“What’s this?” Gradually the woman’s expression began to soften. “I can’t believe it!” Her eyes grew soft and shiny and a smile lifted her wrinkled face. “Ben!” She put her hands to her cheeks, clearly shocked in the best possible way. “Ben, come here! I’ve been looking for you!”
Tyler looked behind him into the empty hall. Had someone told her his name was Ben? He entered the room with the mop and bucket. “I wanted to clean your floors the other day, but you were asleep.” He hesitated at the foot of her bed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Virginia waved off the possibility. “You never have to worry about waking me. You know better than that.” There was an empty chair beside her bed. “Please, sit down. We need to catch up.”
Merrill Place had several patients battling dementia or Alzheimer’s. Tyler knew that. But so far he hadn’t run into anything like this. She didn’t seem to have his name wrong. It was like she thought he was someone altogether different. Tyler checked the clock on Virginia’s wall. Six p.m. His hands shook. He hadn’t had a pain pill since noon.
“Please, Ben! Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair. “I have so much to tell you.”
Clearly she hadn’t noticed his name badge. Tyler tucked it into his shirt so she wouldn’t be confused. He could spend a few minutes with her. Other than the volunteer at Hope Community Church, Virginia was the first person in weeks who actually wanted to talk to him.
Besides, he was getting paid by the day, not the hour. He set the mop against the floor, removed his Jackson High baseball cap, and tentatively took the seat beside her.
“Ben, my boy.” Virginia shook her head, her smile taking up her whole face. “Look at you, all grown up. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s 1972. Where do the years go?”
Tyler wasn’t sure what to say. Suddenly he felt awkward, sitting there pretending to be someone he wasn’t. But his very presence made the woman so happy, what else could he do?
Virginia leaned back against her headboard, obviously more relaxed than she had been a minute ago. “I was talking to your father the other day, and he couldn’t stop gushing about you.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You believe that, right?”
“I do, yes, ma’am.” Tyler could play along. For a few minutes anyway.
“Sure, you’ve had some trouble, but who hasn’t?” She tilted her head, the kindest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “You didn’t mean any of the things that happened.”
Tyler shifted in his seat. Maybe she recognized him after all. “No, I didn’t mean them.”
“It was just a car.” She uttered a rusty laugh. “You were distracted. No one was hurt.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Here’s the truth.” She looked intently at him, straight through him. “Your father and I forgave you that same day, Ben.” A few seconds passed and she smiled. “If God can forgive me, then we can forgive you. We love you. Love always forgives.”
“Yes.” Tyler’s heart ached for the woman. Her memory might be shot, but her recollection of times past was whole and complete.
Virginia drew a deep breath. Her increasing peace filled the room. “Don’t forget that. The part about love and forgiveness. No matter what you ever did, we loved you. We forgave you.” Intensity stirred in her tone. “You’re our only son, Ben. You’re a good boy, you always were.” She reached her hand out to him. “The best son any parents ever had.”
The reality hit him like a sucker punch.
Virginia Hutcheson thought he was her son. Her only son, Ben. The woman’s hand trembled as she reached out to him. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Thank you.” Tyler lifted his good hand and clasped her fingers. Her weathered skin felt foreign against his own. This was too weird. What was he doing? He thought about pulling away, but he couldn’t hurt her.
How long had it been since he’d held his own mother’s hand? Since he’d been told he was loved?
For a long time she watched him, taking in the sight of him. “Your father should be home in an hour. We’re having meatloaf.” The softness in her smile seemed to come from the center of her soul. “Your favorite, Ben.”
The role-playing was unfamiliar and more than a little awkward. But somehow the conversation was comforting. Again Tyler didn’t know what else to do. “I love your meatloaf.”
Virginia breathed in through her nose. “Smells delicious.” A yawn seemed to catch her off guard. “I think I’ll take a nap. Until your father comes home.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tyler still had his fingers around hers. “You do that.”
Already her eyes were closed. Gradually she released her hold on him and her hand fell gently to the bedspread. Tyler sat back in his chair, struck by what had just happened. Who was this sweet woman, and where was Ben? Why wasn’t he here? Whatever the answers, this much was clear: Virginia loved her son.
Loved him unconditionally, whatever mistakes he’d made.
Tyler took quiet steps back to the mop, pushing through the pain. Talking to Virginia, he had forgotten how much he hurt. Now he couldn’t wait to get to the car. Without making a sound he cleaned the elderly woman’s floor, glancing at her every few seconds. When he finished and left the room, she was sound asleep, the smile still on her face.
He returned the mop and bucket to the supply closet and checked out with Mr. Myers. He went to his car and pulled the pain medication from his glove box. Half a bottle left. He had no more refills, but he had a plan for when they ran out.
He would take his first check in a couple days and go to urgent care. He’d explain about his shoulder and get a refillable prescription for Oxycodone. There were four urgent care centers in Pensacola. That should keep him medicated for a while.
He wanted four pills, but he downed three of them. They needed to last until he got paid. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He desperately needed relief but didn’t want to feel the buzz of the medication just yet. His time with Virginia was still too fresh in his heart, the feelings something he wanted to hold onto. She thought he was her son.
