Lunch with Laurie

My eyes open all by themselves. I didn't want to wake up, no alarm had gone off, it was still dark outside, which was only natural considering it was before six on a November morning.

I had no reason to be up, but after years of early starts, I couldn’t sleep a wink after six. I rubbed my eyes, frustrated that long lazy lay-ins, the only benefit of being redundant, were denied me. I rolled over and stretch my hand across the wide expanse of empty bed to check my phone. No messages, not even a, 'Thanks but no thanks,' from any of the dozens of job applications I'd had sent out.

"Face facts, Laurie," I said to myself. "Nobody wants you." I never imagined I'd find myself here, searching for a job at fifty-one years of age. I'm a middle-aged woman now, how the hell did that happen? It was only last week that I was a teenager, heading out into the big bad world, with nothing but dreams in my bag. My life seemed to happen all too quickly. Two teenage boys, over two decades in a job, one marriage and one divorce.

I threw off the covers and put my bare toes on the freezing floor. I hadn't turned on the heat, I was trying to save the last few gallons of fuel for Christmas. Seeing as I was a wake, I may as well get some coffee inside me. It was too early to wake the boys, so I checked my e-mails in case a job offer had come through. I’m a nurse, at least I had been one. Can you still call yourself a nurse if you’ve nobody to look after?

I worked at the Community Health Centre in town since I graduated nursing college. I’d never known another job and never imagined they would close the place down. They said it was economically unviable. Since when did growing old have to be viable? I was working there when I married Mikey. It was my wage that got us the mortgage to buy this house. It’s old, and it’s huge. Even back then I told Mikey it was too big. He said it was an investment for the future. Ha! If I’d know how quick he was going to run out on me, I would have told him where to stick his investment. The only good thing he left me were my boys.

That’s my past in a nutshell. Now, I’m trapped in this half-done house, with no money to finish it. I'd applied for jobs all over the place; Greenburg, Youngstown, you name it, anyplace within a hundred miles. They were all either fully staffed or looking for someone younger. I looked at the hand gripping my mug and felt pain radiating up from it. Arthritis. Most people couldn’t tell, but hospital interviewers would spot it a mile away. What good is a nurse that couldn’t hold a needle or fill out a medicine chart? Sure, I could manage now, but what would they do with me in five years’ time? Nobody wanted to take the chance of being lumbered with an invilid.

I sipped my coffee and wallowed in resentment. The government didn't care about people like me, except for election time, then they cared. But not when you needed help, or were looking for way out of bother. Then they turned their backs and hoped you'd go away, or die. It was a blow to me, when the centre closed, but I still believed back then, believed things would work out alright. If I didn’t have savings to fall back on, we would have starved.

I hated thinking about these things, it was like poison in my mind. I sipped my coffee again, but it was cold. I dumped the dregs down the sink and set about starting yet another day of uselessness.

***

Once the boys were on their way to school, I wrapped up warm, filled a thermos with coffee, and walked the short distance to the Mini Mart. I was going to catch the bus into Youngstown. I'd an interview with a temp agency, it was my last hope. I rubbed my hands and stamped my feet to stay warm as I waited. It hadn’t snowed yet, but it was coming. When the bus arrived, I counted out my coins and paid the fare. I missed having a car so much but that was another luxury culled by my finances. Without it, I was even less employable.

Two bus rides later, I’d notched up my twenty-fifth job refusal. God almighty, it was emptying bedpans and giving medication, not heart surgery. What was wrong with these people? Petty bureaucrats in their Wall-mart suits playing with people’s lives. I felt like going postal on the lot of them. The bus rocked, as if it was trying to console me. I felt miserable and devoid of hope. I could see nothing in front of me except the possibility of becoming homeless. They made me redundant and now that word defined me.

As I got off the bus, an old man stepped out of the Mini-Mart. He wore a black hat, a long coat and tapped his way down the icy steps with a cane. In his hand he balanced a bag of groceries. On the second last step, his cane skidded and the man tumbled to the frozen ground. I rushed over, my training overcoming my foul humour, and hunkered down at his side.

