West of Nowhere (9 page)

Put another way, it meant two weeks at this job paid for her nicotine habit for a whole year.

“You can put your things away in the drawers and closet.” She started outside but stopped at the back door. “Oh, and we have to share that bathroom, but I’ll keep my gear outside so it won’t be in your way. Make yourself at home.”

Amber wandered back through all the rooms, trying to imagine it as home. It was nothing like any of the other places she’d lived since leaving her parents’ house. All of them had been apartments, not houses with yards, and they’d been in varying stages of disrepair. On top of that, each and every one had been a mess from top to bottom because Amber refused to pick up after others, and saw no need to pick up after herself if no one else did. She and Corey had forfeited the security deposit on their last place because of the grime they left behind, especially in the kitchen and bathroom.

To call this house neat would be an understatement. Inside the kitchen cabinets, dishes and groceries were lined up like soldiers, and there wasn’t a crumb to be found anywhere. Even the contents of the refrigerator were perfectly placed.

In the living room was a worn leather recliner, the father’s presumably. Also a couch with two end tables, and a wall-mounted flat-screen TV. It took her a moment to realize what was missing—a coffee table, which would have taken up too much space and made it tricky to navigate in a wheelchair.

A credenza behind the recliner held several framed photos. Her eyes were drawn immediately to one of Joy, a headshot taken in her navy uniform—a dark jacket with a white shirt and small tie, and a black-and-white cap. Her look was captivating, enough to make Amber admit she had a thing for women in uniform. Judging from Joy’s age in the photo, it was taken soon after she entered the navy over a decade ago. Her hair looked exactly the same as today, tucked behind her ears to her collar, but the thin face in the photo had filled out since then.

Right beside it was a similar photo of a young man, its faded colors suggesting it was taken many years ago. Joy’s father, no doubt, since they had the same sharp blue eyes. Next was what looked like a relatively recent family photo, with Joy’s father and mother seated, and Joy standing behind, again looking sharp in her uniform, this time with rows of ribbons on her chest.

“Look at this, Skippy,” she mumbled mockingly. “This is what a happy family looks like.”

The rest appeared to be sequential school photos of a child, a beautiful mixed-race girl, obviously the goddaughter, Madison.

Joy delivered her suitcase to the back door and Amber went to work organizing the contents in the bureau. Any other day, that might have meant stuffing things wherever they’d fit, but she found herself folding and stacking her belongings in neat piles, and arranging them perfectly straight in the drawers, afraid someone would come in and check.

When that was done, she explored a little more, flipping through the magazine rack by the recliner in the living room.
The American Legion
, TV listings from two weeks ago and a book on Operation Desert Storm. On the credenza by the photos was a coffee table book on aircraft carriers. Only a military veteran would find such trivia interesting.

The power button for the TV remote control did nothing—no picture, no sound. Why were they always so complicated? You always had to push this first then that, and only if you also had another remote for the cable or satellite dish.

She was officially bored, and coincidentally, nearly out of cigarettes. If Joy could point her in the direction of a convenience store, she could take Skippy for a walk. That would kill an hour or so. The problem with that was she didn’t want to disturb Joy, who probably was relishing her solitude out back, or possibly even sleeping after the long drive.

“Silly me…of course she’s not sleeping,” she told Skippy as she looked out the kitchen window to see Joy power washing the camper. “She’d never rest as long as there was a speck of dirt somewhere.”

The truck camper was parked on a concrete pad next to the back of the house, its door only a few steps away from the back deck, which had a long ramp leading to the concrete driveway that ran all the way back to the carport.

“You need any help with that?”

“Nah, I’m almost done.”

“I thought you’d be out here resting. I should have known better.”

Joy turned off the water and coiled the hose around its caddy. “I need to go see Pop at the rehab center and let him know what we’ve got worked out.”

Amber followed her into the house. “I was thinking about taking a walk with Skippy. You know…checking out the neighborhood. Is there a store I can walk to?”

“Cigarettes?”

