Free Every Waking Moment by Chris Fabry Page B

mannequins. This was like a reality show they watched on television except they couldn’t adjust the sound.
    “Dr. Crenshaw became ill a few moments ago and the paramedics were called. He is in very good hands now.”
    Miriam noticed Elsie with her wheeled walker, clutching a rolled-up paper towel that she dabbed at her nose.
    “Is he dead?” Hemingway shouted from the back of the group.
    “No, he has a strong pulse, and if I know Dr. Crenshaw, he will make it through this. He’s a fighter, and he’s been through many setbacks. I’ll call members of his family right away and let them know. Let’s keep him in our prayers.”
    “What do you think happened?” Elsie said.
    Miriam placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke softly. “I know how much he means to you.”
    She nodded.
    Miriam spoke again so all could hear. “I’m not sure. He may have had a stroke. We’ll just have to wait and see. As you know, getting the person treated quickly after a stroke is important. I don’t think we could have acted any quicker, so at this point we must leave things in God’s hands.”
    There were tears in the hall and shaking heads and many far-off stares. A nurse relayed the news that the chaplain was on his way.
    “I’ve asked Chaplain Calhoun to join us,” Miriam said. “Ifyou would like to talk with him or just be in a quiet place, you can move to the chapel. He should be there shortly.”
    “He’s such a dear man,” Elsie said, choking on the words. “I was just talking with him at breakfast.”
    Elsie turned to Henry, half of the Lovebirds, who had wheeled himself down the hall to see the commotion. The man began to speak of deaths he had experienced in the war, in “the big one,” as he called it.
    Miriam found Devin and Jonah, and both seemed shaken. The two had been shadows around Desert Gardens for months, recording residents, talking with the staff. Devin had first come because of his grandfather and, after the man died, continued his visits and interviews.
    Miriam had wondered at first if Devin might be an opportunist, someone who preyed on the elderly, no different from contractors who promised a new roof or a paved driveway and then drove away with the down payment. But that fear was put to rest when he spent an hour in her office explaining his vision, in a seemingly unstoppable, passionate defense of his thesis about the power of stories and the interconnectedness of humanity. She couldn’t help catching his excitement. She had given them free rein after seeing some of his student work from the University of Arizona and talking to two of the references on his résumé, who had given glowing reports. And at a meeting with the residents, everyone voted in favor of letting them record their “movie.” Now they were recording not just the memories, but the dark side of the work, the loss.
    “Did Dr. Crenshaw say why he wanted you to come?”
    “He left a message. Said he had something important to say. A story that needed to be told.”
    “They say timing is everything,” Jonah said. “Should I put the equipment away?”
    “No,” Devin said. “You mentioned the chaplain was on his way. Could we record people’s reactions, from a distance? We won’t be intrusive. Maybe they want to talk about Dr. Crenshaw. What he means to them. We could use it at his memorial, if it comes to that.”
    Miriam looked at Jillian Millstone, who was near the office on the phone. She put a hand on Devin’s shoulder. “Be discreet.”
    She turned and saw Treha holding Elsie’s hands. The woman wept and Treha simply held on.
    “This is going to be hard for the girl, isn’t it?” Devin said.
    “You mean Treha?”
    “Yeah, Dr. Crenshaw mentioned her. Said they spent a lot of time together. I’ve never spoken with her, though.”
    “I’m sure it will be hard. But Treha will be a help to the residents. She’s quite gifted.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Perhaps we can talk later. If you’ll excuse