"Are you okay?" I asked, helping him to sit up.

He looked about him, as if he'd just woken up in this exact spot. He patted his arms and legs, testing for damage before nodding and said, "Nothing broken, this time."

"Let me help you up," I said, laying the empty thermos on the ground. Slowly, the old man got to his feet. He was as light as a bird and my fingers felt how thin his arm was, despite several layers of clothes. I retrieved the man’s cane, and made sure he was steady on his feet, before releasing my grip.

"My humble thanks for your assistance, Madam," he said, doffing his cap in a very old-fashioned way.

"Don't be silly, it's nothing. I'll get your groceries." I retrieved the spilled provisions. The man had nothing but microwave dinners and potato chips in the bag.

"I hope you're eating more than this?" I said.

"Pardon?"

"I hope you are eating proper food. Do you cook?" I knew I was sounding like a battle-axe matron, but good nutrition was the key to good health. I guess it was ingrained in me after all those years of nursing. The man looked at me and it occurred to me that I might have upset him. His mood seemed to dim.

"Mrs Goldbloom did all the cooking in our house. Sadly, the stove has been idle for years. But I have mastered the art of nuclear cuisine." he said, and it was easy to see that it was the lady he missed, not her cooking.

"Your wife?" I asked, and as I did, It occurred to me I was prying into a life I didn’t know.

"She was my queen, Dear Lady. A soul so beautiful, that God couldn't be without her." A tiny tear moistened the wrinkles framing his cheerful eyes. The two emotions were juxtaposed. Cheerfulness and heartbreak in one moment.

"You have a very unusual way of speaking, Mr Goldbloom. I like it," I said in an attempt to repair the pain my prying had caused.

"Why, thank you, My Lady," he said, taking off his cap to perform a deep bow, which was only made sweeter when he had difficulty straightening up again. I had to laugh. He was a wrinkly old charmer.

"It's been so long since I've encountered a true gentleman,” I said, copying his bow and way of talking. “Might I be so bold as to ask you to share luncheon, if you have no prior engagements?” The invitation was partly out of concern for his eating habits and partly due to my loneliness.

"I wouldn't like to impose," he said in a way that told me he suspected charity.

"You're doing me the favour. I hate to eat alone," I said, taking hold of his arm and guided him the few blocks to my house.

"You have a lovely house Mrs..?" he said, kindly overlooking the half-finished maintenance and the cold.

“Just, Laurie,” I said as I ducked into the cellar to turn on the heat. When I got back, he was still wearing his coat. I helped him off with it and hung it on a hook in the hall. “It was my husband who picked this place, and now I’m stuck with it. It will heat up soon, Mr Goldbloom. Why not sit in the kitchen with me while I get things started?"

We talked about his life and Mrs Goldbloom. He told me how they'd met. He described their first dance, the day he proposed to her, and the day he lost her. It was a gripping story and I didn’t feel the time pass as I cooked. He was a natural storyteller and when I checked my watch and it was nearly three thirty.

"The kids will be home soon, I'd better get a move on," I said and Mr Goldbloom got to his feet.

"Today has been a delight, My Dear. Could I trouble you to get my coat from the hall? I retrieved it for him and helped him get it on. I walked him to the door and handed him his groceries, in a new bag, which he tucked under his arm.

"Will you be okay getting home?" I asked him.

"Perfectly, My Dear. Thank you again for a wonderful day."

"We must do it again," I said with a smile.

"What about tomorrow?" he asked. I was taken by surprise, but covered it well.

"Sure, About one?" I stammered, feeling only a tiny bit railroaded.

"Fantastic, till tomorrow," he said, doffing his cap and tap tapping his way down the driveway.

I closed the door feeling I’d done something useful at last. I had a warm glow of fulfilment inside when I turned off the heating and pulled on a second jumper. I still had an hour before the boys got home from school, plenty of time to get the kitchen cleaned up. When I picked up Mr Goldbloom's plate, a twenty-dollar bill fluttered to the ground. I picked up the note and was tempted to run after him, but need kept me still. I felt tears come and did nothing to stop them.

