Quake (eBook)

CHAPTER THREE

Sunshine Blues

A s he walked through the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport, Jean Carmelo noticed tall palm trees swaying on the other side of the thick windows. He headed outside. The humid heat smacked him right across his face. He walked over to a dark-skinned man standing by a booth with a round black-and-white checkered logo. The man asked him if he needed a cab. Jean Carmelo nodded and told him he was going to Tamarac.

The man motioned to one of his co-workers, who drove up to the curb in a white cab. The driver opened the trunk, and Jean Carmelo shoved his bags in and got inside the car. Calming himself, he looked around as they drove off.

“Where are you going?” the driver asked.

“I’m going to 3624 Spring Drive, right off of University,” Jean Carmelo said.

He partook in some small talk with the cab driver, originally from Russia, who said he’d lived in New York as well.

They turned off of the main road onto the wide streets of his parents’ retirement neighborhood. The area looked familiar, especially because Jean Carmelo had been there numerous times. No matter how many times he had visited, it was difficult to navigate directly to the address. Each neat suburban house appeared the same. Even more so now that it was dark outside. Community laws dictated that all houses be painted white. Every house was practically the same size, and their front and backyards had barely any variations.

After the cab pulled up at his parents’ house, Jean Carmelo stepped out and retrieved his bags from the trunk. When his mom opened the door, he smiled and bent down to embrace her.

“How are you, Ma?”

“I’m so happy to see you, son,” she said, gently rubbing his bald head.

As they hugged, he looked over her shoulder and caught his father’s eye. Jules, wearing a white collared shirt, was sitting at the far end of the table with a happy, blank expression. It was the same look he’d had a year ago when Jean Carmelo came to visit after his father’s stroke. Although Jules was physically able to stand up by using a cane and could stride slowly without one, he remained seated. Clearly his dad had not made much progress.

Jean Carmelo walked over to him and extended his right hand. Jules labored to lift his arm, indicating some slight discomfort. They shook hands, and hugged. Jean Carmelo couldn’t help but think about their almost-daily telephone conversations. His encouragement hadn’t done much of anything to motivate his father to improve his condition. He wanted his father to understand that the determining factor in recovery would come from his effort.

“How have you been?” Jean Carmelo asked.

“So far, so good,” Jules replied.

“How was your flight?” Rose asked.

“Both airports were packed! There wasn’t an empty seat on board. Not much turbulence in the air though, and the landing was cool,” Jean Carmelo said. As fatigued as he was, he didn’t want to show it.

Rose stood across from him on the other side of the stainless steel kitchen sink. “How are you? Did you get taller?”

“No, Ma, no one grows taller after thirty.” He laughed.

“Are you sure? Well, it’s good to have you here with us.”

“I love that we’re all here together right now,” he said.

“You look like you’ve been exercising a lot.”

“Yes, some days I don’t feel like doing anything, but I always feel much better once I get started,” Jean Carmelo said.

He wanted to avoid sounding like a late night infomercial, but he also wanted to subtly nudge Jules, who had yet to move from his chair. Jean Carmelo noticed that his father didn’t seem interested in joining their discussion. Jules’s ability to remember just about anything had declined tremendously in the last few years. He was demonstrating the preliminary stages of Alzheimer’s disease. Combined with his deep-rooted reluctance to engage in physical activities, his chances for a full recovery were slim.

The next morning Jean Carmelo got up before the sun rose. In his boxer shorts and white T-shirt, he walked to the kitchen to grab a cup of cold, filtered water from the refrigerator. After nursing the cup for a half hour or so, he began his push-ups. The routine was his way of increasing his blood flow and proving to a higher power that he deserved to see another day.

Soon after, Rose made her way into the kitchen. “You see? I knew I heard the sound of Bigfoot.”

“Good morning, Mom.” Jean Carmelo smiled.

“Before you came last night, I tried printing the tickets for the plane. I don’t think the printer is good. Do you know how to fix it?”

“Sure, I can look at it. But the only things we’ll need are our passports and driver’s licenses… unless we’re able to print boarding passes.”

“I don’t know, maybe the ink is finished,” she said. “If you have time, there’s the drug store on University. You know the one. They can refill it.”

Minutes later, Jules got out of bed, allowing muscle memory to direct him to the dining room chair. He wore a distant expression with a half a smile. He waited to be fed breakfast or for someone to bring him the newspaper. Jean Carmelo was on the computer, troubleshooting issues with the printer. Rose sat on a stool with her medical supplies spread out on the counter. She squeezed a drop of blood from her finger onto a test strip before placing it in a meter. A beep came from the small machine.

Jean Carmelo looked over at her. “Are you all right over there?”

“This morning it reads 130,” she said, her face uncertain.

“Was it that high yesterday?” he asked.

“No. I don’t remember eating anything that would raise it so high.”

“We’ll keep an eye on what you’re eating today and see if we can figure something out.”

“Yes, doctor,” she joked.

Thick weeds of inactivity continued to grow underneath Jules’s feet as he sat still and stared into space. Jean Carmelo knew that his father’s current routine was counterproductive to progress, and he wanted to do what he could to help his father change for the better, at least for while he was there.

He walked over to Jules. “Good morning, Dad!”

“Good morning, my son,” he replied with a smile.

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Very well, no problems.”

“Sometime this morning, I’m going to go for a walk. Would you like to join me?” Jean Carmelo rubbed his hands together.

“No, I go walking every day. I have no choice.” Jules re-plied.

Jean Carmelo knew his father’s idea of “walking” was taking a dozen or so steps to the next available chair. He made a concerted effort to watch his father’s physical movements and listen to his speech patterns.

When Jules didn’t see the newspaper on the dining room table where Rose usually put it, he asked Jean Carmelo where it was. The night before, Jean Carmelo had asked Rose to move the paper while he was there because Jules would make a minimal effort to search for it if it wasn’t in the same place each morning. Jean Carmelo suggested that they go together to search for the newspaper.

“I paid money for the paper, and I don’t see it!” Jules snapped, adjusting his glasses.

Jean Carmelo was pleased to catch a glimpse of the man he’d known while growing up. He had a purpose and seemed determined. Jean Carmelo calmly replied, “I know. That’s why I want to help you find it now.”

Pretending not to hear them, Rose stood in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. She knew that Jean Carmelo had put the newspaper on the leather sofa in the Florida room. Jean Carmelo watched his father use the cane to help himself up off the chair. The right side of his body had been severely affected by the stroke, and he had only regained partial movement. When he was up, Jean Carmelo instructed Jules to leave his cane there.

Jules barked, “What do you want me to do, fall?”

For the past three years, he had been arguing with medical personnel and anyone else who would listen, telling them he couldn’t do things. He would say it with such conviction that if one didn’t know any better, they would believe him. In actuality, he was able to walk without a cane as long as he kept his head up and wasn’t distracted or attempting to walk too fast.

“I’m right here, and I won’t let you fall,” Jean Carmelo reassured.

Jules looked Jean Carmelo in the eye and put his cane to the side. They proceeded to move from the dining room with Jean Carmelo standing in front, facing him. Jean Carmelo used hand gestures to remind Jules to keep his head facing forward and shoulders back. Jules kept his hands by his sides, clenched tight.

“Open up your hands,” Jean Carmelo calmly instructed, trying not to derail his progress with negative thoughts. “Keep them open in order to grab hold of something if you lose your balance.”

Jules could move his left foot easily, but he labored to drag the right foot along. Jean Carmelo could practically see Jules’s brain working to absorb information while adjusting to the change in scenery. Jules obviously hadn’t...