JUNE AND THE OLD FOOL - Part 2

The next morning, June drove to the hospital to hopefully pick up Charlie and take him home.  The doctor told her that his injuries were superficial and it was safe enough for him to go home but to keep a close eye on him; his head injury was a particular concern.  Safe, she thought, I doubt the old fool knows the meaning of safe.

As she pushed Charlie out of the hospital in a wheelchair, he protested that it wasn’t necessary; he wasn't a cripple and was quite capable of walking on his own.  After passing through the hospital's sliding front doors, Charlie swayed slightly when he stood up.  June, her heart in her throat, watching him trying to take a step as she parked the wheelchair off to the side, rushed to his assistance.  When she told him to lean against her he moaned and instead of complaining said, “I guess I’m weaker than I thought.".

The drive home was uneventful; Charlie snoozed most of the way.  June had a little difficulty helping him climb up the front stairs of his house but once they were inside he said, “I feel tired.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to lie down on the chesterfield and watch TV for a bit.  Since he was very stiff and sore and unable to bend over very easily, June helped him take his shoes off.  While she was upstairs getting a blanket and a pillow she heard Charlie groaning as he stretched out on the couch.  After propping his head on the pillow and covering him with the blanket, making sure he was comfortable she asked, “Can I get you a cup of tea or anything."

“No thank you.  I'm sorry to be such a bother; I feel like an invalid.  I’m fine for now; most likely fall asleep soon; watching TV has that affect.”

“Are you sure now.  I’ll be happy to do it for you.”

“No, it’s alright June; I'm fine.  You can go home now; I'm sure you've got more important things to do besides look after an old man.”

As she was opening the door, she looked back over her shoulder at Charlie lying on the couch; he looked so much smaller.  And just as she was about to step outside he said, “And June…thank you for everything.  I really mean it.”

Before closing the door behind her she smiled and said, “I’ll come back a little later and see how you are doing.  I’ll fix you a nice supper then; I'm sure you'll be ravenous after having to eat hospital food.”

June was tired by the time she walked through her front door; she wasn’t that young anymore herself.  She had just turned 60 and as she sat down in her easy chair; putting her feet up on a large leather ottoman she said, “I hope you don’t mind Chester (Chester being her dead husband of 2 years gone by) but it feels good to be kind of looking after a man again, even if he is an old fool.”

As summer drifted by as slowly as a leaf on a sluggish stream, Charlie regained his health.  Since falling off the roof, he and June had become better friends.  June and his wife Marjorie, who was about 10 years older, used to be the best of friends.  When their spouses were still alive, they would sometimes get together and play cards or go out for dinner.  Charlie had been married almost 60 years when his wife died four years ago; not a day went by that he didn’t think about her.  Right after her death, he swore that she was still in the house and was sure he caught glimpses of her as she stood for a moment in a doorway or in the kitchen.  Sometimes at night, just before he shut his eyes, he would feel a tear trickling down his wrinkly face.

August was almost over; autumn's leaves lay like a colourful quilt over the neighbourhood when June went to visit Charlie one blustery afternoon. Crossing the street, carrying a plate of cookies she had baked; his favourite kind, she had no idea this would be a visit she would never forget.  Used to just letting herself through the door without knocking she yelled, “Charlie, I’m here!  I’ve brought you some cookies and I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

When Charlie came down the stairs, after just using the bathroom, he saw June in the kitchen and exclaimed rather angirly, “Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my house!”

Caught completely off guard, June nervously responded, “I’m June, your neighbour from across the street.  Is this some kind of a joke Charlie?”

He looked at her with a puzzled look on his face, “I don’t know you.  You must be one of Marge's friends.  Have you seen her; she was here a minute ago?

“No…no…I haven’t seen Marge.”

“Perhaps she’s out in the backyard; she loves her flower garden.  I’ll go have a look.”

June watched through the kitchen window as Charlie walked round and round the backyard and then just stood, his back towards her, kind of shaking his head.  It was cold outside and he was shivering when he came back into the house.  When he saw June still standing in the middle of the kitchen he cheerfully said, “Hi June.  How are you today?”  And, noticing a plateful of cookies on the table he continued, “I see you baked some more cookies…mmm… good; they’re my favourite kind.”

June was quite shaken by what happened and as the months plodded on until summer finally began poking its head above the horizon, she realized that his mental capacities were steadily deteriorating.  She would sometimes find him in the backyard starker’s as the day he was born or wandering aimlessly down the street.  Periods of time went by when he didn’t recognize her.  Sometimes she would come in the house and she was June; 15 minutes later after being outside and returning inside; he didn’t recognize her anymore.  His dementia was diagnosed as Alzheimer’s disease and at his age, he was going rapidly down hill.  Many times when she brought him meals, she found them still uneaten on the counter the next day where she had left them.  She was terribly disheartened to see him literally falling apart at the seams; one moment lucid and the next befuddled, at times, not even knowing where he was.  To be continued...

Lenny's Murder/Mystery CONTEST will be posted soon, since the first draft of the short story (approx. 10,000 words) has now been completed.   The last episode will expose the thief and dastardly murderer and of course there will be clues as the story unravels for the reader to figure out which person killed Sir Rodney Broderick Charlesworth.  I'll explain the details fully on how to win this contest the day before I post the Blog.  However, I'm still in need of MORE READERS before posting this murder/mystery, so please share this Blog with your Internet and email friends.  In order to enter this contest, you must subscribe to my Newsletter, which can be located at the top of the Blog.  It's very easy to do and you can take yourself off the mailing list whenever you choose.

Thank you for reading my short stories and hopefully this is one that will keep you anxiously wanting to know which character killed Sir Rodney Broderick Charlesworth - poor man - what a terrible way to go!