The following day, just shy of one, the doorbell chimed and I rushed to it. On the stoop was Mr Goldbloom, with an even older man standing at his shoulder.

"I know this is beyond naughty, Ms Laurie, but my friend Andy heard about our assignation and I couldn’t dissuade him from coming along. He said the saint I described could not exist in Ohio. I hope you don't mind?"

I blushed and stood to one side, allowing the men enter.

"Come on in, Andy," I said, happily. The complement was the nicest thing anyone had said to me in ages.  

"If this is putting you out, you just got to say," said Andy, his deep voice belaying his slight size.

"No trouble at all, Andy. There’s plenty to go around."

"What has our cherub prepared for us today? asked Mr Goldbloom, hanging his coat on a hook. The house was warm because I had turned on the heat at twelve.

"Pumpkin soup, followed by pot roast, with apple pie for desert."

"Heaven, My Dear. Heaven," said Mr Goldbloom, clapping his hands and taking his place at the table.

Mr Goldbloom and Andy were like naughty schoolboys. They laughed and joked their way through the meal, making me feel like a teenager for a while. When the lunch was over, and it was time to go home, Mr Goldbloom asked me to fetch his coat. This time I was ready for him. When I came back, I helped him on with his coat then lifted his plate. The twenty-dollar bill was where, as I thought it would be.

"Mr Goldbloom, there's no need for that. You're my guest," I said holding out the note. The old man's features grew serous.

"Please don't, you'll ruin it."

"Ruin it?"

He drew me to one side. "I'd spend that, and more, on junk in the Mini-Mart and have nothing but rubbish in my belly. This way I get real food and the warmth of your companionship. More than that, it gave me a reason to look forward to the day. I'm not a man without means, Laurie. If you make me take it back, I won’t be able to return.”

His face said he was completely determined and I did want him to come again. I wanted to feel needed, to feel valued. I slipped the note into my pocket and he smiled. He kissed me on the cheek and turned to Andy, "Shall we go, my friend?" Andy nodded and the men walked toward the front door. Mr Goldbloom stopped and turned.

"Laurie?"

"Yes. Mr Goldbloom?"

"Same time tomorrow?"

I smiled, "Don't be late."

When I cleared the table, I was shocked to find another twenty under Andy's plate. Forty dollars paid for the whole meal, twice. I held the bills in my hands and felt hope for the first time in ages. The world, apparently, wasn't completely unkind.

The following day, Mr Goldbloom and Andy returned for lunch. The day after that, a third person joined the group. Mrs Casey. As the days went by, the lunch time crew grew exponentially. Soon, I was serving lunch in two sittings. My front room became an unofficial community centre. I so looked forward to answering the door each day; greeting smiling people, and enjoying a few hours of good company, laughter, and home cooking. Under each plate I'd find a note. Sometimes a five, mostly tens, Mr Goldbloom and Andy always left twenty. At the end of the month, I'd no problem meeting the mortgage payment and had enough left over to fill the oil tank.

One lunch-time, Mr Goldbloom didn’t show up. I asked Andy if he knew what had happened.

"No idea. I was wondering the same thing myself. I know his phone number," he said.

We dialled the number, and listened, but the phone rang out.

"Do you know where his house is?" I asked Andy.

"Sure, do you think we should go over?"

"It can't do any harm and I'd feel better," I said. I finished cleaning the kitchen while Andy said cheerio to the last of the lunch time gang. Ten minutes later we were on Mr Goldbloom’s porch. There was no answer and no lights.

"He must be out," said Andy

"I'm going to have a look around, "I said, circling the house and peering through the windows. In the kitchen I saw an upturned chair and a foot peeking out from behind the breakfast island.

"Oh God, no!" I said, hammering on the door but the ankle didn't move. I pulled out my phone and dialled 911, giving the address and telling the officer what I could see. The squad car arrived in minutes, New Middletown is only a small community. The officer ran around the back and after one quick knock he used his night stick to break the glass.

We rushed across the kitchen, my first look told me Mr Goldbloom was alive, but the gash on his head and the weird angle of his arm, said he was far from good.  The ambulance arrived, and soon Mr Goldbloom was racing the thirty minutes to Youngstown hospital.

