillance camera to catch thieves who might try to steal all those people's money_ , she thought. She looked up around the ceiling for hidden cameras, and she was not disappointed. Up toward the right of the fountain she saw a camera slowly scanning the area. "Look at that." She pointed at the camera. "If they can afford to buy cameras to spy on people, you'd think they could afford some heavy-duty flower pots so people wouldn't get hurt. Sometimes the world just doesn't make sense."

Joe looked at Eddy, baffled. "What don't make sense?"

"Why do they guard money, but don't care about people?" She clucked her tongue.

"And," she continued. "Why did they kill a good person like St. John Nepomucene?"

"I guess that people have always misunderstood what's important in life." Joe studied the details of the sculpture. "They were God's light in the darkness sent to show us the way. They were just passing through." He leaned on his cane and cleared his throat. "But I guess that none of us really see the whole picture."

Eddy thought about Joe's words, as she scrutinized the statue of the martyred priest. How well she knew how cruel and unpredictable life could be. All of her friends, family, and even her husband had gone long ago, leaving her all alone. She looked over at Joe who was standing silently beside her, and suddenly she realized that she was not really alone. Joe had just showed up one day many years ago looking for odd jobs to supplement his retirement income, and over the years he had become more than just a hired hand. She had never really seen him as a friend, but today, things seemed different. She considered the many times he had been there to help her. "Joe," she said reluctantly. "Forget about that Ms. Eddy nonsense." She paused before continuing. "Just call me Eddy."

"I only call my friends by their first name," Joe said. Joe waited a long anxious moment, before he continued. "Does that make us friends?"

Eddy smiled and nodded her head yes.

The aroma of cinnamon and fresh baked bread permeated the air. Soft music played overhead. There weren't any overhead pages, any code blues, any hospital beds, and no people dying. Joe led her to a table for two in a cozy corner close to the fountain. He sat down and then leaned his cane against the edge of the table. "I like to come here to this quiet place to think. It's a good place to think about God's goodness and his provision."

"God's goodness?" Eddy said. "It doesn't look like He's been that good to you, Joe."

"What do you mean?" Joe said.

"Well," she pointed to Joe's cane. "You're crippled, Joe."

"What, this cane? This cane was a gift from my sister." He ran his hand over the cane's smooth surface. "See here, a man carved it from a single slab of stone." He held the cane up for Eddy to examine. "It helps me get around, but I'm not crippled." Joe removed his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. "Let's say grace," he said and then bowed his head in silent prayer.

He unfolded a napkin and placed it upon his lap. "We all have troubles in life," Joe said. "But you can't let them keep you from getting up and walking."

"That's a bunch of hooey, and you know it!" She crossed her arms and looked away. "I've had too much trouble in my life."

"Yes, I know about trouble," Joe rubbed his swollen, arthritic hands. "I started using a cane about fifteen years ago, after my stroke. But it didn't take me long to figure out that this cane don't walk for me. No, I can't walk by myself, but when I lean up against this cane, I can walk just fine. Sometimes we all need something to lean on to help us get around."

Joe arranged his silverware with the fork on the left and the spoon on the right. "You too, might need to steady yourself against something or someone who can help you find your legs. Don't be afraid to hold onto someone in this life."

He reached across the table, "May I?" He said. Eddy was instinctively startled and tried to jerk her hand away, but Joe's gentle touch comforted her, so she sat motionless. He held her hand in his and examined the red, dry, cracked skin. "Some of us work really hard to keep the world out, but life is a gift from God which is meant to be shared." Silence passed between them as she contemplated Joe's words. "We are all going to die someday," Joe said. "But right now, your heart is still beating." Eddy felt butterflies in her stomach, and her face burned crimson.

Eloise arrived with soup and fresh warm bread. "You see what I found for you two? A Carnation left over from the hospital board's luncheon today. Doesn't this look pretty, even if it is sitting in a plastic water bottle?"

"Flowers are what you bring to dead people," Joe said. "There aren't any dead people here."

"Excuse me, Joe, but even live ladies like flowers!" Eloise gave Joe her version of a playful evil eye and placed her hands on her hips. "Now, you listen to me, Joe, and take some notes. Women like to be treated special. Isn't that right, Eddy?"

Eddy swallowed hard and searched for words from the smoldering pot of emotions that left her reeling. She felt more alive today than she had in many years. She pinched herself. "Ouch," she yelled as she rubbed her sore arm. "I'm sure enough alive." They laughed.

Joe and Eddy ate their soup in silence as they listened to the gentle murmur of the fountain. Eddy remembered the lentil soup that her mother made with bits of carrot and onion. Her mother's secret ingredient had been a clove, which added a little sweetness to the broth. This soup was not sweet, but it was thicker than her mother's watered down version.

There had been many hard times during and after the depression, which required the thriftiness of watered down soup, but it had always been served with love. The taste of the soup brought back childhood memories which replayed themselves like a black and white film spliced together with smiles and tears. The clips raced before her. She tried to hold onto them to savor them for just a few minutes longer, but like smoke, they dissolved in her grasp. She thought a life should have lasted longer than the ten-second clips she viewed. Where had all the years gone? She glanced at her own wrinkled hands as she retrieved a spoonful of soup; they looked so old, so foreign. Yes, there had been many twists and turns in her life since her mother had ladled that soup up so many years ago. _My, how things have changed,_ she thought.

