“What is it, Edgar?”
“I need some money. Can you advance me a couple thousand against my share of the estate?”
Taken aback by the audacity of the request, he waited a bit before responding. “I’ve been working on this job for weeks now with no result. If I don’t find that will, I’ve wasted time when I could have been earning a substantial amount. I don’t do business this way. The answer is no.”
“Who do you think you are? If you don’t find it soon, I’ll put somebody else on the job.”
“Really? Check your contract. I have to get back to work.”
One more reason why I don’t want to get involved with Shirley Farrell. I want that man as far from me as he can get.
Gunther got home that evening a little later than usual. He missed his sister’s company. Hiring Mirna was the smartest thing he had done recently. The woman kept his home as if it were her own, and her skill as a cook was such that he didn’t consider eating out.
“Hi, Mirna. What’s that I smell? It’s making my mouth water.”
“Hope you had a good day, Mr. G. We got somethin’ good tonight, so just let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
“It’s always good if you cook it. I’ll be away Friday evening, Saturday, and most of Sunday, so you have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. I can get my own breakfast Friday morning.”
“Thank you, sir. Mr. G, the Lord gon’ bless you for being such a good person. I can run down to Virginia and see my mother. She’s kind of poorly.”
He patted her shoulder. “If I can do anything to help, let me know.”
Shortly after noon on Friday, he left his office with Medford and another of his employees and headed to Ocean City. “Nothing like fishing in Assawoman Bay,” Medford said.
“It’s the best way I know to get rid of your concerns. Totally de-stressing,” Gunther said. “What are we going to do with so much fish?”
“Take it home. We can get those refrigerator boxes, put the fish in them along with some ice, and they’ll be fine,” Medford said. “Fish used to be cheap, but not anymore.”
By Sunday afternoon, they had as much fish as they could pack into their refrigerator boxes, but Gunther also had developed difficulty breathing and a high temperature. After he got home, he put the fish into his freezer and went to bed. The following morning, Mirna awakened him.
“Mr. G, it’s nine o’clock, and you not up yet. You’re hot. I think you have a fever.”
He rolled over and tried to focus, felt as if he were on fire, and asked Mirna to bring the thermometer from the cabinet in his bathroom. She put the thermometer under his arm until it beeped, took it out, and looked at it.
“My goodness, Mr. G. I think I ought to call your doctor. It says 103.5 degrees.”
“I’ll get up in a few minutes.”
“I’m gonna call Miss Shirley.”
Hours later, Gunther awakened in Johns Hopkins Hospital and was informed that he had pneumonia. “When may I go home?” he wanted to know.
“You’ve been here a couple of days,” the doctor told him. “Pneumonia is nothing to play with, so plan to be here for the remainder of the week and expect a considerable period of recuperation. I suspect you’ve had this for a while.”
“You need someone with nursing experience, Mr. G,” Mirna told him when he came home. “You know I’ll do my best to look after you, but the doctor said you’d be better off with a nurse or an LPN.”
“What’s an LPN?”
“A licensed practical nurse, meaning she doesn’t have a degree. At least she won’t think she’s too good for the job.”
“I don’t know where to start looking for an LPN.”
“You can ask the doctor, or I can ask my friend Frieda if she knows anyone. She’s an LPN.”
“Why can’t
she
come? At least we’d have someone you know and trust. Where does she work?”
“Right now she’s on a case at Maryland General. I’ll call her and see what she says.”
“My patient is going home tomorrow,” Frieda told Mirna. “Poor man is lucky to be alive, but he gon’ be fine now. I took good care of him.”
Two days later, Frieda Davis walked into Gunther Farrell’s house, a move that would change her life and the life of everyone around her.
The first things he noticed about Frieda Davis were her good looks, her elegant stature, and her air of professionalism. “What strain do you have, Mr. Farrell? Treatment varies according to the type you got.”
“Viral.”