In the days that followed, I found out that Mr Goldbloom had been standing on a chair to get something from a shelf when he fell, hitting his head on the breakfast island. Mr Goldbloom broke his arm in the fall, but otherwise, he was making a good recovery. I took the bus to Youngstown and found Mr Goldbloom sitting up in his bed. He looked so tiny when he wasn't wrapped in five layers of clothes.

"How're you doing?" I asked, placing a bag of fruit and some magazines on his bedside table.

"It appears I'm still wanted here, despite my mountain climbing tendencies. I think I'll attempt abseiling next."

"It's no laughing matter, you gave me and Andy such a fright. We thought you were dead, seeing you lying on the floor like that."

"You weren't the only one, My Dear," he said, a little more seriously.

"Well, at least you're in one piece. When are you getting out of here?"

"Friday."

"Where are you going to stay?"

"At home, where else."

"You can’t stay alone. You won't be able to look after yourself. Have you any relatives you could stay with?"

"None that I want to stay with, or who'd be glad of my presence."

"What about a nursing home?"

"You sound like my doctor now."

"Don't forget, I was a nurse. We think the same ways. A nursing home while you’re getting better is not such a bad place to be."

"Do you know how much they cost?"

"A bit, I’m sure."

"Nine hundred dollars, a week. A WEEK! Imagine that. It would be cheaper to check into the Ritz."

"God that is a lot. Surely there must be less expensive ones."

"Perhaps if you've got insurance. I've money, but nothing like that. I'll just have to get by on my own. It’s only a broken arm after all."

"I'll call in and make sure you're okay."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Sure you can. What are friends for?"

"No seriously That's taking charity and I'm not a charity case, never have been, never will be."

"Sush! Stop talking rubbish, I'll call on you and that is that."

Mr Goldbloom looked serous, and not happy, but he didn't argue any more. We talked about the lunch time gang and I filled him in on all the gossip. As I sat chatting with Mr Goldbloom, in a setting I'd previously found comfortable, I became aware of the hissing and beeping machines, the incessant passing of people, busy with tasks, while patients lay helpless in their midst. It was the first time I realised how terrifying hospital could be. I saw that fear hidden in the eyes of Mr Goldbloom, as we discussed mundane occurrences, and I felt for him. The hour flew by and it was soon time to catch my bus home. I was putting on my coat when he made his proposal.

"There would be one way I'd agree to you helping take care of me."

“And what way is that?"

"If you worked for me, officially."

"Don't be silly were friends."

"Yes, we are, which would make this arrangement all the more pleasant. Please hear me out and consider my proposition. As you rightly point out, I'm in need of some medical care, you're a nurse who is currently without position. I propose that I'd stay in my own home, where you can call on me, making sure I'm taking all the right pills. Perhaps some light house work. In return I shall pay you for your time. Let’s say twenty-five dollars an hour."

"Twenty-five dollars an hour is far too much."

"Nonsense, My Dear, it's a bargain compared to nine hundred dollars a week for a single bed in Gods waiting room. I just ask you to consider it. If my terms are agreeable, I'll be home about three on Friday."

I smiled at the funny old man, and the way he pretended to doff his invisible cap, as I left his room. On the long bus ride home, I could only see good in his proposal. That's why I was waiting on his porch when his taxi arrived on Friday. I had his boiler running and the house was toasty. I’d changed the sheets on his bed, and had a pot of broth warming on his stove. I gave him my arm and accompanied him up the snow specked path.

***

That all happened last year. Mr Goldbloom now lives with me and my boys, along with Mrs Casey. The lunch time crew is a fantastic success, and with the money it makes, I have been able to get pay my friend Mary to help with the cooking. This allows me more time to concentrate on my new business. Home Nursing. I have a list of clients I call to each day, making sure they are well looked after. I charge what they can afford and no more. Its more than a job, it’s my place in the world. The truth is, they help me just as much as I help them. When they opened their doors to me, they rekindled hope in my heart. And hope is the best medicine of all.