“Dog food…and yeah, cigarettes.”

Joy’s only response was a soft chuckle, for which Amber was relieved. The last thing she needed on top of all the stress of a new home, a new job and getting dumped by her boyfriend of three years was grief over smoking. There were only so many problems a person could deal with at the same time.

“Here’s a key to the front door,” Joy said, scribbling directions to a market a few blocks away. Suddenly she crossed the living room and lifted the beer bottle Amber had left on the credenza. “You can’t set drinks on wooden furniture, Amber. It leaves a ring.”

All she could do was watch as Joy vigorously wiped the damaged spot. With her luck, the credenza was her father’s favorite piece of furniture…probably made it himself in woodshop as a teenager. “I’m sorry.”

Joy sighed and gave up her efforts. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”

Amber clipped Skippy’s leash into place and carefully checked the front door to make sure it latched. “How about that, boy? We’ve been here less than an hour and already ruined something. I better start looking at the want ads.”

“I didn’t just pick her up off the side of the road. It’s more complicated than that.” Joy knew she’d get nothing but grief over bringing a total stranger to their house, especially one with zero training in home health care. Wait until he found out she had even less in housekeeping.

“Ah, what the hell…I don’t give a shit if she’s Lizzie Borden as long as I get out of here.”

Getting her father home was as much a matter of his health as his sanity. In just the week since his accident, weight loss was noticeable in his face, neck and chest. It was important he not lose muscle mass, since his strength was what enabled him to maintain his independence.

“What’s taking them so long? Why can’t I just leave?” he groused.

“You know how these places are about rules. They insist on pushing everyone out in a wheelchair.” She ducked a flying box of tissues.

“Smartass.”

Her father, reclining on the bed, was already dressed in khaki shorts and a loose-fitting white oxford shirt, which Barbara had brought from home. Beneath his shirt was a Velcro-strapped shoulder brace, and on the outside, a sling. His only other personal effects were the clothes he’d been wearing when he slipped on the ramp at the American Legion hall. He was clean-shaven, and his short gray hair had been parted neatly, but on the wrong side.

She couldn’t believe he’d sat still for someone to do that. He’d already ranted to her about the bathroom indignities, but now that she’d seen his surgical incision, it was clear why they were being careful not to let him do too much.

“Your physical therapist is supposed to meet us at the house to go through all the exercises.”

“He’s a putz. He has me balling up towels in my hand and twisting my neck from side to side. I keep telling him my hands and neck are just fine. All I need is a way to get in and out of my chair, and roll myself around. He says that’s not on his orders.”

Joy sifted through the pages of exercises on the bedside table. “I guess I should take all these home so Amber can study them.”

“So what’s this Amber person like? I figure she has to be cute or you wouldn’t have picked her up.”

By his teasing tone, he was convinced there was something going on between the two of them, but Joy was sure that would change once he got his first look at her. He’d know better than to think she would go for someone so immature and irresponsible, and with a tattoo, no less. And then he’d give her hell for bringing home someone like that to take care of him.

“She’s twenty-four, but still basically a kid who’s down on her luck, Pop. Her parents overdid it on the discipline end and she left home a few years ago without much of a plan.” She shared her idea about Amber getting health care certification in her off hours. “A little experience and responsibility under her belt could be just what she needs.”

“How do you know she’s not going to run off with the silver?”

“Well, first there’s the fact that we don’t have any silver. But honestly, she doesn’t strike me as someone who would do that.” What Joy saw was a vulnerable young woman, but telling her father that would prompt him to tease her about how her favorite make-believe scenario as a child was rescuing damsels in distress. “I was clear about what we expected. If she doesn’t work out, she’s on a plane back to Nashville, but that goes for her too…which means if you’re a jerk, she’ll leave and you’ll have to come back here. I can’t take care of you and go to work too.”

A tall brunette wearing a colorful nurse’s smock swished past the door, and he yelled loudly, “If she can cook better than a one-eyed sailor on crack, it’ll be an improvement over this hellhole!”