Eddy almost forgot that she was in the hospital and that someone she cared about needed her. _Porter probably hasn't eaten,_ she thought. She dropped the spoon and heard it click in the saucer. "That boy Porter that was at my house is here at the hospital," Eddy said.

"I know," Joe replied. "I saw him checking up on you in the lobby while you were sleeping. He said he was worried that you would get lost." Joe folded his napkin and laid it at the side of his bowl. "That boy found a friend in you, Eddy, and he could sure use a friend right now."

Eddy remembered the disappointment she had seen on Porter's face when she had walked away earlier that day. She stiffened her upper lip and pounded her fist on the table. "I'm not going to cry," she said. But she couldn't hold them back. Long pent up tears wrapped up with bits of anger and hurt seeped up and found their way out. They cascaded down her face and formed puddles on the table.

Joe passed her his handkerchief. Then he squeezed her hand tight. "You go ahead and cry, Eddy. Let out all that pain you've been holding onto for so long. God does not forget those that the world has forgotten. Nor does he turn a blind eye to our suffering."

Joe sat with her until the early evening. "Things are going to work out just fine," he said.

"Things are going to be fine." Fred had said the same thing, but things had not been fine.

After he passed away, she stayed in the house for days on end without hearing another human voice. She had felt sadness as heavy as a ton of bricks which had lodged in her chest and refused to move. She had settled for a "fine" which had become eating one meal a day and bathing twice a week. Fine had become a silent house and a grieving heart. But Eddy so longed for things to really finally "be fine" that she let the words sink down deep and comfort her. Her eyes were swollen and her nose was stuffy, but she began to share his confidence. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She pulled the antiseptic from her purse. Examined it, started to squeeze the bottle, and then she quickly returned it unused.

"Joe, I got a job for you," she said. "There's a friend who needs me."

"I understand," Joe said and held out his elbow to escort Eddy. He led her to the entrance of Karen's room, and then he reassured her that he would wait for her in the hallway.

### Chapter 9

Eddy hesitated and then looked over her shoulder to make sure Joe was still there. Then she tottered through the doorway. The stillness was stunning. Karen was bathed in light, but it was not an earthly light. The light was like a warm presence that soothed her. Eddy had felt this sensation before \- - at church, but here she was in the room of a dying girl and she felt it - -peace. It was peace.

Carol looked up at her when she entered the room and then motioned for her to come closer. "Thank you for coming," she whispered.

There was no trace of the battle Karen had waged with cancer - - only tranquility. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow, barely making her chest rise. Her mother gently wiped the smeared make-up from Karen's face, revealing her pale, translucent skin and the faintest trace of threadlike, blue veins around her temple. Eddy caught herself holding her breath, as she watched the girl with the thick black lashes and long blonde hair. She waited expectantly for her eyes to open and listened for her to speak, but the girl did not move. Eddy felt as if she was intruding on a sacred event, but somehow she couldn't make herself leave.

"She looks like an angel," Eddy whispered.

The nurse came into the room. "Carol, your husband just called. He's leaving the airport and will be here in about thirty minutes. Is there anyone else I can call for you?" she asked.

"Yes, please call Pastor Tom," Carol said.

Carol, who had been as fragile as a twig earlier that day, now stood like a mighty oak. She motioned for Eddy to join her and Porter at the bedside.

"Karen had wanted to meet you." Carol looked toward the window and then at Karen. "I regret not having more time to do all the things she wanted," she said. Carol straightened Karen's sheet and tucked the edges under her shoulders. "She feels so cold," she turned on the call light. "Could you bring some more warm blankets?" The voice over the speaker replied that they would bring them right away.

Eddy swallowed hard and found her voice. "Has she been sick long?" she whispered.

"She was diagnosed when she was eight. She had chemotherapy, remission, more chemo, and then a bone marrow transplant, but nothing helped. I had hoped that this day would never come." She adjusted Karen's oxygen mask, pulling the elastic green straps up and over Karen's ears. "We've had so many changes in our family these last few years." The tears flowed freely, but she made no attempt to stop them. "First Aunt Marge died and then my mother, and then my husband and I," she wrung her hands. "The divorce. Oh I'm sorry, you don't want to hear about all this, forgive me."

Eddy struggled through several awkward moments of silence, and then replied, "It was just me and Fred. We never had kids." She looked at Porter and said, "But, we made the best of things." She wrung her hands. "Even so, Fred was a happy man. Yes, he could make me laugh." She smiled as she reminisced.

"On her good days, Karen volunteered at the children's ward. She loved to make the children laugh. They all loved her," Carol said.

A code blue was announced overhead and Eddy assumed by all the frantic activity outside Karen's room that the code was occurring next door. Carol and Porter exchanged a look of relief. Eddy understood their unspoken communication: someone else was caught between this world and the next; it wasn't Karen's turn. They had a little more time with her.

A man in a rumpled suit and a five o'clock shadow burst through the door. "Carol, I made it as soon as I could. How is she?" He rushed to the bedside and picked up her hand. "How's my little girl?" There was no answer. He nodded at Eddy, and then reached for Carol and Porter, holding them close. The three of them wept.

