13
The apartment was full of voices, all timbres, tones, and accents. It was like an orchestra. The cushions of the sofa cradled her aching body. She listened to the voices: a deep, male, harsh African musicality; the free-for-all vowels of Portuguese English; the loops of female Polish. And Aaron, his intermittent wailing reaching back to Middle Eastern chanting in its cadences, as if all his ancestors were crying out at once.
Joy opened her eyes. A man the color of ebony smiled at her as he walked past the door toward the kitchen. He stopped to confer with a boxy woman in wide capri pants. And there was Elvira, too, the Bergmans’ housekeeper, tall and thin as a daddy long-legs, behind the boxy lady, nodding. It was such a lively group, the three of them speaking together, one more incomprehensible than the next, incomprehensible to Joy, presumably to one another as well.
Joy closed her eyes again and listened to the languages she could not comprehend. It was as though she could comprehend nothing at all, drifting comfortably on the soft outskirts of comprehension. Eventually Danny introduced the compact, quiet black man. His name was Walter. Danny said that Walter came at night. Joy smiled at Walter. How kind of him to come at night to care for Aaron. To care for her. Lovely, she said when Danny introduced her to Wanda, the woman shaped like a UPS package. Wanda emitted a gurgling laugh. Thank you, Joy said. Wanda emitted the gurgling laugh again. She spoke only Polish. Joy said, How kind of you.
“Wanda and Walter are trained in changing the colostomy bag,” Danny said. “And they taught Elvira.”
“Lovely.”
“You absolutely cannot do it anymore. The doctor said you can’t even touch it. That might be how you got C. diff.”
“C. diff is very, very dangerous.” She remembered now, she had heard about C. diff on The Joan Hamburg Show on the radio. “Treacherous.”
“So you really have to take it easy, Mom. Will you be able to do that? Just rest and let your strength come back?”
“Danny, you’re so good to me. You and your sister are so good to me.”
“Molly will be back in a few weeks.”
“She’s a good daughter. I am so lucky.”
Daniel smiled. She reminded him of his daughters when they had a low-grade fever. How sweet they became.
“You’re okay with not touching the pouch? Molly and I were a little worried. We know you like to take care of everything, especially about Dad, which is admirable, completely understandable. But this is really important. No pouch.”
“Lovely,” Joy said, closing her eyes. “Lovely.”
She could remember, in a soft, foggy way, the motions of taking care of Aaron, gathering his pills, counting them, explaining what each one was, then explaining again, helping him out of his wet pajamas, squatting down to get each of his enormous feet into his pant legs … And then the pouch, removing it, emptying it, washing Aaron, drying the hole, affixing the new pouch …
*
Each night Walter helped her to the bathroom. He brought her things to eat and helped her move the spoon from the bowl to her mouth. What a kind, kind man. When he appeared in the room carrying a tray or a basin of water, she was always pleasantly surprised. There was that kind man again.
When it was not night, there were the other kind people. Elvira, wiry and fast as a greyhound, whisking into the room and whisking out again. She had worked for Aaron and Joy for many years, coming every other week for a few hours. But now, Danny explained, she was coming in three mornings a week. She had insisted, he said. She didn’t trust the others. Joy smiled when he said this. She smiled when he said anything. She really did not care what he said or what anyone else said as long as she did not have to move, as long as she could lie on the couch and rest. Never had fatigue been this heavy, never had it been this welcome. Lovely, she said when someone spoke to her. Thank you, she said. How kind of you.
“So kind,” she said. “Everyone is so kind.”
14
Could Molly have ever convinced Freddie to move to New York? Of course she could have. Even though Freddie had a tenured position teaching English at UCLA while Molly had been an adjunct at a community college in New York. Even though Molly had a better position here and was paid more, too. Even though her new Catalina Island investigations, unlike the work she’d been doing in Syria, were not likely to get her kidnapped or beheaded. But she did not want to convince Freddie to move to New York.
She thought guiltily of her mother and father trapped in their apartment. Freddie’s father, Duncan, was old, too, as Freddie sometimes had to remind her, but that had not entered into Molly’s decision. He did not weigh on Molly’s mind as he should have, meaning she often forgot he existed.