Free Ordinary Life by Elizabeth Berg

that one.”
    “Well …,” Ida said doubtfully.
    Frankie leaned onto the table, then pulled himself up. “I’ll wash it real good,” he said. “Then I’ll let my girl have a drink out of it.”
    I pulled my stethoscope out of my bag. “Let me listen,” I told Ida, and she pulled down the neckline of her faded floral house-dress. She had doused herself with dusting powder, a well-intentioned gesture that had failed.
    “What’s it singing today?” Ida asked, winking, smiling at me. Her dentures were out. I hoped she hadn’t lost them again.
    “It’s singing ‘Peg o’ My Heart,’ ” I told her. “Sounds good. Your heart rate is fine, Ida. Slow and regular. Real good. You’ve been taking your pills, haven’t you?”
    “I make her!” Frankie said. “I remind her every morning!”
    “He does,” Ida said. “The old fart.”
    I listened to Ida’s lungs, felt her ankles for swelling, checked her blood pressure. Then I left her and Frankie watching wrestling and sharing Four Roses out of the shrimp cocktail glass. They were yelling at the blond man on the screen for using an illegal hold. “That ref is fucking
blind
!” Frankie said, and Ida agreed with him. “Fucking blind,” she said, and took a ladylike sip.
    That night when my husband and I were in bed, I told him about visiting Richard. “I feel like I blew it,” I said. “I pushed him too hard. He’s not ready to talk to me.”
    “I don’t know why you think you need to get so involved,” John said. “I’m sure he has people he talks to. Why does he have to open up to you?”
    “I just … I feel like I do a better job if I know someone.”
    “How much time does he have left?”
    “His doctor thinks a couple of weeks, maybe.”
    He nodded. “So forget the psychotherapy. Just go and do what you’re supposed to do.”
    “It’s not psycho
therapy
.” I turned out my light, turned on my side, away from him.
    “Well, what would you call it? What is it, then?”
    I breathed in, closed my eyes. “I don’t know. I just need to seehim. To know him as something more than a patient with cancer of the pancreas who’s dying.”
    “
Why
?”
    I turned toward him, looked at him. “You know what? I have been married to you for fifteen years. And sometimes I think,
Who the hell are you?
”
    He turned out his light, turned over.
    “Good night,” I said.
    Nothing.
    Richard was up, sitting on the sofa and watching television. He nodded at me when I came in the room. “Ready?” I asked.
    “In a minute.” He leaned back, picked up the remote, and turned off the television. “What’s your name, again?”
    “Abby.”
    “Abby.” He stared at me unsteadily I realized he was stoned. “You know what Abby means in Hebrew?”
    “No.”
    “Means ‘sweet refuge.’ ” He said it slowly, nearly seductively, watching my face.
    I smiled. Nodded. “Uh-huh.”
    “Did you know that, Abby? Did you know that you mean ‘sweet refuge’?”
    “No,” I said. “That’s interesting. But let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”
    “Oh,
fine
,” he said. “And you?”
    Laura came out of the bedroom, sat on the sofa beside him. “Cut it out, Richard. Give her a break. Jesus.”
    He looked at her. “Laura. Know what Laura means in Hebrew?”
    “No.”
    He slowly sat up straight. “Me neither. Think I’ll have time to find out? I don’t think I’ll have time to find out.”
    “He had to turn up the morphine pump,” Laura said. “He was having a lot of pain last night.”
    I looked at him. He shrugged. “I tried to eat, is why.”
    “No good, huh?” I said.
    “No good. No, I can’t eat.” He stared into space, seeing something. “I can’t eat anymore.” He sat unmoving then, lost to his own thoughts. Half a minute passed, maybe more.
    Finally, “Could I take a look at your dressing?” I asked.
    Laura took his arm, pulled him up. “Come on, Richard.”
    He shook her off. “I can do it, goddamnit, I’m going.” He