The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones

  “What’s Cliff got to do with this?”

  “I’m done takin’ the blame for stuff I haven’t done. I’m done with Cliff and anyone like him, which means I ain’t cowerin’ to the likes of Wilhelmina’s son.”

  My jaw went for a tumble. “You think he’s as bad as Cliff?”

  She gave a little snort. “Same animal, different claws. I don’t know what he said to the director, but he got Wilhelmina moved like that, so I think he’s got a way of gettin’ what he wants. And last night he wanted me and Gloria fired.”

  “But—”

  “I cannot lose this job, Lincoln. So I’m gonna stand my ground, but I’m also gonna make sure I don’t give Mr. Freize some other excuse to fire me.” She turned double-barrels on me. “So if you don’t mind, I’ve been thinkin’.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I need you to be helpful today. Helpful and cheerful. No broodin’ about bein’ at Brookside on your day off, no callin’ folks crazies. I want you to help with the snacks, help clear the dishes, do table activities with the residents, or just sit and talk with them. Make like you’re happy to be there, and be thankful.” Her lips pinched together hard, and I could see tears springin’ up in her eyes. And finally what she was thinking came slippin’ out around the rock choking off her throat. “Remember last year, and be thankful.”

  Funny how you can move away from a place, but the memories of it move right along with you. Suddenly my mind was at last year’s Thanksgiving, with me hiding from Cliff under the table as he went after Ma, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Orange glaze don’t belong on a Thanksgiving bird! You know I hate sweet with my meat! How am I suppose’ta eat that?” He had her up against the wall, spraying whiskey breath in her face. “Answer me, woman! How?”

  I would have tried to make him let go of her, but the times I’d done that before, he’d sent me flying across the room and then doubled down on Ma. So I held my breath and waited while Ma choked out, “Sorry,” over and over until Cliff finally shoved her aside.

  “I’m glad you got us out of there, Ma,” I said.

  She gave me a little smile, but I could see she was still battling the rock in her throat. So when she started turning back to the window, I touched her arm and said, “I am thankful, Ma. Mighty thankful. And I’m happy to help.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Remember that when Paula starts tappin’.”

  I raised one back. “And Debbie asks what my name is?”

  “And Peggy starts talkin’ to the air.”

  “And Alice grabs my backside?”

  Both Ma’s eyebrows went flyin’. “She does that?”

  I laughed, “Don’t worry. I’ve learned to steer clear.”

  She laughed, too, and something about seeing her head thrown back with laughter made me feel lucky.

  Lucky to be spending the day with her.

  Even if it was in Crazy Town.

  Ma’s shift started with the news that Wilhelmina was definitely still alive.

  So was Mrs. White.

  “Oh, Lord,” Ma said when she heard squalling coming from Room 102.

  “Can you get that?” Gloria called. She was dealing with Teddy C, who was spittin’ out his dentures and cussin’ up a storm.

  “Sure,” Ma called back, and for some reason I followed her inside the Vampire’s suite.

  “She’s not getting my window!” Mrs. White wheezed. She was looking straight up like she was talking to the ceiling. “Tell her! She can’t have my window!”

  Wilhelmina was standing by the window. The hair on the back of her head was mashed flat like someone had lifted a boulder off a field of dry grass. “What is she doing in my room?” Wilhelmina demanded, turning to glare at Mrs. White.

  “Your room?” Mrs. White hacked out. “This is my room!”

  Wilhelmina gave Ma a look that oozed like a cut onion. She pointed at Mrs. White and said, “Get. Her. Out!”

  “You get out,” Mrs. White wheezed. Her head creaked toward Ma. “Arrest her!”

  “Arrest me?” Wilhelmina cried. “They should arrest you for making me feel like I’m in a death ward!” She glared at Ma. “Why is she here?”

  I could see Ma box away all the mean things Wilhelmina had said and done to her. I could see her reminding herself that Wilhelmina was ornery because she was confused and frustrated. Frustrated over losing her mind.

  Ma grabbed a framed photo from Mrs. White’s side table and shoved it at me. “Distract Mrs. White while I take Wilhelmina out of here.”

