Chapter 3 - THE RULES WERE PRINTED ON CREAM PAPER.
The first night away from Jessica’s house cost Alan more than he expected.
Not because the hotel was expensive.
Because Joey apologized for it.
Twice at the front desk.
Once in the elevator.
Again when Alan placed the plastic room key on the dresser.
“I’m sorry.”
He turned.
“For what?”
“The room.”
“What about it?”
“You shouldn’t have to pay for this.”
Alan stared at her.
The hotel was nothing special. Beige carpet. Brown curtains. A humming air conditioner. A coffee machine small enough to look decorative.
But Joey stood in the middle of the room as though she had personally caused a financial disaster.
“Sit down.”
“I’m okay.”
“Joey.”
She sat.
Alan pulled the desk chair toward the bed.
“I need you to stop apologizing for existing.”
Her face changed.
Just slightly.
He had expected tears.
Instead, she looked embarrassed.
“I’m not.”
“You apologized because I bought a hotel room.”
“I know money’s tight.”
“It’s not that tight.”
“It could be.”
“Joey.”
She looked away.
Alan understood something.
His mother’s house had taught Joey to calculate the cost of everything.
Food.
Water.
Gas.
A room.
A ride.
A chair.
Even a conversation.
He opened the plastic grocery bag he had brought from the lobby shop.
“What do you want?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She looked at the bag.
Crackers.
Soup.
A microwavable rice bowl.
A turkey sandwich.
A banana.
Joey reached toward the crackers.
Then stopped.
Alan saw it.
“Take them.”
She looked up.
“I know.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“I don’t know.”
She took the crackers.
Alan said nothing.
Five minutes later, Joey opened the sleeve and ate three.
That was when Alan noticed she kept putting the package back inside the bag between bites.
As though leaving food visible was somehow wrong.
He did not ask yet.
Instead he unpacked medication.
Joey had a system.
Morning pills in one pouch.
Nausea medication in another.
Appointment paperwork clipped together.
Alan admired the organization until he noticed several medication bottles had sticky notes on them in Jessica’s handwriting.
TAKE WITH FOOD.
NOT BEFORE DINNER.
ASK FIRST IF DIZZY.
Alan picked up the last bottle.
“What does ‘ask first’ mean?”
Joey looked over.
“Oh.”
“Ask who?”
She rubbed the edge of the blanket.
“Your mom.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know what I was taking.”
“Why?”
“She said she was responsible for me.”
Alan took a breath.
“Did your doctor tell her to manage your medication?”
“No.”
“Did you ask her to?”
“No.”
He removed the sticky note.
Joey watched him do it.
“You don’t have to make everything a fight.”
“I’m removing paper.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Alan sat beside her.
“I’m not angry at you.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that like you don’t.”
Joey smiled weakly.
“You’re kind of scary when you’re quiet.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she said, “She had rules.”
Alan’s expression changed.
“What kind of rules?”
Joey immediately looked as though she regretted speaking.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“It sounds worse than it was.”
“Let me decide.”
Joey stood and went to her bag.
From beneath several shirts, she removed a folded sheet of thick cream-colored paper.
Alan knew the paper.
His mother used it for dinner menus.
Holiday place cards.
Thank-you notes.
Joey handed it to him.
At the top, in Jessica’s neat handwriting, were the words:
HOUSE EXPECTATIONS.
Alan read.
PLEASE KEEP PERSONAL ITEMS OUT OF COMMON AREAS.
NO MEDICATION ON KITCHEN OR DINING SURFACES.
USE DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM DURING GUEST HOURS.
KEEP BEDROOM DOOR CLOSED WHEN VISITORS ARE PRESENT.
KITCHEN MUST BE RETURNED TO ORIGINAL CONDITION AFTER USE.
LAUNDRY TUESDAY AND FRIDAY ONLY.
PLEASE AVOID STRONG-SMELLING FOODS.
NO SLEEPING IN COMMON ROOMS.
RIDES REQUIRE 24-HOUR NOTICE EXCEPT TRUE EMERGENCIES.
Alan read the page twice.
Then he reached the bottom.
A final line had been added later.
PLEASE USE SIDE ENTRY AFTER MEDICAL APPOINTMENTS TO PROTECT MAIN FLOOR CLEANLINESS.
