Chapter Six
The ambulance had dropped Adelle off at the apartment thirty minutes ago and Tonya was going over the living room tidying things up when the doorbell rang.
She gave a quick sigh, her eyes sweeping the room. The room looked about the same as it did the night after her mother’s stroke when she’d showed up to retrieve some of her mother’s belongings for the hospital stay. She’d had to babysit the locksmith who’d shown up to change the locks on the busted-down door and do some minor repair work—the police busted it down to allow the EMTs to gain entry. She’d also retrieved the handgun mom kept stowed in the magazine rack by the sofa and moved it to a more secure location, in a shoebox at the bottom of her closet. She did the same with the .45 in the dresser drawer by momma’s bed. Momma had told her about the weapons a few years ago, and as Tonya unloaded them she thought about Mike Simmons, a guy she’d grown up with in this neighborhood. On her way to the apartment she’d seen Big Mike hanging out with his friends in front of a burnt-out rowhouse around the corner. A crackhouse no doubt.
Mike was one of about a dozen kids she used to play with when she was growing up, and even though he’d gone in a clearly opposite direction in life than she did as an adult, he still treated her like the childhood friend she’d always been. She knew he led a crew of some bad asses, and she made a mental note to try to talk to him on her way home.
The doorbell rang again and Tonya answered it. Standing outside was a tall, slim, light-skinned woman dressed in a dark overcoat carrying a bag. Her eyes were green and her skin was almost White but her features were unmistakably Black.
“Ms. Smith?”
“I’m Tonya Brown, Adelle Smith’s daughter,” Tonya said. “You’re from Hospice Nursing?”
The woman nodded.
“I’m Natsinet Zenawi. Hospice Nursing sent me.”
“Come in.” Tonya held the door open and Natsinet entered. Tonya had been expecting her, and as she led Natsinet into the apartment she quickly pointed everything out to the nurse.
“Momma’s asleep now, but I’ve made you up a bed on the futon in the second bedroom.” Adelle Smith had the nicest apartment in the neighborhood—a two bedroom. “And I’ve cleared out space for you in the bathroom and kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Natsinet set her overnight bag and a heavy black leather satchel down on the floor, her eyes surveying the apartment.
“I’ve stocked up on groceries, so you should be good for the next five days,” Tonya continued. She quickly showed the nurse the layout of the kitchen, pointed out where the linens were stored and the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Natsinet was quiet and nodded with approval as Tonya made the rounds. The last stop was the master bedroom where momma was sleeping. The overhead light was off but Tonya had installed a nightlight in the wall socket and it gave off a bluish glow. She stood at the doorway and watched as Natsinet approached her mother’s bedside and took her pulse.
“How long has she been asleep?” Natsinet murmured.
“About two hours.”
Natsinet exited the bedroom and brushed past Tonya. The woman seemed a little aloof, and as Tonya followed her into the living room she told herself to stop being paranoid. The woman barely knew momma; to her, she was simply another patient. And besides, Hospice Nurses of Greater Philadelphia was the most reputable nursing facility in town. This nurse had just showed up, the first of two nurses who would take five day shifts, staying at her mother’s apartment day and night to provide round the clock care. If it hadn’t been for the generous donations solicited by the NAACP in the wake of momma’s stroke, her mother would have been confined to a state- run hospice center. God knows what would have happened to her there.
Natsinet retrieved a file from her satchel and was reading through it.
“I see that a bed has been provided for me?”
“Yes,” Tonya said, nodding. Tonya had sprung for the hospital bed with her own money and had hired movers to haul momma’s bed away where it was now in storage. She felt it would be better for her mother’s physical rehabilitation to have a semi-electric hospital bed for bed height adjustment and upper body positioning to help momma sit up.
“Wonderful. And Dr. Albright is her physician?”
Tonya nodded.
Natsinet seemed pleased with this. “Albright is a good doctor. How much damage was done to your mother’s nervous system? It says here she’s partially paralyzed on her left side?”
“Her left side is completely paralyzed,” Tonya said. “She has limited movement in her right arm and leg, and she can turn her head slightly.”
Natsinet frowned.
“Is there something wrong?”
She ignored her and continued reading from Adelle Smith’s medical records.
“And her speech? She’s lost it, correct?”
“Yes.”
Natsinet seemed to consider this as she read through the medical records. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. “What kind of physical rehabilitation have you decided on?”
Tonya was confused. “I thought…well, I thought Hospice Nursing was to provide in-home care and rehabilitation.”
“Ahh.” Natsinet nodded, eyes still on the medical record. The tone of her voice and the slight change in body language spoke volumes to Tonya. In her world—the one of the professional corporation—that tone of voice while saying “ahhh” meant
“Is there a problem?” Tonya asked, keeping her voice neutral, friendly.
“No, no problem,” Natsinet replied. She looked at Tonya and smiled. “Many times there is miscommunication between the nursing facilities and the providers.”
“So, you’re only here to provide nursing care? You aren’t providing physical therapy as well?”
“No no no,” Natsinet said, her voice soothing. “I can do all that. I’m a board certified physical therapist as well as a Registered Nurse. Hospice Nursing gave me the impression that you’d hired your own physical therapist.”
“Oh.” How could that be possible? Tonya was very specific in her wishes when talking to Hospice Nursing. Despite that, she supposed it was possible that her instructions could have been misinterpreted. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
“Not at all.” Natsinet’s voice was warm, friendly, and she seemed more relaxed now, more in control. “Everything will be fine. Is there anything else I need to know?”
Tonya provided Natsinet with her cell, office, and home phone number, gave her a card that contained her home email address and told her to call her immediately if she was needed. As she picked up her purse and headed to the front door, she felt a slight pang of guilt; in a perfect world she’d be staying home with momma to nurse her back to heath, but she couldn’t afford it. Thank God for the generous donations provided by the NAACP. Leaving momma behind in her apartment, in the old neighborhood, wasn’t the ideal situation, but if being home helped momma emotionally perhaps that would help speed up her physical recovery. “I’m only a forty minute drive away,” she said, pausing at the front door. “I can stop in Friday after work.”
“That will be good,” Natsinet said.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Tonya closed the door behind her and paused for a moment on the front stoop of the apartment, which overlooked the street below.
