A Five-Minute Life

And then it all fell apart.

The next day, Rita caught up with me as I was taking resident bedding to the laundry room. “Something’s going on with Thea,” she said. “She’s hardly said a word, and she didn’t touch her breakfast.”

The words sunk into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. “Maybe she didn’t sleep well?”

“She does look tired.” She forced a smile. “Maybe that’s it. I’m sure she’ll perk up once she gets to rec time. Her painting looks just about finished. You’ll take her on her FAE today?”

“Of course,” I said.

The hours crawled until one o’clock and I practically ran to the dining room. Thea sat alone at a table, a plate of untouched food in front of her. Her head was bowed, her wavy blond hair spilling down to curtain her face.

“Miss Hughes?” I said gently.

She raised her head and that unease in my stomach tightened like a vise. Her sky-blue eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, ringed with shadows. She glanced at my nametag.

“Jim,” she said dully. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” I said. “The doctors are working on your case. Would you like to go outside? Get some fresh air?”

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds good.”

I offered her my arm, and she stared at it for a moment, then slowly put her hand on my skin, hesitantly, as if I would burn her. Her hand found the crook of my elbow, as usual, and she got to her feet.

Maybe Delia was right that painting stirred up too many memories that hung just out of Thea’s reach. Outside, the heat was stifling, and Thea turned her face to the sun as she always did. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but Alonzo had warned against those types of questions. She had no way of knowing.

I took a chance.

“How are you today, M-Miss Hughes?”

“You can call me Thea,” she said. “And I’m… I don’t know. Tired. I’ve been away awhile and just got back. You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She raised her glance to study me. “You have kind eyes, Jim.”

“You can call me Jimmy. If you want.”

“Jimmy. Okay.”

We walked a few more steps in the quiet afternoon, where only the buzzing of insects and our feet on the gravel were the only sounds.

“It’s so quiet here,” Thea said. “Talk to me, Jimmy. Tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell,” I said. “I work here.”

Shit. There was no “here” for Thea. Only now.

“Here,” she said and glanced around at the green grounds and forest on the other side of the fence. “It’s pretty here.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Tell me more. Keep talking to me. Please.”

“I play guitar. And sing a little.”

I waited for her to break out of her sadness to demand I sing. Or listen to music. Instead, she nodded absently.

“What else?”

“I like helping people.”

Though I might be terrible at it.