The commotion outside the room was settling down. Eddy overheard someone say, "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Johnson. We did everything we could to save him." Then she heard a woman sobbing, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall.

Porter kept his head down, examining his hands and shuffling his feet. She couldn't explain it, but Eddy felt a strong desire to protect Porter. She couldn't do anything to help Karen. But if she could take Porter away from all the sadness then maybe she could help him. "Well, if you wouldn't mind, could I take the boy with me for a little while?" Eddy asked. "Joe and I could take him to get something to eat, and I promised him I'd tell him about Babe Ruth." Porter's parents exchanged anxious looks. "I'd take good care of him," she added. Carol squeezed Porter closer. Then she nodded her head in approval. "Here's my phone number." Eddy passed a tattered slip of paper to Carol, and then she reached for Porter's hand. "Would you like to go get a hamburger?" Eddy asked. Porter nodded his head, as he tiptoed around Karen's bed. Looking over his shoulder, he checked on his sister one more time before leaving the room.

They greeted the Pastor and his wife as they exited the room, and soon they heard the 23rd Psalm spoken in unison. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . ." Eddy had heard the words before, but this time she considered the fullness of them, as they walked toward the parking lot.

The 1970's Ford pickup lunged and bucked forward, as Joe started the engine, "Whoa Bessie," Joe said. She's a little like Mrs. McGrath here; she can be a bit contrary."

"Contrary? This heap needs an overhaul," Eddy said.

"Don't we all," Joe said. "Don't we all,"

### Chapter 10

_I knew she would come_. Karen thought as she watched Eddy enter the hospital room. _Wow, she looks so different up close. When I first saw her last year, I thought she was wearing a funny wig, but it's her real hair. I've never seen hair that looks like dryer lint._ She was tempted to touch her hair to see what it felt like. _I guess I shouldn't touch it. That would be rude._

Karen was intrigued by Eddy's appearance and continued to watch her closely. She compared her mother's fine facial lines to the deep set lines on Eddy's face and neck. _Wow, she must be really old, even older than Aunt Marge or Grandma. I was hoping that she could help us, but I don't think someone that old can help. We really need someone who is younger, and they would definitely have to be strong._

"It was just me and Fred. We never had kids," Eddy said.

_Oh no, she doesn't know anything about children,_ Karen thought. _How can she help Porter if she hasn't had any children? "_ I'm sorry, Porter. I told you to take the dove to the wrong house _._ " _Maybe I didn't look hard enough to find the right person. Isn't there anyone who is younger and loves children?_

Karen had watched her neighbors carefully, studying their habits, observing their visitors, keeping notes in her notebook about their activities. There were so many people who looked untrustworthy. Eddy had been the only one that Karen believed she could trust. She didn't want Porter to be by himself when her mother was at work. He needed someone to help him. Their family's problems had been hard on everyone including Porter. Not only had he started stuttering, but he seemed so sad.

Karen could feel the substantial weight of his sadness. _He deserves so much better than what he has been given in life. If there were just someone who would spend time with him and tell him about life. But they would also need to be fun. He needs to just have fun like a normal kid._

Porter stood next to Karen's bed, as he had so many times in her life. He had always been there for her. "Thank you for being my friend, Porter," she said _._

Friends had been hard to find. She had so longed to make friends at school, but they hadn't been able to see past her wheelchair. She remembered the sharp pain of rejection, as she reminisced about her last days at the public school. The kids had gawked at her, as she sat in the backseat of the car while her mother retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk. She had sat silently, as the children pointed and made sarcastic remarks. "Freak, Gimp," they yelled. Her mother pretended she didn't hear, as she struggled to help Karen into the wheelchair. Then she pushed her down the halls, past the stony stares, and into the classroom. "I think this is the only place the wheelchair will fit," the teacher had said as she pointed to an area to the right and in front of the class. Her mother kissed her on the cheek and then left her there all alone.

She had sat facing the class, where she could see all the kids' faces; all their sneers, all of their contempt, all their rejection. She anxiously awaited the ring of the lunch bell, or any bell that would give her a short reprieve from her classmates' disdain. The personal care attendant arrived at the lunch bell's ring, and took her away to a corner of the cafeteria reserved for the handicapped. She welcomed the row of wheelchairs; at least they did not stare or make fun of her.

There were a handful of personal care attendants, some of whom were students working to obtain their teaching certificate. Some of them were nicer than others, but Maggie was Karen's favorite. Maggie would sit and talk with Karen like she was a normal person. She really understood how Karen felt and helped her cope with the stress at school.

Stress not only from her disabilities, but also because she had missed a lot of school. She had struggled to keep up with her studies but found that she only got further and further behind. Maggie helped her with homework and made even the dull schoolwork fun.

Maggie's life seemed so exciting to Karen. Not only did she go to college, but she had a car and a boyfriend. She often talked with Karen about him and even asked for her advice. Karen thought Maggie's boyfriend did not treat her very well. "You could have any guy you want," Karen had said. But, Maggie didn't seem to realize her own worth, and had laughed at Karen's counsel.