He stared at it.
“When did she give you this?”
“Second week.”
“Why the side door?”
“She said hospital germs.”
“Did a doctor recommend that?”
“No.”
“Did she use the side door after she visited the hospital?”
Joey looked at him.
“No.”
Alan folded the paper.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
“What happened if guests were there?”
“Nothing.”
“Joey.”
She pulled her knees toward herself.
“I stayed upstairs.”
“Because you wanted to?”
“Usually.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She didn’t want people asking questions.”
“About your illness?”
“She said some of her friends get uncomfortable.”
Alan stared at her.
“Her friends?”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Stop.”
Joey flinched again.
Alan immediately softened his voice.
“Sorry.”
He leaned forward.
“Please stop telling me it wasn’t a big deal before you tell me what happened.”
Joey nodded slowly.
“At first, I thought she was trying to help.”
Alan listened.
“She cooked.”
That surprised him.
“She drove me.”
“How many times?”
“A lot in the beginning.”
“What changed?”
“I got sicker.”
Alan said nothing.
“I slept more. I couldn’t eat what she made. Sometimes I’d get nauseous from smells.”
“And?”
“She said the house was starting to revolve around me.”
Alan looked down at the cream paper.
Joey continued.
“She had a dinner one night.”
“How many people?”
“Maybe twelve.”
“Where were you?”
“Upstairs.”
“Did you eat?”
Joey rubbed her sleeve.
“Later.”
“What?”
“Soup.”
“Where?”
“The kitchen.”
Alan waited.
“She came in.”
Joey’s voice changed.
“She said I had embarrassed her.”
“How?”
“One of her friends saw me.”
Alan stared.
“That’s it?”
“I didn’t have the beanie on.”
Alan closed his eyes for a second.
“What did she say?”
Joey hesitated.
“Exactly.”
“Yes.”
“She said, ‘I asked you for one evening where this house didn’t look like a hospital.’”
Alan sat perfectly still.
Joey continued because now that she had begun, stopping seemed harder.
“I told her I was hungry.”
Alan’s hands tightened.
“She said there was food left.”
“Was there?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She put some on a plate.”
“Okay.”
Joey looked ashamed.
“What kind of plate?”
Alan frowned.
“What?”
“She had used the china for dinner.”
“Okay.”
“She gave me one of the plastic picnic plates.”
Alan did not speak.
Joey gave a tiny shrug.
“It’s just a plate.”
“No.”
“It really is.”
“No, Joey.”
He held up the cream-colored paper.
“This isn’t about a plate.”
She wiped her eyes.
Alan read the rules again.
The common areas.
The bathroom.
The side entrance.
The guest hours.
The kitchen.
One detail after another had been framed as practical.
Together they looked different.
Not caregiving.
Containment.
Joey reached for the paper.
Alan did not give it back yet.
“Can I keep this?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you deciding tomorrow that you imagined it.”
Her face tightened.
“I don’t think I imagined it.”
“You keep defending it.”
“I’m trying not to destroy your family.”
Alan looked at her for a long moment.
“You didn’t write this.”
Joey lowered her eyes.
“You didn’t make yourself sick.”
Silence.
“And you didn’t make my mother decide your illness was something she needed to hide.”
Joey started crying.
Quietly.
Alan moved beside her.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Joey said, “There was another rule.”
Alan looked at her.
“It’s not written there.”
“What was it?”
She hesitated.
“If your mom had people over…”
Alan waited.
“…I wasn’t supposed to use the front staircase.”
“Why?”
“She said staff used the back hall anyway, so it would be easier.”
Alan felt the room narrow.
“Staff?”
Joey nodded.
“And me.”
Alan looked down at the cream paper again.
For the first time, he noticed a faint line at the bottom.
Something had been written there, then crossed out so hard the pen had nearly torn through the page.
He carried the paper beneath the hotel lamp.
The indentation was still visible.
Alan tilted it.
Then he made out the words.
GUESTS SHOULD NOT BE MADE UNCOMFORTABLE.
May you like
And underneath it, one final phrase Jessica had apparently decided not to leave in writing.
KNOW YOUR PLACE.
