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Chas looked at her more closely. She didn't strike him as particularly attractive, but she wasn't ugly--his father would hate an ugly nurse. About thirty-five, he guessed. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun at the nape of her neck; fine dark wisps escaped it, though. Her skin was clear and smooth, and she had the beginnings of deep crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. Which were pale gray--icy. He wondered if an occasional request to feed a bummer lamb in the cellar constituted farm chores. Of course it did. He shook his head.
"And if things don't work out?" She tilted her chin up, studying Chas.
Surprised, he answered slowly, "You saw all those sheep when you drove up?"
She nodded, looking at the wall that blocked her view of the meadow.
"Well, this job is sorta like them. I can't just change my mind about 'em. I'm committed--for the winter anyway. I've got ewes that'll be lambing in a few weeks. Then a whole lot of work to keep the little buggers alive. It's like that. You want the job, I expect ya to commit to seeing him through--at least for the winter."
She frowned. "When are you bringing him home?"
"Soon as you can start."
"I can start now."
He stared at her. She was taking the job. He couldn't believe it.
Chas arranged for Mattie to start in a week. As the days passed between hiring her and expecting her, he wished he'd made it a month. He put off chores that beckoned urgency, like repairing the fence where the ram got tangled up and tore out several yards, leaving a gaping hole for the flock to meander through at will--if they were smart enough to find it.
He watched the contents of a half-gallon bottle of Jack Daniels recede steadily while he tried not to anticipate his father's presence--or the nurse's.
Mattie put two suitcases and a cardboard box in the trunk of her car--all she owned in the world. The landlady who lived on the main floor already had a new tenant for Mattie's second-floor room and couldn't wait to get the cleaners in. Mattie wondered why the woman wasn't just a little sad to see her go. She'd hauled out the old lady's trash every week for the past eight months, despite the fact it wasn't part of the contract.
Mattie checked the phone; it hadn't been turned off yet. She dialed her sister in Orlando, Florida. "Kathy, it's Mattie."
"Oh, Mattie, this isn't a good time right now. I'm on my way out to Jacob's basketball game."
"This'll be quick. My phone's about to be turned off, anyway."
"What? I didn't hear you. Mattie--I need to go. Can I call you later?"
"No, I'll call you."
"Okay. Talk to you soon." She hung up.
Mattie held the phone in her hand a moment, her lips pulled tight. "Yeah, just try and call me back" she said. She looked around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, then pulled the house keys from her keychain and set them on the ugly, green-formica table. Which she was glad she would never see again.
As Mattie drove south toward Lewiston, a book about Parkinson's Disease on the seat next to her, she went over in her head the proper care of a patient like Mr. McPherson. Chas had said his father was in the final stages of Parkinson's Disease, which meant he would be incapable of even the most basic tasks. He'd need feeding, diapering, bathing, massage. She promised herself to do her best in making this man's last days comfortable.
The eastern plains of Washington slipped away and she found herself winding through the mountains of northern Idaho. A beautiful range of steep, rocky peaks flanked by icy, boulder-strewn rivers. Idaho, she thought, was double--maybe triple--blessed with beauty. So why didn't she know anyone who wanted to live there?
In Lewiston, she waited outside a low building with peeling paint and thirsty shrubs. An attendant lifted Mr. McPherson into the passenger seat of her car. When she glimpsed the old man's face, she saw Chas--not simply a father-son resemblance, but an aged prototype. He seemed unaware of what was happening to him, showed not the least alarm at being taken away by a complete stranger. But she imagined that somewhere in his age-spotted head with its thin, curly hair, he saw, he knew.
The attendant gave Mattie a wary glance as he shut the door. "Is he a relative?"
"No, I'm his nurse. This is the first time I've met him." He eyed the old man and stood back from the car, as if anxious to get away.
"Well, good luck with him."
Mattie turned to her new charge. "I'm Mattie," she said as she fastened his seatbelt. "Chas has hired me to take care of you at home. That's where I'm taking you, Mr. McPherson. I'm taking you home."
She drove quietly for several miles, but something about the man's presence compelled her to talk. He seemed somehow bigger than he was, even though shrunken and frail. He was positively imposing next to her.
"I've been to your house, Mr. McPherson. Don't worry, I'll clean it. It's a mess right now, but I have to live there too, so I'll clean it. Not because Chas hired me to be a housekeeper." Mattie shot the old man a meaningful glance. "I'm no one's maid. But it's bad. So I'll do it." She slipped a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. "I always seem to find myself in these situations. Where I have to do more than what's my job." She looked over at Mr. McPherson again. His blank face and frail limbs reassured her she didn't need to prattle.
(continued on the next page)
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