Maggie fixed her long, wavy, blonde hair in a variety of ways. Sometimes she added a hot pink or purple extension to her hair, or wore it in ponytails fastened with glittery clips. Maggie had promised Karen that when her hair grew back, she would fix Karen's hair any way she wanted. She had come to visit Karen a couple of times since she had been at home, but it had been several months since they had last spoken. Porter had liked her too _, I wish she could help._

Her thoughts were interrupted when her father entered the room. "Daddy!" It seemed like it had been so long since she had seen him. "Why are you crying? Don't cry." He wasn't looking at her _. Why won't he look at me?_ She tried again to get his attention _._ "Dad, do you remember when?" Again he ignored her, but Karen continued. "Remember when you had lunch with me at school on parent's day? You brought pizza from Tony's Pizzeria. The kids thought I had the best dad ever." She watched her family cry. _Why are they so sad? Please stop crying, everybody, please._

Eddy spoke up, "Well, if you wouldn't mind, could I take the boy with me for a little while? Joe and I could take him to get something to eat, and I promised him I'd tell him about Babe Ruth."

Karen sized Eddy up once more _.Her eyes are kind but tough_ , she thought. _She does seem to want to help, and she doesn't look dangerous. And for some reason, I feel drawn to her. It is something I can't describe. She must be the person I have been waiting for._ "Porter, this is our new friend," she tried to say, but the words fell silent. _I haven't had this happen before. Maybe I need to rest for a little while longer, and then I will be strong enough to tell Porter._

She listened quietly as her mother and Eddy talked. _Why are they talking about me as if I'm not here?_ It was like a dream. She could see everyone clearly, but her eyes were closed. It was as if she was looking down on them. It was disorienting. She examined her arms and hands and felt her face. They felt as real to her as life itself. _Hey, wait a minute. Something is different. I feel good. I feel really good. I don't feel tired or have pain._ She examined her legs and felt the strength of them. _Wow, my legs look like runner's legs._ Getting up, she walked around the room. She hopped up and down. _No wheelchair_ , she said. _No more wheelchairs, ever._

"Dad, look. I can walk. Can you believe it? Look at me!"

_I think I could do anything or go anywhere._ "Remember you told me we would go to Disneyland when I felt better. Maybe we can finally go. I mean I think I'm strong enough, but if I'm still not quite ready. Could you take Porter instead? That would be great! If you could please just spend more time with him. He loves you so much, and he needs you."

"Karen," her father said. "I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you lately." He picked up her hand and held it close to his cheek. A tear rolled down his face, and like a drop of hot silver, spilled onto her hand. She watched it slip through her fingers and slide onto the floor. "I've been trying to work and make enough money to help you, Mom and Porter, but it seemed the harder I worked, the harder it became to come and visit. I'm so sorry. Karen, please forgive me."

"I understand, Dad." She put her arm around her father's shoulder and whispered, "You're the best dad in the world."

Karen stood beside her mother. "Maybe things can be different and you and Dad won't be so mad at each other anymore. Maybe you could go to Disneyland with Dad and Porter. After all, you and Dad used to be friends a long time ago. Do you remember?"

Karen ran her fingers through her mother's hair. _"_ Thank you, Mom, for all the nights you stayed up with me when I was sick, and for taking such good care of me. Thank you for the songs you sang to me late at night." Karen kissed her mother's cheek, but her mother turned and walked toward the window.

_I don't understand why they won't answer me. Something is definitely different. But look at me, I can walk._ She smiled exuberantly. She stretched her arms out wide and swung them in big circles.

_I feel as light as air._ Extending her arms out before her, she felt a warm breeze through her hair. She laughed, "Look at me, I can fly." _Porter would love this._

Suddenly she was next to Porter. She tried to pick up his hand, but she could not pick it up. _Odd,_ she thought. She said, "Mom, Porter," but they didn't seem to hear her. She called them again only louder, but still they ignored her. She stood in front of her mother and waved her hand in front of her mother's face _._ "Mom," she yelled.

Carol grabbed the Cabbage Patch doll from her overnight bag and tucked it under the sheet. "Please wake up, Karen, please."

"Here I am, Mom," Karen said, but again her mother did not answer.

"I don't understand," Karen said, as she walked around the bed and saw her body lying motionless.

### Chapter 11

"Is sh - she going to live?" Porter asked.

"Porter," Joe said, "only the good Lord knows. . ."

Eddy remembered that Porter had previously referred to the bird as "she" and interrupted, "Are you talking about the bird, Porter?"

"Yes, the dove, is sh - she going to live?" Porter asked.

Joe and Eddy exchanged a look of concern. Porter was not willing to talk about the possibility of his sister's death. Somehow to Porter the bird had come to symbolize his sister's life. Eddy recognized his denial as something akin to what she had felt when Fred died. Eddy well knew the void that Karen's death would leave in his life. Yet, at Porter's young age, he had been given the task of accepting her impending death.