  I almost blurted, “No! Not me!” but a fierce look from Ma set me moving to Mrs. White’s bedside with the photo.

  The Vampire was even scarier close up. Her teeth were brown and her hands were bony bird claws. I could see blue veins crossing her almost-bald skull like a road map, and there were little patches of raw skin spotting her face.

  She was back to looking straight up and hadn’t seen me yet, and I had an urge as big as Texas to run. But I’d promised to help, so I looked at the picture in my hand, tryin’ to figure out what to say.

  Most of the oldies have pictures of their family surrounding them. I’ve seen Gloria and the others pick up a picture and hold it in front of an oldie and say, “Is this your daughter?” or “Tell me about him,” or “My what a beautiful bride you were!” and get them talking about something happy.

  In her whole half of the room, Mrs. White had one picture, and I was holding it. It was a group shot of a bunch of boys on a patch of bone-dry dirt in front of a hut. The boys had on no shoes and barely any clothes, but they were laughing and smiling. In the middle of the boys was a woman dressed in safari clothes, and her smile was even bigger than the boys’ smiles.

  And I was just wondering if the Safari Lady might be Mrs. White’s daughter when I flashed back to what I’d read in the Brookside Bulletin about Mrs. White being a missionary in Africa.

  I looked at the Safari Lady closer. And closer. She looked nothing like the Psychic Vampire. But…why else would this picture be here?

  “Is this you?” I asked, showing her the picture.

  I must have startled her because she jerked a little. Then her claws reached out for the picture, and for the first time, her eyes turned on me. They were blue and so faded. Like a sky burnt to white by summer heat.

  And then suddenly the sky started rainin’.

  “You’re here,” she said, her eyes spillin’ over. “I thought you’d never come.”

  She rested the picture in her lap and reached a shaky hand over, grabbing mine.

  It was like a corpse coming to life, and my mind was screamin’, Zombies! Run! but the Icy Bird Claw of Death was clamped on. “Please stay,” she begged.

  My mind was reeling in terror. Was this how she pulled the life force out of folks? Was I the Psychic Vampire’s next victim? But much as I wanted to run, there was something about her watery eyes that kept me in place.

  “How are the others?” she asked, looking back at the picture and then at me. “Are they here, too?”

  I’ve seen Ma and Gloria do the smile-and-play-along with the oldies enough to know it’s the best way to keep things from breakin’ down. So I tried, “The others are fine. But no, it’s just me.”

  The Weepy Vampire held on tighter. “Sit with me.”

  I looked over my shoulder for help, but Ma was long gone, and since the Vampire’s grip was deadly and her eyes were on me like laser beams, I sat in the chair by the bed.

  “Thank you,” she said through her cracking lips.

  Her head creaked back to center, so at least she was looking straight up again instead of at me. But even though her eyes had released me and were closing, her hand was still clamped on tight.

  Holding the hand of an almost-corpse is plenty creepy, but when the hand may be pulling out your life force, it’s also scary. And piled on top of creepy and scary was painful, since my hand was stretched and twisted over the bedrail.

  I sat there watching her brea
the, waiting for the chance to slip free. I could see the ribs in her chest go up and down, up and down, like they were trying to poke through her tissue-paper skin.

  I read once that birds have tendons in their feet that keep them clamped on to a wire or perch when they sleep. They don’t have to think about it or make it happen—it’s a reflex. Even though Mrs. White was still clamped on tight to my hand, she seemed to be asleep, so I pulled my hand free.

  “No!” she cried, sputtering to life.

  Her head creaked my way, and she looked so relieved to see I was still there that when she reached through the bars for my hand, I gave in and let her hold it. “Don’t go,” she croaked out. “Please stay.”

  When Gloria breezed in a few minutes later and saw me holding the Psychic Vampire’s hand, her eyebrows went flying. “My,” she whispered, like I was some sort of superhero.

  It left me feeling like I couldn’t ask her to help me escape, even though that’s exactly what I wanted to do.

