Part 4
On Friday, Jonah paused in that empty doorway and looked for the platform. Gail kept her hands on the wheelchair handles, waiting for him to say whether he wanted to go farther in. Behind them, Ruth carried his overnight bag through the side entrance.
“You moved all of it,” he said.
“Most. The machine’s in the dining room.”
He looked at the bed, the lamp, his pencils on the little table. Gail had followed the positioning they had worked out with the rehabilitation team, leaving the necessary space clear. His old science-fiction poster was on the wall where a customer used to stand checking the back of her dress.
“Higher,” Jonah said, pointing at the poster.
“How much?”
“I’ll show you.”
She waited while he raised his hand. Ruth took his bag to the bed without commenting on the poster or the missing sewing table. For once, Gail was grateful that her sister could leave a moment alone.
The drive had tired him. Gail helped him settle using the transfers they had practiced with the staff, then put the leave instructions where she could find them. He was due back at Briar Ridge the following afternoon. It was one night, and already she had brought three extra towels into the room.
Ruth went home to collect Patch. While they waited, Jonah examined the pencil drawer and discovered that Gail had included a broken sharpener he had been intending to throw away. He said he could fix it, turned it over twice, and dropped it into the trash.
“Fixed,” he said.
Gail laughed. She was standing beside the bed when he asked her to move because she was blocking his view of the yard. She moved to the other side, where she could still reach him if he needed her.
Patch arrived with his bed, his food, and a bag containing more toys than Gail remembered owning. Ruth held him at the kitchen doorway until Jonah was settled and ready. Then she brought him in on the leash, allowing him to stop and inspect the unfamiliar arrangement.
He went first to the place where the cutting table had stood. He sniffed the wall, sneezed, and turned in a circle, confused by the amount of empty floor. Jonah called him over, and the dog came close enough for him to stroke the top of his head.
“You look homeless,” Jonah told him.
Patch put his nose against the mattress, searching for a way up. Ruth kept him on the floor while Gail moved his own bed within Jonah’s reach. She had washed its cover and repaired the split along one side, taking care to put the rough seam underneath.
He lay on it briefly. Jonah’s hand moved through the fur between his ears, and Gail recognized the impatient little scratch that meant he had found a place the dog liked. She went to the kitchen to get supper before she could spoil it by saying something.
Jonah ate half a grilled-cheese sandwich. Patch watched each bite from the doorway. When a piece of crust fell, Jonah asked Gail to pick it up before the dog could get it, and she did, relieved to have a request with a simple answer.
After supper Ruth took Patch outside. Gail helped Jonah get comfortable again and drew the curtain against the low sun. He asked for his headphones, then left them unused on the blanket, listening to the dog moving in the yard.
“He’ll sleep once Ruth goes,” Gail said.
Jonah didn’t answer. She checked the water beside his bed and smoothed a crease in the sheet. There was nothing wrong with the crease; she couldn’t seem to leave it alone.
When Ruth brought him back, Patch went toward the stairs. He had always followed Jonah up after supper, making impatient little sounds if the boy stopped to talk. Now he stood at the bottom step and looked upward, then came back through the hall.
Jonah called him. The dog approached, accepted a touch, and moved away again when Ruth shifted the wheelchair farther from the door. He circled his bed twice without settling.
“He thinks you’re going upstairs,” Gail said. “We’ll show him.”
She knelt beside the dog bed and patted it. Patch sat because she was asking him to do something, but his attention stayed on Ruth’s coat, hanging from the kitchen chair. Jonah watched Gail reach into the toy bag.
“Mom.”
“He’s just getting used to it.”
“Can he go with her tonight?”
Gail held a ragged rabbit by one ear. She had been expecting to wash the dishes while the two of them settled in this room. Later she would sit at the dining table, finish a small repair, and hear Jonah complaining that the dog had taken up too much space. She had carried that evening through every trip down the stairs with his belongings.
“We haven’t really given it a chance.”
Jonah put his headphones on without starting anything. He stared at the lamp she had brought down exactly as he requested. Gail could see the tension in his jaw, the effort of keeping the request from becoming an argument.
Ruth remained in the kitchen. She didn’t step in to correct either of them, and that left Gail without anybody to be angry with. Patch got up and went to drink from the bowl by the refrigerator.
“Just tonight?” Gail asked.
Jonah nodded, once.
She put the rabbit in the bag. Then she folded the spare blanket, collected the food, and called Ruth in to agree on the morning’s arrangements. Ruth could keep Patch; they would talk before any further visit. Nobody said forever.
Gail bent to zip the bag and had to try twice because a corner of the blanket was caught in it. Jonah watched her free it. She carried the bag outside and put it on the passenger seat of Ruth’s car.
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