Dan looked at me steadily.
I swallowed. “I used toliketo play for him.”
“Play or don’t play, that’s up to you. It’s your music.” Dan’s voice was calm. Accepting. “Reckon he’ll be glad just to see you.”
“I don’t think that’s enough—just showing up.”
“Most important thing in life,” Dan said.
I held on to that thought as I sat in Mr. Laurence’s room at the rehab center. My guitar case stood upright and unopened behind my chair.The important thing was to show up.
Trey was being attentive and Amy was at her most charming. Mr. Laurence’s eyes moved from face to face, following their conversation with painful attention.
“... old potpourri, right?” Amy said. “And then Aunt Phee tells me I’ve tossed out her cherished corsage.”
“Puh,” Mr. Laurence said. “Punk.”
“Pink roses, that’s right. At least they were pink once upon a time. How did you guess?” Amy grinned. “Mr. Laurence, did you take Aunt Phee to prom?”
His mouth jerked in what might have been a smile.
A whiteboard faced his bed, with his therapy sessions and the names of his caregivers scrawled in black, blue, and green marker.Speech therapy. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. It looked like a lot. Was the schedule too much for him? Werewetoo much for him?
Trey was talking, something about a cap rate on a strip mall or maybe an apartment building managed by Laurence Properties. Honestly, I didn’t understand most of it. Maybe Mr. Laurence had trouble following, too, because he was blinking, his hands plucking the sheets.
“Let me get you more water,” Amy said, reaching for the pitcher on his hospital tray.
He guided the cup unassisted. Took a small, cautious sip. Water dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Amy handed him a paper towel as Trey looked away.
“I hired an agency to help with stuff,” he said. “When you get home. Get you ready for work, whatever. Just a temporary thing until you’re better.”
“Duh. Dee,” Mr. Laurence said.
“Sends her love. I gave her the week off. She’s going to visit her daughter. No point in her rattling around the house taking care of just me.”
A—nurse? aide?—in lavender scrubs appeared, smiling at Mr. Laurence. “Well, hello. We having a party in here today?”
“G-girls,” Mr. Laurence said.
“But no booze,” Trey said. “We left the bourbon at home.”
She shook her head at them. “You know the rules. No more than two visitors at a time. We don’t want James getting overstimulated.” She took Mr. Laurence’s blue-veined hand in her dark, smooth one, feeling expertly for his pulse. “Blood pressure’s a little up. How you feeling, hon?”
“Could I talk to you a minute?” Trey asked when she was done.
“Should I leave?” I asked Amy after they had stepped out of the room.
“I think we’re okay.”
“Why did Trey want to talk to her?”
“He’s probably bribing her to let us stay.”
I wasn’t sure she was joking.
Trey returned.
“Look who I found in the hall.”