  Gloria checked Mrs. White over, then tucked an extra blanket around her and told her, “Sweet dreams.”

  Mrs. White held on to me tighter.

  After Gloria left, I rested my head against the bed rail and waited for Mrs. White to really go to sleep. I don’t know how long I sat there with her hand clamped on mine, ’cause I got lost in thinking about flying through the city like superheroes do. First I had a cape, then I had a bodysuit with an L for Lincoln on my chest, but folks on the street were crying, “Loserman!” so my mind erased the L and went for a symbol of wings instead.

  Once I had the picture of wings on my chest, I sprouted them on my back. I didn’t need a cape to fly—I had wings!

  The wings changed everything. I became powerful and mobile. I was Angelman, and villains didn’t have a chance! I swooped around the city, ridding it of evil.

  But even being a superhero angel doesn’t erase the creepiness of holding hands with a psychic vampire, so after a while I veeeery sloooowly pulled my hand away.

  This time, she didn’t budge. So I veeeery sloooowly pushed myself out of the chair. And I was veeeery sloooowly turning to go when Mrs. White’s eyes flew open and a screeching sound came out of her mouth.

  Or into her mouth.

  Her jaw dropped open, her bony chest went up, and her eyes stayed cranked wide while the horrible sound happened.

  It was like a demon was being sucked inside her.

  “Help!” I cried, and bolted for the Clubhouse. “She’s possessed!”

  The oldies at the tables didn’t budge or even look over, but Ma sure did. She came racing toward me, and since I couldn’t explain what I’d just seen, I made like Mrs. White, cranking my eyes open and making a sound like a demon was entering my body.

  She seemed to understand that evil forces were at work in the Vampire’s room. “Stay here,” she commanded, holding a stern finger in front of my face.

  “You can’t go in there!” I cried when I realized she was going in for battle.

  “Stay!” she said, doing the finger thing again.

  Then Gloria appeared, asking, “What happened?”

  So I cranked my eyes and did the demon gasp again, and Gloria went in to back up Ma.

  Angelman must still have been operating inside me, because I couldn’t just stand by and let them battle the demon alone. I took a deep breath, puffed out my chest, and went inside.

  Ma and Gloria were both standing over Mrs. White, and Gloria had just clicked off a walkie-talkie.

  Good! They were calling for more backup!

  Only…Mrs. White wasn’t looking possessed. Her eyes were closed and she was back to looking like skin over bones.

  Bones that weren’t moving.

  At all.

  I said, “She was…she was…”

  Gloria gave me a soothing smile. Like I was crazy!

  “No!” I cried. “Her eyes were all cranked back and she was gasping like, ghaaaaaaagh, and—”

  “There, there,” Gloria cooed. “That was just her agonal gasp.”

  “Her what?”

  Ma put her arm around me. “Her last breath, Lincoln.” A nurse walked in as Ma walked me out, and that’s when I finally got the picture.

  The Psychic Vampire was dead.

  She wouldn’t be sucking up any more life forces. Or saying mean things to Ma. Or screeching at folks about her window.

  She was dead.

  Finally dead.

  And the confusing thing was, I couldn’t stop crying.

  A chill was swirlin’ through me like an ice storm. I couldn’t get the sight of Mrs. White or the sound of her demon gasp out of my mind, and her icy bird-claw seemed to still be clinging to my hand.

  Ma parked me in the phone room and apologized all over the place for asking me to help. I told her it wasn’t her fault that Mrs. White held on for nine hundred years and decided to let go while she was holdin’ on to me. I tried acting like I was all recovered, but I was pretty wigged out and Ma knew it.

  “Just stay in here,” she said, twitching with nerves. “Just stay in here and read your comic book.”

  I warmed right up to that idea. And since we could hear clankin’ and bangin’ and Teddy C hollerin’ about needin’ his teeth, I told Ma, “Go on! I’m fine.”

  After she left, I holed up with my comic book, and it did help. A lot. But out of the corner of my eye I could see Ma and Gloria working away, and after a while guilt started pangin’ through me. They were doin’ a nonstop hustle in and out of rooms, changin’ diapers, wiping up spills, delivering snacks, and fetching Teddy C’s teeth, which he kept hurlin’ across the room.