"We are going to try our best to help that bird," Joe said. Then he put the car in gear, and with the exception of the truck's grinding clutch and the low booming sound of the muffler, the remainder of the trip to the restaurant was in silence. Porter seemed less than enthusiastic as he shoved the French fires around on his tray. He held his cheeseburger to his mouth several times then sat it back down. Eddy remembered that you were supposed to tell kids to eat their food, so she spoke up. "Eat your food. Don't you know that kids are starving all around the world?" But Porter was not so easily manipulated and continued to pick at his food. She knew the food was not really healthy, but still, at least he would be eating something, she reasoned. _And why should we waste money by just throwing the food away, when the price they charged for a meal at one of these greasy spoons would pay for a good home-cooked steak. Most kids would rather eat one of these lousy hamburgers than a steak. These kids nowadays didn't know any better. What was the world coming to?_

She emerged from her thoughts and noticed the children's birthday party, which had spilled out of the building's glass play area and was now having free reign of the restaurant. The children wore pointy neon birthday hats and blew on cardboard horns. Porter watched the children curiously, as if their enthusiasm was something unexpected and strange. Eddy wondered if there had been enough time, money or energy for birthday parties or even fun day outings for Porter. In her heart she knew the answer, no. She wanted to help the boy, and . . . _Joe would also want to help,_ she reasoned. So, she took some liberty with Joe's schedule.

"Have you ever been to the zoo, kid?" Eddy asked. Porter shook his head. "Do you think your parents will let us take you to the zoo?"

Porter straightened his shoulders and sat up. "I – I – maybe," he said with a smile.

"Well, I'll sure enough ask them," Eddy said. "Joe, looks like you might need some more gas money, so you can drive us to the zoo." Eddy winked at Porter and the boy beamed.

"That would suit me fine," Joe said. "I would love to see those elephants again. Did you know that they are as big as a school bus?" Porter shook his head. "Now you might like to see the gorillas, or maybe you'd like to see the monkeys swinging from trees."

"No, not the monkeys Joe, they are nasty," Eddy said. "They smell bad, and are just loaded down with germs." Eddy curled up her nose and shook her hands, "Gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it."

Porter snickered.

"Well, they won't let you touch them anyway," Joe said. "But, my very favorite animal is known as the King of the Beasts. Do you know which one that is?"

Porter shook his head, and smiled broadly, revealing some missing upper teeth.

"The Lion," Joe said and then he attempted to roar. Porter laughed.

Soon Porter's laughter joined with the laughter of the children at the birthday party until it progressed to a cacophony of snorts and snickers. Conversation had become impossible, and Eddy felt relieved. She wanted to help this boy, but it had been a long day and she was tired.

Joe stopped by the Southtown Vet on the way home. Eddy and Porter waited in the truck as Joe went in to check on the bird. "I hope sh – she -- lives, so she can fly home and be \- be -- with her family," Porter said. "They must be looking for her," he said, as he stared at the flickering yellow caution light at the crossroad.

Eddy looked up at the few stars that were still evident in spite of the bright city lights. "Did you know that you can see the stars really well in the county? When I was a girl, I used to look up at the stars. I thought if I wished on one, my wish would come true."

"What did – did – you wish for?" Porter asked.

"I wished that when I grew up, I would meet Prince Charming and have lots of kids." She pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and rolled it between her finger and thumb. "It sounds like such a silly wish now." She put the cigarette back in its container. They sat in silence and gazed up at the stars. "It makes no sense to wish on stars," she said.

They heard the creak of the truck door as Joe returned with an update on the bird's condition. "The vet said she couldn't make any promises, but they will try their best." Joe patted the boy on his shoulder. "That's the best we can hope for now, Porter."

Porter looked as exhausted as Eddy felt. With dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, he looked much older than his age. She reminded herself that he was just a child trying his best to cope with an adult size problem. He stretched and yawned and soon his head began to bob about like a dashboard doll. Eddy reached over and drew him close to her chest; then she steadied his head with her free hand. He leaned against her shoulder and fell fast asleep. Porter smelled like hospital disinfectant mingled with sweat and ketchup, but somehow Eddy found it endearing. She smiled.

### Chapter 12

Porter moved from the truck to Eddy's living room couch, as if he were sleepwalking. Eddy snapped her fingers at the cat and told her to get off the couch. The cat looked up at her and meowed but did not budge. "Blasted cat never did listen to me," she said. "Porter, looks like you're going to have to share the couch with the cat." She pulled the blanket up to his chin and dimmed the lights. "Sleep tight," she whispered.

"You are a good mother," Joe said.

"I never had any kids, and it's too late for all of that now," Eddy said, as they made their way to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed, and the fluorescent light buzzed, as they sat in silence waiting for the teapot to boil.

"Now I don't mean to say that I know all the answers, Eddy, but who said you had to have children to be a mother?" Joe said, as he ran his finger over the rim of the cup. "It seems to me that Carol and her children reached out to you, because they trusted that you would help them."

"I keep the good tea up here," Eddy said, as she reached up to retrieve the deluxe assortment from the spice cabinet. She belched as she stretched. "Oops . . . tarnation," she exclaimed and shook her head in disgust.

"As I was saying," Joe said. "Just because a woman gives birth to a child does not make her a mother."

Eddy covered the teabags with hot water and then placed a saucer over each of their cups. "You have to let it steep, if you want a good cup of tea." She pulled the sugar down from the cupboard. "I hope you don't like cream in your tea, because I don't keep any in the house, you know." Eddy dished out the sugar wafers.

"Yes, I know," Joe said. "But, when I think of a mother, I think it is someone who protects and cares for others. Porter felt your motherly love for him, Eddy." Joe took a bite of the crunchy wafer and washed it down with some tea.

"You didn't spike that tea with whiskey. Did you? I don't allow any of that stuff in my house."

Joe snickered and shook his head. "Eddy, you're something else."

