“I—” Mariska stopped, options for what to say next escaping her.
Laura frowned. “Would you rather help us with the adults?”
“Yes,” said Bob, standing. He nearly fell forward before one of his feet slipped from his jump rope bindings in time to kick forward and stop his downward momentum.
“I’ll watch the kids, you go ahead,” said the teen as she squatted to untie Bob’s other foot for him. She wrangled the kids into a reading circle as Mariska and Bob left the room.
“She’s a professional,” said Bob, impressed.
“You’re ridiculous,” muttered Mariska.
He held up his palms. “Me? They were talking about burning me at the stake. I thought I was a goner.”
“You can help us in the auditorium for meal time,” said Laura.
Bob grunted his approval. He liked food.
Mariska’s face still felt hot with embarrassment. “That might be better. Thank you, Laura. I’m sorry about that.”
“No problem. Kids can be a handful for...” She eyed Bob. “...the inexperienced.”
Laura led them into a large room where older residents gathered at two large, round tables. Most sat in wheelchairs tucked beneath the tables, spooning applesauce and soup into their mouths.
“From one extreme to another,” mumbled Bob.
Mariska elbowed him.
Laura motioned to the tables. “Just keep an eye on them. If they need something, help them out.”
Mariska nodded. “No problem.”
No sooner did Laura leave the room, than Bob started picking at the trays of food displayed on a banquet table.
Mariska frowned. “Will you please behave? That food is for them.”
“Ooh, there’s bacon.” Bob sat on a bench to chew his snack, while Mariska made the rounds, checking in on the residents she knew might need a bit of help or encouragement.
As she approached table two, one of the gentlemen at table one wheeled back his chair and headed for the door.
“They don’t usually leave when they’re done...do they?” mumbled Mariska.
Bob shrugged. “What are you asking me for?”
The man pumped his wheels and made it to the door before Mariska could decide what to do.
“Go get him,” she said, pointing as the man disappeared into the hall.
Bob put a hand on his chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you. I have to stay here with—”
“Geronimo!”
One of the men at table two stood and threw a dinner roll at table one. The residents under siege demanded he sit down, but he snatched a handful of food from his tray and tossed it after the roll. One of the women at table one screamed as a glop of mashed potatoes struck the back of her head.
“You stop that right now.” Mariska shook a finger at Geronimo. “Bob, help.”
Bob took one look at the food fight, and bolted for the door. “I have to catch the runner.”
He hustled out of the room and Mariska found herself alone and under attack as a sugar packet flew by her head.
Coward.
Another man at table two tried to wrestle a roll out of his neighbor’s hand. She moved to help as someone at table one retaliated, launching a carton of milk in Geronimo’s direction.
Instinctively, Mariska batted the carton out of the air and it exploded to the ground beside her, spraying her legs with white liquid.
“Stop it! No!” Mariska snatched the roll from the new player and he sat down, apparently chastised. Seeing her head swivel to his direction, Geronimo tried to shuffle away, waving what looked like a ham sandwich.
Hot on Geronimo’s heels, Mariska spotted movement in the hall. She snapped her attention there, frightened Laura had arrived to witness her fail a second time.
The man who’d escaped in his wheelchair sped by in the same direction he’d originally headed. Mariska realized he must have made a full circle of the facility.
A moment later Bob jogged after him, puffing and calling, “Sir! Sir!”
Mariska dropped a hand on Geronimo’s shoulder. “You can’t throw food, sir. Please get back in your seat.”
Geronimo, his back curled like a question mark, threw much better than he ran. He seemed exhausted after his six-yard foot race, and allowed himself to be led back to his table as the others jeered him from their seats.
By the time Mariska had Geronimo settled, Bob appeared, pushing the runaway wheelchair racer ahead of him. The racer couldn’t stop grinning. He held both hands in the air above his head and the diners cheered for him, clapping as if his next stop would be the Olympic gold medal platform.
Laura and another woman trailed in behind Bob, looking cross.
Mariska hung her head.
Crap.
Milk dripped down her leg. She scanned the room and spotted Izzy moving from one food splatter to the next, licking the floors and walls clean.
At least she’ll help cover up the worst of our failings.
“How about naptime?” Laura asked, her tone a mixture of anger and sarcasm. “Could you handle naptime?”
“That sounds more like my speed,” said Bob, tucking the racer into his spot at the table.
Mariska gathered up her disappointed dog and started their walk of shame to a new assignment, a dimly lit area where residents in hospital beds had been moved to the center of room, away from the windows. Outside, the early edge of the hurricane raged.
Laura motioned to two single beds on wheels in the corner. “You can sleep here. I’ll have your bag brought in.”
“Wait, what?” asked Bob as Laura strode from the room.
Mariska glared at him. “See what you’ve done? Failures don’t get rooms. They’ve downgraded us. We could have watched the kids and then gone to sleep in our own room.”
Bob sighed and sat on one of the single beds. “This seems like the perfect assignment though. Look at them, all asleep—”
“I need to pee,” said a voice from the group.
At the sound of the voice, Izzy barked,
