an excerpt from the novel Sufficient Grace

Ed waits in the open area of Four North.  Vivian has marched around him twice, well it was a kind of strut more than a march.  But it wasn’t pure march and it wasn’t pure strut.  What it was was disconcerting.  Clarence is nowhere to be seen today and Frank, the new patient, is sitting quietly watching CNN.  Frank looks like any normal guy probably in his forties, except for the dark circles under his eyes, which Ed now knows can come from medication.

            Vivian makes another pass around Ed, then marches straight up in front of him, stops, and salutes.  “Did you know that I have never had a marching lesson in my life?” she asks.

            “No?  You march very well.”

            “God tells me how to march.  Yesterday he told me to pull the fire alarm and teach the firemen how to march.”

            “That must have been exciting,” Ed says.  The firemen and hospital staff must have loved that. 

            “I marched forward and backward and in a circle.  God taught me to do that.  He wanted me to teach them.  I’m really a Marine.  They don’t know it though.”

            “Who?”

            “The Marines.”  Vivian does a rough about face and marches, struts, away from Ed and up to Frank.  She salutes Frank and then makes a right face and continues on out of sight. 

            “Just visit with her,” Dr. Post had said.  “Just talk to her as if she isn’t sick and see how she responds.”  He made it sound so easy.  Ed waits.  Ed waits and watches Frank watch CNN.

            The sun is going down and coming in the windows of the open area.  It blinds Ed and he can’t see any shades to pull.  There’s only a large empty cornice across the top of the windows.  The sun strikes a perfect position and the entire open area is a ball of fire.  Gracie enters from the same hallway Vivian left by.  She walks over to stand in front of Ed, but to one side so that the light remains in his eyes.  Ed can see her and not see her.  It’s like she is a heavenly body, partially eclipsing the sun.  Ed remembers Mr. Cobb, his high school science teacher.  Mr. Cobb said watching an eclipse was dangerous.  Gracie doesn’t say anything when she walks up.   Ed puts his hand up to shade his eyes and tries to make out her features.  He tries to recognize her.  Just talk to her like she isn’t sick. 

            “Hi there!” Ed squints in her direction.  “Sit down.  I brought you some pound cake.”

            Gracie sits in the chair beside him.  Ed turns to face her and holds one hand up to block out the light.  He wants to see her better.  He hands her two pieces of pound cake wrapped in Stretch-Tite.  Gracie takes the cake and opens it.  She smells it and then sits it down on the table beside her.  She flicks her fingers into the air and licks her lips.  Ed notices then that her lips are dry and a little pasted up with something white and that her mouth stays a little open.  He wonders what’s happened to the tight line of a mouth he has become so used to.

            “How are you, Gracie?”

            “All right.  But I’m not Gracie.  I’m Rachel.  I was Gracie, but now I’m Rachel.”

            “I see,” says Ed. 

            “What do you see?” Gracie asks.

            “I see.  I understand you want to change your name.”

            “I didn’t change it.  God had Tootsie Mae change it.”

            “I see.”

            “What do you see?”

            “Nothing.”  Ed closes his hands together and lets them rest between his knees.

            “The drawings you made on the walls, the Jesuses, they were pretty good.”

            “I’ve moved on.”

            “Moved on from Jesuses?”

            “No, walls.  I’ve moved on to car parts.  Do you think you can get me some car parts?  I need big ones.  Fenders would be good.  Trunk lids would be better.”

            “Why do you want car parts?” 

            “The voices.  They aren’t talking to me, and it’s because of the car parts.  I ran out of car parts.”

            “What do the voices sound like?” Ed asks.

            “Just voices.  God.”

            “Is it always God?”

            “I can’t tell you.”

            “Why not?” 

The sun drops lower and the light changes.  It is softer, more golden.

            “Because if you were supposed to know, He would tell you.” 

Frank stands up across the room and goes down the hallway toward the patients’ rooms.  Clarence steps out of a door to the left of the open area.  He rubs his head over and over.  Gracie stands up. 

“I have to go now.  They’re going to give us pills and supper.”  Gracie takes the cake from the table and wraps it tightly in its plastic wrap.  “Take this back with you.”

