Afterward, she pulls her pants up and straightens her hair in the blurry mirror. When she makes to leave, she finds the doorknob uncooperative. Inadvertently, she has managed to lock herself in the bathroom. Fiddling with the lock, she finds that the mechanism won’t budge. She knocks and knocks on the door, but nobody seems to hear her. She twists the knob, finesses it, jiggles it every which way, without success.
“Hello?” she says. “Is anybody out there?”
Outside, in the distance, she hears the throaty rattle of the bus’s diesel engine as it fires up. She pounds the door a little harder, with a hollow thunk-thunk-thunk.
“Hello, hello,” she says. “In here! Can somebody help me?”
Relax, she tells herself. Somebody’s bound to need the bathroom before long. They couldn’t possibly leave without her. Caroline wouldn’t allow it. They’re probably looking for her right this minute. Still, she continues twisting the knob this way and that, kicking the door with her tiny orthopedic shoe, until after five minutes she’s arrived at a considerable state of anxiety. God, don’t let it be here. Not in a public restroom!
“Help! Somebody! In here!”
Suddenly she feels a pinch at the back of her skull, and just like that, she’s got a headache.
“Somebody, please,” she says. “In here!”
Her limbs go heavy in an instant as her vision begins to blur. Dizzy, she lowers herself back down on the toilet, her heart beating rapidly.
“Somebody help me,” she says breathlessly as her anxiety edges toward panic. Stay calm, she tells herself, it’s only a spell. She quiets her breathing enough to call out again. “In here!”
Just as her heart starts picking up speed again, the doorknob begins to jiggle from the outside, then two brisk knocks.
“Y’all in there, Harriet? The bus is fixin’ to leave.”
Oh, thank God for Kurt Pickens, her knight in shining armor!
“Dear, I’m locked in. The doorknob is broken.”
“Well now, just hold tight. I’ll be right back.”
She hears his heavy footsteps down the gravel path.
Within minutes, Kurt returns with the proprietor, who, at some length, begins liberating Harriet with the aid of an electric drill and what sounds like a sizable mallet. With her impending release, Harriet’s anxiety abates. Her dizziness subsides. Her heart slows, and her breathing returns to normal, though her slight headache persists, little more than a pinprick of pressure at the base of her skull. Nothing half a Vicodin can’t fix.
Outside, the weather is breaking.
“Thank God, you heard me,” says Harriet, clutching his huge hand.
“Y’all don’t honestly think we’d forget you?”
As Harriet resumes her seat on the bus, the sun is fighting its way through the clouds. Whatever happened back there in the bathroom has passed. Harriet feels her strength returning with each breath. Her thoughts regain their sharpness. All things considered, she’s cautiously optimistic that she’s not dying.
On the edge of town, the bus squawks to an abrupt halt alongside a guano-streaked retaining wall, triggering an explosion of seagulls. One gull remains on the concrete perch after the others have scattered. A miserable creature from all appearances, disheveled and stained, hopping listlessly along on one leg, the other leg missing completely. There’s clearly a problem with the remaining leg. As the bird hops closer, Harriet sees that above the lone foot a wire bread tie is wound hopelessly around its ankle, so snug it almost looks as if the leg has started to grow around it. The best it can do is drag the wire along behind it. Eventually, the handicap will catch up with it, Harriet figures, and the bird will be unable to care for itself, and it will die. Until then, it will suffer, with no better sense than to try and survive.
After a few hops along the wall, it arrives directly in front of Harriet’s window, not two feet from her face, where it stops and looks in on her intently, as though it thinks she might have something for it. She wishes she did — it surprises her how much she wishes. As the bus pulls away with a groan and a black belch of diesel, Harriet feels, for the second time in an hour, her eyes begins to mist over.
But for a slight headache, Harriet is back to normal by the time the bus drops them downtown. Caroline pilots the wheelchair along the wharf, past the kiosks and gem shops, then up the hill and back down, Kurt wheezing like a ruptured balloon. The three of them converse pleasantly on a host of subjects.
In the afternoon, they eat lunch right on the water, the surf lapping at the piles beneath their feet, the gulls sounding their urgent cries. Harriet orders salmon cooked on a cedar plank, garnished with lemon and dill. Kurt orders a chopped salad, and when that’s not enough to curb his appetite, he refills his water three times and bravely gnaws on an orange rind. Caroline seems perfectly at ease sipping her club soda, now and then turning her face to the wind. The monkey’s fist never leaves her purse.
It’s not every day that there’s order in the universe, Harriet Chance, so enjoy this: Breathe deeply of that salty air, really let it fill your lungs. Feel that coho melt on your tongue, feel it slide down your throat like butter. Sink into that easy conversation. Feel that breeze blowing through your thin, white hair. Taste that lemon, Harriet. Wince with pain and pleasure. Laugh, sigh, and massage your aching joints under the table. And while you’re at it, take a good long look at your smiling daughter across the table, the lines of her face moving in new directions, one hour, one day at a time. Recognize and give thanks for the crisp edges and heightened sensations of these moments, for they are precious. Remember them until you are no longer able.
Live, Harriet, live! Live like this salty breath is your last.
August 26, 2015 (HARRIET AT SEVENTY-EIGHT)
Back on the Zuiderdam, Harriet boards the elevator with Caroline and Kurt. Other than the slight headache, she can’t complain, although it’s true that she’s suddenly very tired. And something else, slightly giddy, and now that you mention it, a little lightheaded. And then there’s the slight pinching at the base of her skull, which is not part of the general headache, but something sharper.
“Y’all were swell, having me along for the day,” says Kurt. “Those eagles were somethin’ else. How about you, Harriet, what was your favorite part?”
When Harriet doesn’t answer, Caroline intercedes, seizing her elbow gently.
“Mom.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Kurt just asked you a question.”
“Oh. What was it, dear?”
“What was the highlight for you? Today, I mean.”
Somehow Harriet is staring at her own reflection, and this is confusing.
“I think I liked the eagles,” Kurt rejoins, after a pause.
“Mom,” says Caroline, squeezing her elbow harder. “What was the highlight?”
The question, like the reflection staring back at her, is disorienting. Even as the elevator begins to rise, Harriet has forgotten where she is.
“You okay, Mom?”
“Oh. Yes.”
The truth is, Harriet is woozy — very woozy, in fact. All her blood seems to be rushing to her legs.
“Mom, you don’t look good.”
When the elevator door opens, Caroline leads Harriet out by the elbow. Harriet can hardly keep her eyes open as she steps onto the hideous carpet of Rotterdam.
“I think we should get a doctor,” she hears Caroline say.