Nonplussed, the woman flipped him off behind her back and continued down the hall.

“Your new girlfriend?”

“She’s not so bad,” he answered smugly. “At least that one has a sense of humor. That’s more than I can say about the rest of these asshats.”

A burly African-American with a nametag that read Roderick appeared in the doorway with a wheelchair. He checked his paperwork and asked, “Oliver Shepard?”

“Call me Shep, and I brought my own wheels. Custom V-8 under the hood.”

Joy chucked his good arm. “Behave yourself. It would be a shame if Roderick forgot to set the brake.”

Roderick hesitated, clearly uncertain as to what sort of help he should render.

“Let me,” Joy said. She rolled her father’s chair beside him, locked the wheels and lowered the electric bed so it was even with the chair. While he grasped the arm of the chair with his good arm, she clutched his belt on the injured side and gave him just enough lift to allow him to spin into the seat. “Okay, he’s all yours.”

Her father glanced up at the orderly as they rolled out the door. “Hey, Roderick…help me with this footrest, will you?”

* * *

Amber dropped her cigarette in a soda can the moment she heard the car in the driveway on the side of the house. As Joy backed into the carport next to the Jeep, she contemplated whether to walk out and meet them or wait on the porch out of their way. Deciding it was best to show she was eager to get to work, she met Joy on the passenger side as she opened the door for her father.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Shepard.”

“Please help me, little girl,” he pleaded. “I need to be in a hospital but my daughter won’t pay.”

Startled, Amber looked suspiciously at Joy.

“Knock it off, Pop, or I’ll take you right back there and dump you on the doorstep.”

He looked anxiously at Amber and clasped his hands as if begging. “You won’t beat me like she does, will you?”

Joy sighed and shoved his chair against the seat of the car. “Ignore him, Amber. I need to show you how to do a transfer. You ready?”

Amber stepped closer, observing the strong muscles of the man’s forearm as he gripped the chair arm.

“Grab his belt and pants right here at the hip and tug upward.” As she demonstrated, he swung himself into the chair.

“Make sure you grab the side and not the back,” he said. “Otherwise you’ll give me a wedgie.”

“You can feel free to do that if he gives you any trouble,” Joy went on, picking up a stack of laundry from the backseat. “Why don’t you go ahead and push him in?”

Amber nearly tossed him out of the chair when she thrust him forward without first releasing the brake. “Sorry.”

Joy walked ahead into the house.

Halfway across the backyard, he said, “Hey, toots. I think Joy left my shoes in the backseat. Will you grab them for me?”

“Sure.”

She set the brake again and returned to the car, searching all about. “I don’t see them,” she called.

“Maybe they’re in the trunk. There’s a button by the driver’s seat.”

After accidentally releasing the hood, Amber finally located the proper latch and checked the contents of the trunk. There was a strongbox labeled Earthquake Kit, jumper cables, a toolbox and a spare wheelchair, but no shoes. “Nothing in here. Joy must have picked them up.”

“No, I’m sure she didn’t. Did you look under the seat?”

She went back and scoured the car. “Nope.”

“Maybe she dropped them under the car.”

She was on her belly on the ground when Joy appeared at the back door.

“Did he ask you to look for his shoes?”

“Yeah, do you have them?”

“Amber…he doesn’t have any feet.”

As it dawned on her what that meant, Joy’s father roared with laughter.

She returned to the chair and shoved it forward, again without releasing the brake. He’d been laughing so hard that he nearly slid off the seat. She would have apologized except she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

“Get in here, you two. The physical therapist is here.”

“I’ll give you twenty bucks to wheel me around front and down the block.”

This guy was turning out to be worse than all the three-year-olds at Harmony’s daycare put together. “I’m starting to realize why Joy offered me so much money for this job.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred a week.”

“Holy crap! I’d get up and walk for that.”

* * *

Joy closed the door behind the therapist and turned back to her father, who rolled his eyes. “You heard him, Pop. Three times a day every day.”

“Such a load of crap. I get more exercise wiping my—”