Love Their Neighbor

Note to readers: The Wedding Gift has been removed since it was submitted for publication. However, if you would like to read it, please email contact me through this site or my FB page.

Annie John was the only person whose phone number Denise had set to a sinister ringtone. Pastor Frank had introduced them a month ago following Sunday service. Almost instantly, Denise felt uncomfortable — that same feeling as when the doctor walks into the exam room, avoids looking a patient in the eye and slumps into the chair with a sigh.

The pastor described Annie as “a good Christian woman.” Denise noticed the slight hesitation in his voice, as if he knew he was lying but was trying to convince himself otherwise. “She is a nurse, but she just lost her job. And since your mother is on hospice, Denise, I thought you two should meet.”

Pastor Frank said he hoped it was all right with Denise that he had shared information about her mother.

“Oh, I am sure she won’t mind,” Annie replied, directing her attention to the pastor. “She seems like such a nice lady. I already feel a connection with her and her mother.” 

Turning to Denise, Annie said, “I can come over to take care of your mother.”

Denise’s eyes widened, and she shifted her weight from one foot to another, wanting to accept help, but not from the woman in front of her. Annie’s tone of familiarity made Denise nervous. There is something off about this woman. Maybe time will tell, but in the meantime, I don’t think having her in my house is a good idea, she thought.  

 

“Denise, our Lord knows your troubles,” the pastor interjected. “Trust him when he sends you help.”

“But, Pastor Frank, you know that Ma can be picky. Besides, Ma’s caregiver will return in a couple of weeks, I think.”  

 

“I am sure your mom will love me,” insisted Annie. “Almost everybody who knows me does.” 

As much as she wanted to believe in God’s will, Denise did not like having a stranger foisted into her life. 

Annie grabbed Denise’s hand, pried open her palm, and thrust a business card in it before hurriedly leaving. Denise inspected the card made of quality glossy purple paper with gold foil accents. It read, “Annie John, RN, BSN, Nurse, and Entrepreneur.”

 

“I know you don’t think this is a good idea, Denise, but Annie is willing to work practically for free,” said Pastor Frank.

“I am running low on funds,” replied Denise, “but let me think about it for a couple of days.”

 

 When her doorbell rang later that evening, Denise was shocked to find Annie, who quickly stepped inside.

Without attempting to explain her presence, Annie turned to the older woman who wheeled herself into the living room.

“You must be Ma. I have heard SO much about you! We are going to get along so well,” said Annie, pulling down her mask.

“You can keep your mask off. I don’t care. I am not going to wear some stupid mask on top of my oxygen,” Ma responded.

“What happened to the election sign that was in your yard last week?” asked Annie.

“Oh, some vandals!” said Denise, who was secretly glad it was gone and politely refused to oblige her mother with a new one. Suspicion skittered through Denise’s mind. This woman does not live in our neighborhood. Why is she so familiar with our yard sign?

 

“Sign, or no sign, I am going to vote for the President come November 3rd, said Ma. “I agreed to go on for hospice only because the doctor said I would die before Election Day if I chose more chemo.”

 

“I think you are a smart woman, and you make smart choices. Would you like me to wheel you around the neighborhood?” asked Annie, positioning herself behind the wheelchair and releasing the brakes.

 

“Annie, wait, I think we should talk about your payment. I can’t afford to pay much now. Ma’s other caregiver needed two months’ salary in advance because of her family situation,” said Denise.

“Don’t worry,” replied Annie as she turned and hastily waved before steering the wheelchair, oxygen tank, and Denise’s mother out the front door and down the ramp. 

 

Denise watched Annie wheel Ma back and forth along the neighborhood sidewalk. They did not go too far, just a few houses on either side. Annie was regaling her mother with tales that Ma seemed to be enjoying. 

 

 

Ma had weighed more than three hundred pounds when diagnosed with cancer a year ago, but the disease had whittled her down to half of that. Still, it was no easy task to take her out for a wheelchair ride. The oxygen tank’s tubing had a penchant for getting tangled in the wheels or shrubs bordering the sidewalk. With Ma’s usual caregiver, a young college girl, the rides were twice weekly. The girl had tripped and fallen on the sidewalk more than once. Fortunately, Denise’s neighbor, Dr. Stephan, was a surgeon, and his wife, Carissa, an emergency medical technician. They had tended to the caregiver’s bruises and later left a first-aid box just below their mailbox in case she fell and hurt herself again.

 

Half an hour later, Ma and Annie returned. A hint of rosiness had replaced Ma’s sallow appearance. The fresh air seemed to do her some good.

“Denise, did you know about laptop story? Annie was telling me things the fake news won’t report….”

 

Denise glared at Annie. She did not want anyone aggravating Ma with ridiculous tales in the final days of her life.

 

A month went by. Ma’s liking for Annie rose as sharply as Denise’s dislike for her grew. On several occasions, Denise attempted to determine why Annie lost her job or what business ventures she had embarked upon. Annie’s answers were always vague, but they all had a theme.

“I get excluded because I am a good Christian woman who supports our President,” or “It seems these days it’s not fashionable to stand up for family values.”

