Harriet went to the oatmeal container and studied the cooking instructions. “I can do that, Emma.” She eyed the dirty pan on the stove where the leftover oatmeal was beginning to crust. “Can we not microwave it?”
Granddad looked up in horror. “It’s terrible for you.”
Harriet nodded. “I’ve heard that. But then if you would be so kind, Mr. Woodhouse, would you please get this pan soaking while I get out another one?” She scraped the excess oatmeal into the garbage before putting it in the sink for him. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t turn the faucet on herself. But that wasn’t the point.
Emma hid her surprise and watched Granddad out of her peripheral.
Granny had waited on Granddad hand and foot until the day her heart gave out. A week later, he’d had his stroke, and they thought they might lose him, too. Taylor was heaven sent, and at the time, Emma hadn’t questioned the way Granddad relied on his nurse for just about everything. Taylor had helped him regain his independence in walking and bathing, in getting dressed, and getting in and out of chairs. But everything else, she’d done for him, meeting his every need the moment he’d asked.
Harriet didn’t wait for a response from him. She opened one of the lower cupboards, looking for a clean pan, and Emma directed her to the correct shelf. They both faced the stove and exchanged furtive glances while Harriet prepped the new batch of oatmeal.
The scrape of Granddad’s chair and his slow shuffle to the sink had Emma frozen in place, waiting. When the water came on, Emma let go of the breath she’d been holding. Amazing. Simply amazing.
***
George took a real lunch break, as his next appointment would definitely not need to be tracked down. Betty Bates was the sweetest woman on the planet, and the chattiest. She lived with her frail mother in one of the community apartments and found joy in everything around her, from the weekly bingo games to the baked goods one of her neighbors often brought over. Medically, there was nothing wrong with her except slightly elevated blood pressure, so they often just chatted after he checked her over. The only thing she needed was more human contact, and not the kind from friendly checkups every few months. He wished the rest of her family would come see her, instead of sending letters and cards.
Betty had decorated a whole wall of their apartment with the cards from her nieces and nephews. As Mrs. Bates, Betty’s mother, was too weak to come into the clinic, he visited her there. He’d gotten to be friends with both of them, more than any of his other patients.
George balled up the foil wrapper from his sandwich and took out his phone to check the time. Emma had sent him a dancing emoji. He imagined that meant things were going well with Harriet and Mr. Woodhouse.
Good day?He texted.
Amazing! Twelve stars. Harriet has Granddad sorting socks with her while they watch TV.
Well, good for her. Well done, Emma. Sounds like you picked a winner.
Emma wasn’t the best judge of character, hence why she didn’t mind Elton hanging around, but she also had unusually good luck. Finding Taylor was the perfect example of that. George was curious as to which camp Harriet fell into, and he wanted to meet her. There was an incredible amount of trust given to a caregiver who stayed in your home day after day, and he wanted Emma and Mr. Woodhouse to be in good hands.
When George returned to the office, he went over his schedule and decided to leave right after meeting with Betty Bates. Dr. Perry was actually there for once and agreed to handle the afternoon appointments.
You mind me stopping by this afternoon? I hear there’s a leaky faucet calling my name.
Emma responded right away with a whole line of thumbs up. George put his phone away, washed his hands, and went into exam room four to see Betty Bates.
She stood as soon as he walked in. “Oh, George. You’ll never guess what has happened. My niece, Jane, is moving to Burbank this week, and she’s coming to stay with us while she looks for an apartment.”
George was genuinely happy for her, and let her gab on while he checked her vitals. “Hold on, Betty. I need you to take a few deep breaths and not talk for a minute.” He listened to her breathing and her heart. Everything was as it should be.
“Why is your niece moving here?” George asked. He knew Betty was eager to talk about it again.
Betty’s face lit up. “She’s such a talented girl. The medical practice where she was a receptionist closed, and she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. It was time for a change, she said.” Betty grabbed his arm. “George, do you think she could be a receptionist here? You haven’t put up a sign asking for a new receptionist, but I know yours has been in bad health for some time, and you’ve been doing most of it yourself.”
Actually, Lois, their billing specialist had stepped in, but Betty was right. Lois didn’t like the extra work and had balked at taking on more hours than she was already doing. Their receptionist wasn’t just missing days, she’d been out for weeks, and had officially turned in her resignation yesterday.
Still, he did not want to get Betty’s hopes up, only to have them dashed. Hiring friends or even acquaintances could get messy.
“I’m sure she can find a position, Betty. She’ll be all right.”
Betty wrung her hands together. “I know, but I read the community bylaws. If she works a full-time position within the retirement community, she’d be able to live with us. Otherwise, she’ll have to leave after two weeks, whether she’s found a place or not. We could save her so much money. I could move into Mother’s room, and she could have the other bedroom.”
George placed a steadying hand on Betty’s shoulder. “Just enjoy her visit. Anything else is full of maybes that would pressure her into trying to please you and her grandmother.”
“You think so?” Betty slid off the paper-covered table and turned to straighten it out. “So, you think I’m meddling too much?”
“Betty, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with your niece, but if it was me, I’d reassure her she’s welcome to stay and then let her figure out the rest. You can tell her about the position, but after that, let it go. Starting over often means choosing something completely unexpected. Maybe Jane doesn’t want to be a receptionist anymore.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Thank you, George.”