“Then I guess the doctor told you that patience will be your best medicine. Would you please give me your doctor’s name and phone number?” He gave them to her. “We have to work out a routine that you’ll be comfortable with.”
Gunther didn’t like being confined to the house, not to speak of his bed, but Frieda made it as pleasant as possible, making a joke of his usually elevated temperature and of her various daily ministrations.
“What man you know has a gorgeous woman washing his face and making his bed when all he has to do is smile and turn over, huh?”
“The trouble with you is that you’re never serious. I want to get out of this bed.”
“When I talk with the doctor tomorrow morning, I’ll tell him you’re beginning to get on your own nerves. Okay?”
He couldn’t help laughing. “If you don’t let me out of this bed, I’ll get on
your
nerves.”
“I’ll ask the doctor if you can read your e-mail for half an hour tomorrow morning, but if I notice you worrying or looking stressed, we won’t do that again. And don’t think you can hide it from me. Where’s your laptop?”
He told her.
Standing by Gunther’s bed, Frieda phoned his doctor. “That’s the gist of it, Doctor,” she said after relating Gunther’s condition and attitude. “What do you think?” She made notes while she listened. “All right. One half hour. Thank you, Doctor.”
“The doctor said you could read your e-mail for a half hour, but he wants you to rest. He suggested that if you’re bored, you might play some simple computer games.”
She left the room and returned with a BedLounge. “Mirna bought this for you yesterday. You can sit up, but we’ll use this.”
He looked at it. “Let’s see how it works. Mirna would make somebody a great mom. I get the benefit of her mothering instinct.” He said it jokingly, because he didn’t especially like being mothered. He got up, nearly fell due to his weakened condition, and dropped himself on the bed. He managed to sit in the chairlike BedLounge, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
“I guess he likes it,” Frieda told Mirna later. “The minute he got into it, he closed his eyes and went fast asleep. I tell you what. You off on Thursday afternoons. I don’t need to be off, but I’ll get a psychological lift if I can be away for four or five hours on Wednesday afternoons. You wear a mask when you’re with him and wash your hands with Purell. Viral pneumonia is dangerous.”
“Not to worry,” Mirna said. “I’ll look after him. He a good man.”
“You telling me. Some woman must be crazy letting that man run loose.”
“Yeah. If I had ten fewer years on me, I’d go for him in a second.”
“Oh, come on,” Frieda said. “That man is thirty-four years old, and you kicking fifty.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t stupid, and a smart fortysomething woman could lead that horse to water and get him to drink.”
Laughter poured out of Frieda. “Honey, your screws coming loose. That is funny, but I don’t think anybody could make that man dance to their tune. That guy’s a born choreographer.”
“Thank God, that ain’t crossed my mind. I love my job. The pay is good and the work is light. When I look at Gunther Farrell, I don’t see
man.
I see boss,” Mirna said.
Frieda rolled her big, sparkling eyes. “You and me, too. Good jobs are hard to get, but you can find a dozen penises in every block, and half of them ain’t no good.”
“You telling me,” Mirna said. “And when they good, what they hanging on ain’t worth spit. Been there and done that, and I’m a lot happier cooking and cleaning.”
“I hope the doctor will let him sit up longer each day,” Frieda said. “He needs to be getting some energy. The man can hardly stand up. But I exercise his arms and legs twice every day.”
“What kind of medicine is he getting?”
“Some vitamins. There isn’t a special medicine; his type of pneumonia doesn’t respond to antibiotics. The treatment is bed rest and fluids. But he’s improving. It’s just slow. His temperature doesn’t rise above one hundred now, and that’s a blessing. I put cold, damp towels on his face and neck. He don’t want me to bathe him, but I put a plastic sheet under him, do most of it, and let him do the rest. We get along fine.”
Frieda had been with Gunther three weeks when Edgar paid Gunther a visit. “Who’re you?” he asked Frieda.
“I could ask you the same,” she shot back. “You resemble Mr. Farrell, but only in looks, ’cause you sure don’t have his good manners and upbringing.”