  They also performed a magic trick when the medical folks were taking Mrs. White away. All they really did was talk to any oldie the stretcher needed to roll by, but it was like a hocus-pocus of smiles and words and gentle touches. I swear the oldies had no idea one of their own was dead and going, going, gone.

  After that, Ma and the others started setting up for lunch, and that’s when the guilt pangs took over. Ma hadn’t sat down once the whole time, and here I was, lazin’ around reading comics?

  So I went out and helped with lunch and then was busy the whole rest of the afternoon. I did some cleaning up, but mostly what Ma and Gloria wanted was for me to hang out with the oldies, starting with Ruby Hobbs. “If you could just sit and visit with her? She’s about to go tearful on us.”

  Tearful I could take, as long as she didn’t go naked!

  When I sat by her and said, “Hi, Ruby,” her weepy face dried right up and she started babbling about things that made no sense whatsoever. I tried to follow what she was saying, but she seemed to be stringing random words together and I didn’t have the decoder.

  It must’ve made sense to her, though, ’cause she was smiling like she was telling a happy tale, and all I had to do was nod and say, “Wow,” or “Really?” to keep her going. When she was all tuckered out from talking, she closed her eyes right there in her chair and nodded off.

  After Ruby, I asked Ma what else I could do, and she said, “Just make the rounds,” which meant going from one table to the next, playing cards or helping with a puzzle or just visiting. It was easy ’cause things seemed pretty much under control. At the moment, Tapping Paula was Napping Paula, Sir Robert was outside with Sweet-Pea Alice and Pom-Pom Pam, June and Linda were by the TV holding hands, and except for Teddy C—who was still fussin’ about his teeth—everyone else seemed to be doing okay.

  All that changed when Teena cleared away Debbie Rucker’s snack dish.

  “Bring it back!” Debbie shouted. “I said, bring it back! There’s a lot of flavor left in that bowl!”

  She was talking about a plastic pudding bowl that looked pretty scraped out to me.

  Teena said, “You’re done, Debbie,” and kept clearing dishes while Debbie got madder and madder.

  “Did you hear me? Give it back!”

  “You’re done, Debbie.”

  “GIVE IT BACK!”

  Teena
ignored her, piled up the dishes, and left. But even though the dish was long gone, Debbie kept shouting, “GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK RIGHT NOW!”

  Ma finally came out of one of the rooms with her blue sani-gloves on. “Is there any way you can get her to quit squalling?” she begged me.

  So I went over to Debbie and said, “Hi.”

  She was all red in the face, but she did change subjects. “What is your name?”

  “Lincoln.”

  “What is your last name?”

  “Jones.”

  “Lincoln Jones,” she said, taking a deep, choppy breath. “Can you please bring me a pudding? They took mine away before I was done.”

  “They’re all gone. But we’re having Thanksgiving dinner really soon.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I heard there’s turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing….It’s going to be a feast.”

  “Really?” Her red edges were fading fast. “What about pie?”

  “I’m guessin’ pumpkin? Maybe apple?”

  She let out a happy sigh, and her eyes got glassy. “Lincoln Jones?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Will you go for a walk with me?”

  My eyes went shiftin’ around, but my mouth went, “Sure.”

  She smiled and latched on to me as we headed for fresh air. “Lincoln Jones?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I like pumpkin pie.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Me too.”

  We walked a little further. “Lincoln Jones?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I love Thanksgiving.”

  “Me too.”

  Outside now, she looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. “Lincoln Jones?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  She smiled at me. She seemed so calm now. Like a different person. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I smiled back, and it was truly a wonder to feel the same.

  Since families had to sign up to come to the Brookside Thanksgiving, the staff knew how many places to set. The tables in the Activities Room were put up banquet-style, which really meant picnic-style, with folding tables hiding under white tablecloths. Only about half the oldies had folks coming. I guess there’s no sense signing up for a feast if your oldie’s stuck in bed or would rather sleep than eat.