And for a moment he felt like he actually was.
Tyler couldn’t remember the last time his parents told him they loved him.
His father had tried to reach him just once after he left for the minor leagues. It was his third season in Dayton, just after the moped accident. When he saw his father’s name on Caller ID he thought about answering it. But he couldn’t handle the lecture that would certainly follow. How Tyler was an idiot to choose the Reds over college, a fool to drink and drive. On and on and on.
That same week ESPN ran a story—a small story because that’s all he was by then. The headline read: Tyler Ames Proving Critics Right. It talked about how he should’ve stayed in school.
After reading the article, Tyler had called his cell phone carrier. “I need to change my number.” It took five minutes before he was officially cut off from his parents.
The memory screamed at him the way it always did when he let himself go back. He hadn’t really thought he’d never talk to his parents again. Someday he’d call them. On his terms. When things were going well and he could be sure he’d hear approval in his father’s voice.
If Tyler had been able to finish the game that Saturday with the Blue Wahoos, if he hadn’t gotten hurt, his first phone call that night would’ve been to his parents. He had been clean for nearly two years, away from alcohol and bars and fan girls. He’d been doing his best pitching since leaving home. A perfect game and an invitation to Cincinnati to play for the Reds? That would have been just the reason to call. What could his father say except that Tyler had made the right decision? He hadn’t needed UCLA after all.
All before that single freak pitch.
The call to his parents never happened, of course. Tyler could only imagine the things his father thought about him now. The man clearly hadn’t gone to the same school of faith as Virginia Hutcheson. No forgiveness for Tyler Ames—and for good reason. He was a mess. No quest
ion.
The job was the break he needed to turn things around.
He would have to work like never before to make things right, to get back on the mound. Back to a chance at the Bigs.
Then—and only then—would he call home.
HARRISON HAD A problem.
He’d watched Tyler Ames all week, seen him arrive early and stay late, using his one good arm to clean every floor in the building and sometimes the walls and windows for good measure. He was one of the best workers Harrison had ever hired.
But simply put, the kid reeked like a sewer.
Maybe it was his tired-looking brace or his clothes. Something definitely smelled. Yesterday Harrison could’ve sworn Tyler had worn a Billings Bulldogs T-shirt to work, second day in a row. The shirt had a small ketchup stain near the middle. Something that should’ve easily washed off. This morning when Tyler reported for work he wore the same shirt. The stain hadn’t been touched.
And so while Tyler started working, Harrison sat at his desk and came up with a theory. The young man must’ve been dead broke. He had asked about eating leftover food in the cafeteria, and Harrison wasn’t sure the kid was showering. The reality ripped at Harrison’s heart.
Tyler didn’t seem to have anyone.
He calculated the days the kid had worked and wrote him a check for $200. Then he ripped it up. How could he expect the kid to stay with the job if he only paid him $40 a day? He worked harder than that. Instead he wrote the check for $250. When Tyler walked by the office with the mop, Harrison called him over.
The kid looked worried. He entered the office and stood, waiting.
“Two things.” Harrison rose from his chair so they were face-to-face. “First, you’re doing a good job, Tyler. We needed someone like you.”
Relief flooded his eyes. “Thank you, sir. I . . . I really need the work.”
“Yes.” Harrison nodded. “And second, you deserve a raise.” He handed him the check. “This is for your first five days. After this you’ll get paid every other week.”
Tyler’s hand shook as he took the check. “This . . . this is great, sir. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Harrison wasn’t quite sure how to approach this next thing. He decided the simpler the better. “By the way. You didn’t give your address on your application.” He hesitated. “Do you have a place to live?”
At first the kid opened his mouth as if he might come up with an explanation. But after a few seconds his eyes found a spot near his feet. “No, sir. Not for a few weeks now.”
“I thought so.” Harrison dug around in the top drawer of his desk. He found a small ring of keys. “There’s a room at the back of the building. Caretaker unit. Small place—just a bed and a chair. A bathroom. Small kitchen.”
“Thank you, but I”—Tyler shook his head—“I couldn’t afford it, sir. I’m fine. Really. I can just—”
“Tyler.” Harrison stared at the young man. “No charge. Just keep doing a good job around here. As long as you work here, you can have the room. It’s yours.”
Tyler took the keys. He started to say something and stopped. His eyes moved from the keys to Harrison and back again. Finally he managed a quiet, “Thank you. I . . . don’t know what to say.”
“Turn it around, son. You’ve got a start, now just turn it around.”
Tyler nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll get back to work.”
Something unfamiliar stirred in Harrison’s heart as he sat back down at his desk. Something new and fresh, that had come as a direct result of helping Tyler Ames. It took five minutes before he recognized what it was.
A sense of purpose.
TYLER NEEDED A few minutes, a chance to grasp what had just happened. He slipped into the restroom just off the lobby and locked himself in a stall. He leaned against the door, his heart pounding. Was Mr. Myers serious? Through absolutely no effort of his own Tyler now had a place to live? He closed his eyes and covered his face with his good hand.
So many things he had taken for granted were possible again. He could take a shower and go to the Laundromat and wash his clothes. He could buy milk and chicken at the store and he could sleep lying down. On his back. Like a regular person.