            “Don’t you want it?  It’s lemon pound cake.  You like that, don’t you?”

            “Gracie did.  But I don’t.  I’m not Gracie.  I’m Rachel.”

            “I see.”

            “What do you see?”

            “Nothing.  Nothing.”

            “If I eat it, I’ll be under your spell.  I can’t risk it.  I’m sorry.  I can’t risk it.  I am Rachel, Queen of the Fairies, and I can’t eat what you offer.”

            Ed thinks about giving Gracie a hug, but Rachel doesn’t look like she wants one.

            “Good-bye,” she says and turns and walks down the hallway that Vivian and Frank and Clarence have already taken.

            Ed picks up the pound cake and walks to the nurses station.  A nurse who looks Korean glances up at Ed and speaks with a southern accent.  “Did you have a good visit?”

            “Yes, thank you.”  Nothing is what it seems, Ed thinks.  “Will you please open the door?  I’m ready to leave now.” Ed almost offers her the cake.

            “Sure, honey.  Have a nice night.”   She pushes a button and the buzzer sounds.  Ed walks through the door with the cake still in his hand and takes the elevator to the ground floor.  He walks outside into the settling dusk and sits on a concrete bench that serves as a cab stand.  A cab driver sits at the other end of the bench reading the paper, waiting for a fare.

            “You need a ride, mister?” he asks Ed.  He is a black man with a ponytail sticking out from under a fishing hat.  The hat is loaded with buttons and pins and the ponytail sticks straight out from beneath it, like a bushy fish’s tail.  He holds the paper between the tips of his fingers and his palms. Ed notices the cabby’s arthritic hands.  His thumbs curl out like question marks. 

            “No, I don’t need a ride.  Thanks though.  My truck’s in the parking lot.”  Ed unwraps the pound cake.  “I’m just taking a load off.”

“You got that right,” says the cab driver.  “I need a customer, but I sure do enjoy the peacefulness of sitting here reading the paper and watching the sun go down.”

“You want a piece of cake?  I’ve got two.”

The cab driver looks at the cake.

“I made it for my wife.  She’s a patient here.  But she didn’t feel like eating it.  Have some.  It’s lemon.”

“I don’t mind if I do.  Thank you.”  The cab driver takes the slightly mashed piece on the top and puts a bite in his mouth.  “Mmm.  You made this?” He sounds surprised.

“I did.  I’m learning to cook.”

“I’d say you’ve learned already.  This is some good cake, man.”  The cab driver takes another bite. “Mmm mmm mmm.”

Ed eats a morsel from the piece left in his hand.  It is buttery sweet and melts in his mouth.  He’ll make a pot of coffee when he gets home.  He’ll have some cake for supper.  Maybe the whole cake.  Then he’ll take Ginger and Wally their dessert for the week.  It’s an experiment.  Macadamia nut blondies with chocolate sauce.  He calls them million dollar cookies. 

A woman comes up to the cab driver. “Is that your cab?” She tilts her head at the yellow Chevrolet with black lettering.  Her hands are full of brown paper bags from Kroger.  They are full of clothes.  She has a vase of three pink roses tucked under her arm.

“Yes ma’am.” The cab driver licks the cake crumbs from his fingers.  “I’m just having a little cake with my friend here.”

“Can you give me a ride to the Ramada Inn?”

“Glad to.  Glad to.”

“Do you think it will be more than five dollars a trip?”

The cab driver looks at the paper bags.  “You are in luck.  Today I’m running a motel ride special.  Any motel in town, three dollars one-way.”  The woman lets out a sigh of relief.

The cab driver tips his hat to Ed.  “Thanks for the cake, man.   Hope your wife gets better soon.”  Then he takes one of the lady’s brown bags, opens the back door of the cab for the woman, hands her the bags after she slides her thin dry legs up and into the cab, and closes the door behind her. 

As the cab eases slowly around the pick-up circle in front of the hospital, Ed finishes his lemon pound cake and thinks about Parva Wilson.  He remembers her broad bottom hanging in the air over the soles of her sensible shoes and her red glasses on the end of her nose and he laughs.  He can’t help it.  He sits on the concrete bench, alone, eating cake, and feels light hearted at the thought of Parva Wilson.