Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Parking, she walked into the front lobby to sign in before going up the graceful staircase. The hall was filled with numbered doors. Going to the third one, she keyed in the number to unlock it.
The woman sitting on her bed looked at her helplessly with a hairbrush tangled in her hair.
“Let me do that for you.” Zoey sat down on the bed next to the old woman, and then gently untangled the brush from her hair before meticulously brushing it out.
“Ms. Karen wants to cut it.”
The frail voice had her heart clenching in sympathy.
“I’ll talk to her. Your hair is beautiful. I can wash it for you, so don’t worry. Stop frowning; you’ll get frown lines.”
“You’re late. If you keep being late, my son will fire you.”
“I’m thirty minutes early.” Zoey didn’t take offense at Mrs. Combs’ threat as she braided the long grey hair down her back.
“You are?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not seven-thirty?”
“It’s seven.” Zoey pointed to the massive clock that she had searched for online before finding the biggest one. She hung it on the wall closest to the head of her bed so Mrs. Combs could easily read the numbers.
“What do you want to watch tonight?” Zoey asked after she finished braiding the woman’s hair.
“Is the news still on?”
Turning to CNN, Zoey settled herself onto the chair next to Mrs. Combs’ bed.
As the night grew on, she would get up to stretch and lower the volume of the television when her patient dozed off.
It was eleven when Mrs. Combs awoke, fidgeting in her bed.
“Zoey!”
She reached for her hand. “I’m here.”
“I need something to drink.”
Zoey got her a drink.
“I need Tylenol.”
Zoey checked for the last time she was allowed to have it, then gave to her.
“My leg hurts.”
Zoey sat down on the end of her bed, moving the covers aside so she could rub the arthritic pain that the old woman suffered from.
“I need Tylenol,” she demanded.
“You just had it. Give it time to work.”
“Zoey!”
“I’m here.”
Zoey didn’t become irritated at the demands that kept coming out of her mouth. Arthritic pain wasn’t the only thing she suffered from. Sundowners had kept most of the staff busy with Mrs. Combs until morning when she would finally slip into a deep sleep. The staff had tried to keep her awake during those hours, which had caused her to become aggressive. Her son faced having to find another assisted living facility to ease the strain on the nurses. After hiring Zoey as her nighttime aide, it allowed the woman to set her own schedule, which lessened the behavior, and she was easier for the nurses to care for.
“I want a banana.”
Zoey went to the small kitchen that only had a microwave and sink. Grabbing the banana, she brought it to her.
The rest of the night was filled by catering to her demands. At six, she heard the door opening as a man came inside.
“She asleep?”
Zoey yawned stiffly, standing at Mrs. Combs’ son’s arrival. “About five minutes ago.”
Patrick Combs was as brawny as his mother was frail. He was on the nursing staff at the facility and was able to monitor his mother during the day.
“I work the next three days, so I won’t need you until Friday.”
It was an arrangement that worked for them both, providing him a break from his mother. In exchange, Zoey was able to live rent-free in his mother’s home. Patrick had owned his home, and not wanting to sell his mother’s place, he had decided to rent it out instead.
They met when she had gone to see the home after Patrick advertised it. When he learned she was a certified nursing aide, he made the offer for the job. It was the best decision she ever made. She had grown close to Patrick and his mother, and it gave her a home that she always wanted.
“I baked Mom some banana bread.” Pat placed the loaf covered in aluminum foil on the counter in the kitchen. “I put the extra loaf in the front seat of your car.”
At the mention of her car, Zoey remembered the note left on it.
“Did you happen to bring me flowers yesterday?”
Pat frowned at the question. “No. Why?”
“Someone brought me flowers yesterday and left me a note on my car.”
“It wasn’t me. You don’t have any idea who it could be? What did the note say?” His frown grew deeper.
His brotherly concern had her needing to alleviate it.
“If I knew who it was, I wouldn’t have asked if it was you. The note just said that he liked the picture I posted to Instagram and you’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. I was just curious if it was you.”
“Let me know if he contacts you again. There’re a lot of weirdos in this world. I’ve been looking for the fuckwad who splashed you. When I find him, he’ll be looking at the weather report before he goes for a ride.”