Tyler breathed in deep. He would take his check to the bank, open a new account, and start life over. The evening would be spent washing his clothes and his brace and then he’d stop at a market. Not the Publix where everyone knew him. Somewhere at the other end of town. He’d move out of his car and into the apartment out back.
He was going to be a winner yet.
Tyler finished up the hallway, thinking about the turn of events, the way he didn’t deserve any of them. His shoulder hurt and he was dying for a few pain pills. But as he left work that day he was high on something more than Oxycodone. He was high on hope.
He could practically feel the ball in his hand again.
15
IT WAS THE THIRD Saturday in September and Cheryl couldn’t put off the phone call another moment. The grandchildren were coming over this evening, and before that she was going to Merrill Place to visit her mother. But yesterday in the mail she’d gotten an official notice.
The most serious bit of news since her mother’s decline.
Cheryl had felt nervous from the moment she saw the Merrill Place envelope. The letter was from Harrison Myers. Cheryl’s hands grew clammy as she opened it and quickly read:
Dear Ms. Conley,
I’ve been meaning to give you official notice about your mother, Virginia. This isn’t a letter I ever want to write. But it’s my job to inform you that if we find your mother trying to escape, or if we are forced to continue medicating her in order to keep her behavior under control, Merrill Place will no longer be an option for her housing needs. As you know, there are other facilities in Destin with more stringent safety controls.
Cheryl had lowered the letter and caught her breath. She couldn’t move her mother to Destin. They would hardly ever see her. Either that or she’d have to give up time with her granddaughters. Neither option was something Cheryl wanted. She read the rest of the letter.
Since Alzheimer’s is a progressive disease, I encourage you to look into those options. Please feel free to contact me if you have questions about this notice, or look me up next time you come in. I’d be happy to talk about this. Again, I’m sorry, but this letter is necessary. Your mother’s contract says we must notify you in writing if it appears a move might be imminent.
Sincerely,
Harrison Myers
The letter was in the kitchen drawer now, in a pile of things that needed her attention. This issue was easily first on the list. Chuck was at the grocery store getting spaghetti ingredients for tonight. The girls’ favorite. It was their turn to babysit again—a highlight of the week for both Cheryl and Chuck.
But before she could think about that, she had to think about her mother’s situation. She dialed the number for the center in Destin. The operator connected her with a serious-sounding young woman. “Yes. We’ve spoken to Mr. Myers at Merrill Place. Your mother would be welcome here.” She paused. “Let me tell you a little about our facility.”
Facility? Is that what this has come to, Lord?
The word turned Cheryl’s stomach. She found paper and a pen and started taking notes. Thirty minutes later when the call ended she felt utterly defeated. She looked over what she’d written. Yes, they had a room reserved for Virginia Hutcheson—though they couldn’t guarantee it without a deposit. Yes, patients at the Destin facility were often combative and hysterical. Cheryl’s mother would fit right in. There were locks on the doors to each bedroom—on the outside. Locks also secured the windows and of course the main entrance.
Tie-downs were a part of every bed. Used only when necessary.
Cheryl wondered if she would survive what lay ahead. Her mother had been the most beautiful, active woman any of them ever knew.
Her mother was funny and animated, quick-witted an
d kind. She set a high bar for Cheryl and her brother, Ben, but gave more than enough understanding and forgiveness when either fell short. Her knees must’ve been calloused from how often she prayed. When Cheryl was little she was pretty sure her mother was the most fun-loving woman in all the world. She and their dad would dance in the kitchen and kiss on the couch when they thought Cheryl and Ben weren’t watching.
How could she even think about sending her mom to a facility with bed tie-downs? There was only one way to handle the despair spreading through Cheryl’s heart. She kept her eyes open, the sky a pure and perfect reminder of the God they served. The One who had not abandoned them even here on a day like this.
Father, we need a miracle for my mom. She’s not going gently into Your arms the way we had always expected. Please, fill her heart with peace. Help her remember me and You and Ben . . . all that matters to her.
My daughter, do not be afraid. I go before you always. The gentle whisper came on the breeze and filled her soul. As if God Himself was speaking to her through the confusion of all that lay ahead. God would go before her. Even if she had to remind herself of that truth every few minutes in the hours ahead.
The words soothed her anxious spirit and gave her strength. Strength to move into an unknown future and drive to Merrill Place today and talk to the mother who no longer knew her name. Strength to talk to Harrison Myers about his letter and the facility in Destin. And something she could never have done on her own.
Strength to consider the impossible.
TWO HOURS LATER Cheryl’s first stop was at Harrison Myers’s office. He needed to know she took the letter seriously. The man was in the lobby helping one of the elderly residents to a seat.
“You can wait right here.” He made sure the man was secure. “How’s that sound?”
“The bus picks up here? You’re sure?” The older gentleman looked uncertain, lost to a time gone by.
Cheryl walked in without making too much noise. She took a spot several feet away and watched. Whenever Harrison Myers left this place, there would be no write-up in the paper, no parade or mention on the Internet. But the man was a hero. Cheryl was sure of that. The problems she faced now were not his fault.