The sound of the electric can opener brought the cat running into the kitchen. The cat rubbed up against Eddy's leg and meowed. Eddy scooped out the bits of minced cat food into the cat's pink glass bowl. "She thinks she's too good to eat out of a regular bowl." The cat circled around the bowl, smelled it, and then snuggled up to the bowl and nibbled at her food. "If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen. She has to smell it to make sure she likes it." She clucked her tongue. "Fred spoiled her rotten." Eddy lathered her hands with the antibiotic soap and then washed them thoroughly. She then inspected her hands while she patted them dry with a paper towel.

Eddy turned her attention back on Joe. "Those wafers soften up a bit if you soak them in your tea for a second. Not too long or they'll get all mushy. See, like this," Eddy said, as she demonstrated the proper dunking technique.

Joe sighed, "I don't want to eat a mushy cookie. I may not have all my teeth, but the ones I have work just fine. You see what I'm saying. You're trying to be my mother." He laughed. "I had a good mother, God rest her soul. But if you'd like to help me, I don't mind being fussed over for a change."

Eddy's face burned crimson. "I was just trying to . . ." She lost her train of thought.

"Like I was saying, there's no rule that says a person can only have one mother, and Carol might need a little looking after right now too," Joe said.

The long dull ring of the phone interrupted the conversation, and Eddy almost tripped getting around the kitchen table to the kitchen counter to pick up the receiver. "Hello," she said.

"He's sleeping . . . . Is she any better? . . . Would you mind if we took the boy to the zoo tomorrow? . . . Well. . . Okay then. . . Bye."

"Are we set?" Joe asked.

"Yep . . .sure enough." Eddy held her hair back and lit a cigarette on the stove's gas burner.

"Careful now, before you catch yourself on fire," Joe said.

"Hogwash, been doing it for years." Eddy blew the smoke up toward the ceiling, and then swiped the tobacco leaves from her lips. "What do you say we leave about eight?" She returned to her seat and examined the expertly rolled stick as she rolled it between her thumb and finger.

The grandfather clock struck ten. She wondered how many minutes of her life had been spent smoking. Far too many, she reasoned, and suddenly, the cigarette looked vile. She snubbed out the butt in the aluminum ashtray and pushed it toward the edge of the table.

She watched Joe as he reset his pocket watch to conform to the grandfather clock. Odd, how she had never noticed how distinguished Joe looked with his salt and pepper hair and tanned skin. The deep lines around his eyes and forehead gave him the appearance of someone who was wise rather than old. He looked back at her, and she blushed.

"Did you ever have any kids?" Eddy asked.

"I had a boy once. He'd be fifty years old now if. . ."

They heard a loud bang by the backdoor followed by the sound of glass shattering. The cat arched her back and hissed, then ran out of the kitchen. Eddy's eyes bulged like a pop eye squeeze toy. "Help, Joe, it's one of those robbers!" she yelled.

"Shhh now," Joe said as he held his hand up like a traffic cop. He reached over and turned off the light. Eddy screamed liked she was on fire. "Good Lord, woman, you're going to give me a heart attack!" He flipped the light back on, trembling as if he had the palsy. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark."

"What if I am," she whispered. "Why are you turning off the light, anyway?"

"So I can see what's going on outside, that's why," he said. "Have you got a flashlight?"

Eddy crouched down and rummaged through the kitchen drawers. "I know I got one in here someplace," she whispered.

The sound of a tin can rolling across the concrete was heard followed by muffled voices. Joe raised his cane at half-mast. "Those thugs will regret the day they darkened this door. Why I'll," he stammered.

Eddy found the flashlight and fumbled with the switch before handing it to Joe.

They heard laughter followed by the sound of feet pounding the pavement. Joe shined the flashlight out the window, and noticed a turned-over trashcan and several broken bottles. "Probably just teenagers out carousing and cut through the yard, that's all." He ran the back of his hand over his forehead, as if relieved. "It'll take some cleaning up though, but that can wait till tomorrow."

"What if they come back?" Eddy asked.

"I don't think they'll come back." Joe turned the flashlight off and handed it back to Eddy. "But if you'd like me to stay the night," Joe balanced himself on his cane. "I wouldn't mind. . ."

"Well, you're about a day late and a dollar short!" Eddy crossed her hands over her chest. "Do I look like a floozy?" Joe stood frozen in place with his mouth agape. She turned her back to Joe. "And I thought you were a gentleman."

Joe cleared his throat. "I think there has been a misunderstanding." He put on his ball cap and lowered his eyes. "Just trying to help, that's all," and then he walked out the back door.

### Chapter 13

Early the next morning, Eddy returned to the kitchen. She stood on the stepladder and retrieved, _The_ _Joy of Cooking_ from the top of the cabinets. As she blew the dust off the cover, she inhaled a snout full of particles causing her to sneeze repeatedly. Finally, she caught her breath, and wiped the moisture from her eyes and nose with a tissue. "Whew, I hope that dust didn't have any of those pneumonia germs," she said. She washed her hands, and then flipped through the book's pages to find the recipe for potato pancakes. She read aloud, "Finely grate 2 cups mature potatoes." She balked. "What in the world is a mature potato?" Unable to decide if the potatoes were mature or not, she finally grated some withered ones from the bottom of the bin. She gathered the remaining ingredients and followed the instructions step by step while the oil heated in the skillet. She found herself whistling one of her favorite songs, _Happy Trails_ that Roy and Dale Evans had made so popular in the 1950's.Soon the aroma of potato pancakes, mingled with bacon and coffee filled the kitchen. The cat looked up at her as if questioning the goings on, "I can have friends over it I want to, Miss Princess," Eddy said. "And mind your own business." She flipped the pancakes in the pan and shouted, "Come and eat, Porter," at about the same time that Joe arrived at the back door.