“Hmm. So the lady’s got a mouth.” He started up the stairs.
“I wouldn’t go up there if I were you—that is, unless you want to expose yourself to viral pneumonia.”
He walked back down the stairs. “You mean he’s sick? Little brother is finally flat on his back? Well.” He lifted an African soapstone carving from a corner table. “This is mine, so I’m taking it.”
Frieda walked past him so that she was between him and the foyer. “Over my dead body, pal. And don’t try any rough stuff, because I can throw a man twice your size, which ain’t much.” She called Mirna. “This man wants to make off with this sculpture, but if he tries to get past me, I’ll have him flat on his back.”
Mirna walked over to Edgar and put her hands on her hips. “Put that back. Now I know why Mr. G told me not to ever let you in this apartment when I was here by myself. You a thief, and I’ll call the cops and let ’em deposit your behind in the clinker. Shame on you.”
“It’s mine, but since I can’t handle two Amazons, I’ll get it from brother dear.”
“Could you really have taken him down?” Mirna asked Frieda after Edgar left.
“Don’t make jokes. What you think I am? It didn’t hurt to have him believe it, though, did it?”
They looked up and saw Gunther on the stairs. “Where did Edgar go, and what did he want?” Mirna recapped the scene for him. “I see. I hate to say it, Frieda, but he isn’t a nice person, and he could be dangerous if he was desperate for money. Be careful.” They watched while he plodded back up the steps and headed to his room.
Gunther took a seat in the overstuffed chair that Frieda had moved to his room. His luck in getting her to see him through his illness was as remarkable as his success in hiring Mirna for his housekeeper. His cell phone rang, and when he saw Edgar’s number in the caller ID screen, he answered.
“Hello, Edgar. What’s up?”
“Man, I didn’t know you’d been sick. Who was that doll who claims she’s strong as an Amazon?”
“You mean Ms. Davis threatened you? That’s a good laugh. Did you think she was foolish enough to let you walk off with my Shona sculpture? I’ve told them about you now, so don’t try it again. Any news about the will?”
“Naah. Carson said he searched Father’s little cubicle at the library but didn’t find anything. The man’s looked everywhere. I don’t know why Father would do such a mean thing. I’ll be over tomorrow morning to see how you are. See you.” Before he could respond, he heard the click of the receiver.
After a twenty-minute visit with Gunther the next morning, Edgar sauntered down the stairs and stopped in front of Frieda. “You must be something hot. Your boss is nuts about you.”
Frieda narrowed her left eye. She didn’t believe ninety-nine percent of what any man said to her. Glen Treadwell gave her a lesson for all time, and he was truly a master. “Stuff it, pal,” she said. “Men are born liars.”
“You’re making a mistake. He spent the entire time telling me about your virtues. I got tired of hearing it. You know men fall for their nurses.”
“And I know men are liars, too.”
Edgar left and Frieda went up to Gunther’s room to exercise his legs. She prided herself in the fact that no patient in her care had developed atrophy or bedsores. She massaged his back, applied lotion all over his body, shaved him—though he swore he could do it—and trimmed his hair.
“You must be the reason why nurses are called angels,” he said when she handed him his laptop and told him he could use it for two hours.
“We’re as human as other people, Mr. Farrell. Some of us care about our patients and take pride in our work. The doctor said you may come downstairs for your meals, and if you have no temperature today or tomorrow, you may begin taking showers. But if you jump back into the rat race, you may get a setback. So please be careful.”
“Thanks, Frieda. Would you believe that in the last three days, working one hour a day, I developed a computer game that’s really good? It came together in no time, and it’s going to be a big hit. I’m going to market this one to a big company. If it works, I’ll be fixed for a long time.” He leaned forward as excitement flashed through him. “It’s about three devilish little boys and a wonderful nurse who gets them out of scrape after scrape. In a sense, you were my inspiration.”