Denise was able to glean that Annie was divorced and had recently dated two men she met online. Twice in the last year, she had announced she was getting married on social media. Each time she withdrew the posting days later. The first man claimed his divorce had not been finalized. The second prospective fiancé was considering getting a divorce but still loved his wife and kids. He had joined the dating website just to know what was “out there.” He topped it off with, “I didn’t value what I had at home. Now I know. Thank you for saving my marriage.”

“The Bible says being a good wife is the duty of a woman, and a good Christian woman must find a husband,” was all Annie would say.

 

Later that evening, Denise called Ma’s regular caregiver, asking when she would return. Not until after the election, she was told. 

Denise’s hope that Annie could be let go immediately was crushed like a beetle under a steamroller. 

The next morning the sinister ringtone sounded. Denise shuddered, took a deep breath, then forced herself to be polite. Annie had not shown up at her usual time. Perhaps, she was running late and wanted to apologize. 

 

“Hi, Denise,” Annie said, emphasizing the greeting in an annoying, smug tone. “I thought we should talk about payment. I think twenty dollars an hour is standard, so that would make it a thousand dollars for the past month. And my Google map app shows that I spent fifty hours in your neighborhood, so I have an electronic log for hours. I will come by later to pick up the cash.” 

 

“A thousand? I can’t afford that,” said Denise, stunned. “That is much more than what I was paying Ma’s regular gal.” 

“Yes, but I helped in an emergency, so my rate is higher. Did you not know that?”

“Listen, Annie, that is too much,” Denise pleaded. “Let me check with Ma to see if she can afford to pay you. She has some money saved.” 

“Okay, let me know. I have just sent you my invoice by FedEx.” 

The phone went dead, but its sinister ringtone continued to play in Denise’s head.

Denise wondered if she should talk to Pastor Frank, who might persuade Annie to be reasonable. Or perhaps she should tear up the campaign donation check Ma had asked her to mail a week ago. Caregiver expenses were the bigger priority.

 

     What if she did not pay Annie at all? Or only pay the minimum wage? They had not agreed to a rate either verbally or in writing.

 

“Was that Annie?” Ma’s voice was feeble and cracked.

 

“You look unwell, Ma. Let me call hospice.”

“Maybe I should go to the hospital. I think I have a fever. You think it could be COVID?”

Denise’s face drained of all color. She checked Ma’s forehead. There were beads of sweat, but she did not think she had a fever.

The hospice nurse was polite but strongly urged Denise not to take Ma to the hospital. 

“Even if she has COVID, they will not treat her with anything beyond supportive medicines. I guarantee you that with terminal lung cancer, she will not go on a ventilator. And if you develop symptoms, Denise, call your primary care doctor’s COVID hotline.”

 

The doorbell rang. To Denise’s surprise, it was her neighbor, Carissa, Dr. Stephan’s wife. 

“I noticed your Ma’s usual caregiver is no longer working for you, so I removed the first-aid box. Is the new woman your relative?” she asked.

When Denise clarified that Annie was no relative, Carissa appeared relieved. Before she left, Carissa checked in on Ma. She pursed her lips, and with a slight nod, acknowledged what Denise was thinking. The end was near.

 

That night Ma sunk into a stupor. Denise wiped away the droplets on Ma’s forehead with a wet compress. Gradually Ma’s lips turned blue despite dialing the oxygen to the maximum. Denise tried her best to stay awake but dozed off, only to wake up with a start, fearful that she could not hear Ma’s last words. She wanted to hold her hand when she breathed her last. 

 

Just before sunrise, Ma opened her eyes and said in a feeble voice, “Even though I will not be able to vote, I am glad you mailed my campaign donation. I love you.”

Her grip fell loose.

 

Denise sat still for an hour, perhaps two, before forcing herself to make the necessary calls. She was not going to call Annie. She was not sure if she should mail the donation check. No matter who wins, it would not make a difference with one day to go before the election. Maybe I will send it in; otherwise, I may feel guilty for the rest of my life.

 

 The sinister ringtone shattered through the unhappy stillness.

“Yes?” answered Denise.

 

“How ARE you?” 

Annie’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “Sorry, I didn’t come yesterday. Ignore what I said about the thousand dollars. You don’t need to pay me anything. You can, if you want, donate something to a charity of my choice, like women for our President. Just tear up the invoice I sent you when the courier delivers it. If anyone asks, say we are friends from church, and I was volunteering to help you.”

 

Denise hung up without answering and turned off her phone. She did not know if this woman had multiple personalities or she was a con woman or both. And she had not even asked about Ma.

 

In her apartment, Annie looked at the now-silent phone. “Well, that was rude. I do her a favor and….”

She glanced at the sheaf of papers on her dining table. This was the second time Dr. Stephan had served Annie with a restraining order. The first was four months ago after she had forcibly kissed him in the hospital operating room’s changing area. That same evening Annie showed up at his house in stilettos and heavy makeup to confirm that the kiss was real and mutual. The doctor’s wife opened the door and had choice words for her. 

It had taken Annie a couple of months to figure out how to infiltrate the doctor’s neighborhood. Five hundred dollars in donations to Pastor Frank’s church went a long way.

 

Oh well, it was worth it. Annie thrust the restraining order into the shredder.  A good Christian woman needs a husband.