Joe grinned like a puppy getting his belly rubbed. "Well, look at you! Cooking for us this morning?" He removed his hat and pulled a chair up at the table.

"This here isn't a pig sty," Eddy said, as she pointed to the bathroom. "I expect you'll be washing your hands before you sit down at my table."

Joe held his hands up, as if he were surrendering to the police. "Yes, ma'am, I will sure enough wash my hands." He exited the table to wash his hands and almost bumped into Porter as he rounded the corner.

"And that goes for you too, young man," Eddy said. "Wash your hands." Porter and Joe shared the smile of accomplices. "Joe, I told that boy that I'd tell him about the Babe," she yelled over her shoulder. "Yep, good ole Babe Ruth, he could sure enough hit them out of the park," she said. "There hasn't been a ball player any better than Babe Ruth." She dropped some pancakes from the frying pan onto Porter's plate.

"Now, wait a minute here, Eddy," Joe said. "What about Lou Gehrig?"

Eddy slopped a big scoop of applesauce on Porter's pancake. "No doubt he could play some ball, but nothing like the Babe. Sixty home runs in 1927 and he was a leftie."

"You don't say," Joe said.

"Yep, not many people know about that," she answered. "But nobody beat his record till. . .What's his name?"

"I think it was Roger Maris hitting sixty-one in 1961," Joe answered as he reached for the bacon.

Eddy placed one pancake and a small scoop of applesauce on her plate. "Porter, in the 1932 World Series, the Babe hit the ball about 500 feet into the stands. He knocked it out of the park. It was the longest home run ever hit at Wrigley Field."

"Now that's some ball," Joe said. "I wish I had seen it with my own eyes."

"Me too," Porter said.

Eddy filled the glasses with orange juice. "Did you know Porter used to play ball?"

"No, I didn't," Joe said. "Do you think you'd like to play on a team?"

Porter grinned and nodded his head.

"Well then, it seems that we now have two requests to make of your parents," Joe said as he joined hands with Porter and Eddy. "Now let's say grace before this food gets cold. Lord, we thank you for this meal and for your provision. Amen."

Eddy looked up at Joe and smiled. "Those Yankees had the best players in the league. Did I ever tell you that I have a ball signed by Mickey Mantle?"

"We have to see that! Don't we, Porter?" Joe rubbed his hands together briskly and laughed. "Like you said, Eddy, there sure are some things about you that I didn't know. Who would have thought we had so much in common?" He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. He carefully pulled out a cellophane-covered card, "Do you know what I have here?" He painstakingly unfolded the cellophane, as if the Hope diamond was encased in its wrapping. "Take a look at this!" He waved the card in the air. "I have a baseball card signed by the great Mickey Mantle himself."

### Chapter 14

Karen heard a very faint sound coming from outside her room. As she listened carefully, she realized that the sound she heard was singing, and that the rich, full voice was not a single voice but many well harmonized voices. It was the most beautiful choir she had ever heard. Their singing grew louder, until not only could she hear the music, but she could also feel the golden notes in her body. It was as if she was becoming part of the music. She did not understand the words, but she longed to grow closer. Closing her eyes, she listened to the angelic melody. It was a religious song, but she didn't remember hearing it at church. A wave of warmth washed over her, and she gasped. The chill that she had felt for so long was suddenly gone. Not only did she feel warm, she felt radiant. She looked up. The ceiling had disappeared, and was now replaced with a brilliant light.

She saw the shape of many people in the light and heard her name, "Karen." She recognized her grandmother's voice. Then she heard her name again. "Karen," her Aunt Marge called. "Karen, it's time to come home," she said.

"But," Karen answered. "What about Porter? What about my family?" She looked over her shoulder and saw Porter leave with Eddy.

"God has provided, Karen," her grandmother said.

Then she saw someone standing next to her grandmother. She had not seen him before, but somehow she knew him. He was aglow in brilliant splendor. Holding out his hand, he beckoned for Karen to come. Karen smiled and walked into the light.

### Chapter 15

Eddy heard the doorbell buzz. It was Porter's parents. Carol struggled for the right words, but Eddy knew the message that she was struggling to convey. Eddy put her arm around Carol and pulled her close.

"When," Eddy asked. "When did she pass?"

"Right after you left yesterday," Carol answered. "It was almost as if she waited till Porter left, before she . . ." Carol rubbed her swollen, tear stained eyes. "We couldn't tell Porter."

Porter's father put his arm around Carol. "We knew we had to tell him eventually, but he has been through so much. We hoped you wouldn't mind that we left him with you a little longer before we told him about his sister. We just wanted him to get away from all of the pain, even if it was only for a little while."

