Best of Luck by Kate Clayborn

Author:Kate Clayborn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-07-02T13:13:21+00:00

Chapter 11

Greer

“You aren’t the boss of us, Harold.”

Beside me at the conference table, Dennise shifts in response, her hands clasping and reclasping atop the padfolio she brings to meetings like these—longer, planned affairs where the patient isn’t present. Inside there’s probably a fifty-sheet stack of paperwork, filled with hospital policy and insurance claim forms and care facility information, and at any point, she’s ready to open that sucker up and distribute the exact right thing, the thing that even the most diligent, well-prepared family member has forgotten about. When things get tough, when families are impatient and overtired, scared and quarrelsome, Dennise is like a superhero bomb defuser. Her secret weapon is her knowledge of bureaucracy. Her cape is—well, mostly it’s brightly colored blouses from Chico’s, but they work for her.

Right now, though, instead of opening the padfolio and saving the day, Dennise is waiting. For me, specifically.

“If we could pause for a moment—” I say, and already I know I’ve been too quiet.

The Friedrich family has been at each other’s throats for the last fifteen minutes, not unheard of for a meeting like this. Once the white coats leave the room, the mood always shifts. Our job is logistics, and frankly, no one likes logistics. Dennise usually lets some squabbling go on for a while, either because she knows it’s part of the process, or because she knows her voice will have more impact when it enters at peak unreasonableness.

“Quit calling me Harold, you know I hate it. The point is, Cathy, if Dad’s not going to get better, we need to think about the best long-term-care facility—”

Cathy looks affronted. “I know you’re not suggesting that I can’t provide the best long-term care.…”

Things devolve further when Harold’s wife, who barely ever looks up from her phone, rolls her eyes at Cathy, and then Cathy’s boyfriend, a man named Curtis who Harold obviously does not approve of, interjects to say that since he doesn’t work full-time, he’d be able to look after Mr. Friedrich during the day. Harold tells him he won’t be getting in the will even if he wipes Mr. Friedrich’s ass for the next three months, and I can feel Dennise wince beside me. It’s never good when a will comes up. Or ass wiping, for that matter.

I sit forward in my chair, trying, as best I can, to remind the family that I’m a meaningful bodily presence in the room. “Hal,” I say, using Harold’s preferred nickname, my voice firmer now, spurred on by the fear that Dennise will have to take over for me, that she’ll see me as too weak to get the job done. “It can be tempting to think of this meeting as a chance to talk about end-of-life matters. But remember, what we’re doing here is thinking about your father’s life as it will be going forward, for however long that may be.”

Hal’s eyes track to me, almost as though he’s surprised to find me in the room, obviously not an unusual experience for me.

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