"He's been fine." Eddy wiped her hands on her apron. "It's not fair to have to lose someone so young." Eddy motioned for them to come into the living room and sit down; then she called for Porter. Porter was clearly glad to see his parents and rushed to be by their side. Eddy and Joe waited silently while Porter heard about his sister.

Porter's father placed his hands on his son's shoulder, "Porter, the doctors and nurses have tried for a very long time to help Karen, and we have all tried everything we could to help her get better." He cleared his throat and continued. "Son, even though we tried our best, her body had grown so weak that she couldn't fight the disease anymore." He wiped his eyes. "Jesus saw that she was very tired and very sick, so he called her home to be with him."

Porter covered his face with his hands. Several moments passed before he looked up. "But – but," he said. "I pinkie prom – promised – her," he stood up and began to pace the floor. "I promised her that I would push her," he pleaded with his father. "All – all -- over town in her wheelchair."

Porter's father got up and kneeled in front of him. "Son, she doesn't need a wheelchair anymore." He looked directly in his eyes. "People in heaven don't need wheelchairs."

"But you – you -- can't break a pinkie prom – promise."

Carol wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders. "She understands that you would do that for her if you could."

A look of relief crossed Porter's face. "Really, she won't be mad?"

"You have been the best brother in the world," his father said. "And she's not mad at you."

Eddy waited until the living room grew quiet, and then she invited Porter's parents into the kitchen to join them for breakfast. Porter pushed his pancake around on his plate, but not even Eddy insisted that he eat. He sighed and his shoulders slumped, and Carol dabbed at her eyes. He tapped his fork impatiently on the table. Everyone gave him understanding looks. Porter pushed up his sleeves and swiped at his bangs, "I real – really – wanted," he hesitated.

"I know, son," his father answered.

"What I mean," he began again. "I wanted to – to -- go to the zoo."

There was a moment of silence, and then Porter Sr. snickered. Soon everyone began to titter nervously.

"I know how to get there," Joe said. "If you think that would be," he cleared his throat, "Acceptable with you."

Eddy glanced over at Porter's parents and raised her eyebrows inquisitively. "If you think it's alright?"

"Porter," his father said. "I think Karen would want you to have a lot of fun." He then reached in his pocket. "Here, take this," he said, as he handed a one-hundred-dollar bill to Porter.

"Whoa," Porter said. "I never saw one of these before." He held the bill up and examined it in the sunlight.

"Son, I hope that today is a new start for all of us." Porter Sr. reached over for Carol's hand. "I was wrong to move away from my family. I can't make any excuses, but sometimes life doesn't have any easy answers. I hope that you will forgive me?"

Porter met his father's eyes and nodded his head.

"Your mom and I have been talking," his father continued. "We think Karen would want all of us to spend a lot more time together. Would you like that?'

Porter smiled exuberantly.

### Chapter 16

The sun was shining, and a mild breeze scattered the first of fall's leaves. Pastor Tom addressed those in attendance; "Today we celebrate Karen's life. As Christians we grieve, but not without hope . . ."

Eddy gazed over at the nurses and volunteers from the hospital who were in attendance, along with a few family members. _Karen had touched many people in her short life_ , Eddy thought. The Pastor continued, "Today we see the beginning of a new season, autumn. Thus, we can see our world changing before our eyes. Although we may long for the joy of the summer months, we must embrace the richness of this season, because this change is part of God's plan for the earth. This is Karen's season for change, which may seem untimely to us, but we do not see the full picture. Only God can know all things . . ."

_Why did they have to get a long-winded preacher?_ Eddy thought. _I haven't had a cigarette for over two hours, and all this standing around is making my ankles swell._ She cleared her throat and fidgeted with her hankie.

Porter reached over and held Eddy's hand. The familiarity of his hand in hers was something unexpected and aroused something deep and powerful within her soul. It was something that she did not have a name for, but it was as if the puzzle of her life had finally found the missing piece. How could it be that although they had known each other only a short time, they had formed such a strong bond? It was like - - family. _My, how things have changed_ , Eddy thought. Karen had reached out for help, but it was Karen who had helped Eddy.

The Pastor continued. "Karen rescued this injured dove, and Mrs. McGrath has generously assisted in the bird's recovery." The Pastor nodded his head at Eddy and gave her a friendly smile. "Doves throughout history have been a symbol of love and peace, and we have seen them released at weddings. But Eddy reminded me of another tradition. Doves have also been released at funerals as a symbol of our spiritual journey." Eddy swiped her eyes with her handkerchief. "Today we give this dove its freedom, and as he soars to the heavens, we are reminded of Karen's short but difficult journey home."

The assembly watched anxiously as Joe opened the cage, but the bird did not move. Joe tapped on the side of the cage several times with his cane, but the bird would not budge. After several uneasy moments passed, the dove emerged and ambled around the ground, listing toward his injured side. Eddy held her breath. Slowly the bird began to flap his wings, shaking off bits of dust and fluff, and then it was off. The onlookers watched mesmerized, as it circled above their heads, and then it rose and disappeared in the clouds.

"Do you think," Porter said slowly, enunciating each word, "the dove will find its way home?"

"Porter," Eddy said. "I've come to believe that doves always find their way home."

### ######

Thank you for reading A Dove for Eddy. I hope this inspirational novel has touched your heart.

"For whoever calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved." Romans 10:13

### copyright Sherry Elliott

### http://1artist4god.com

