Bookends

by Edward Ahern

Caretakers are expected to be eccentric. Why else tolerate substandard accommodation, low pay and irregular hours? And Gerard stretched eccentric into peculiar.

He showed up for his employment interview with me dressed in Goodwill’s finest, barely grazed my hand in shaking it, and started telling me what I couldn’t do with him.

“I don’t do housework, don’t cook, don’t babysit. Don’t shop, don’t read to sick people, don’t answer the phone or the door.”

I looked up at him from my wheelchair. “What do you do?”

“If it’s broke, I’ll fix it or get it fixed. The yard will always be presentable, mowed, trimmed and weeded. I do light work on cars, except for the computerized stuff. I can do carpentry but need to use your tools.”

It was harder to tell from down where I was, but Gerard looked to top six feet by three or four inches. His face was creased like seventy, but his stocky body said fiftyish. There were scars on his hands and another crossing his hair line.

I decided to be as blunt as he was. “You do drugs, Gerard? Like to drink?”

A brief smile flickered along his lips. “If you’re really asking if I’m going to steal your TV and cop something, the answer is no. Don’t drink much, either.”

“What about pushing me around the neighborhood every day or two?

He glanced down at my legs, pants lapped loosely. “Yeah, I could do that.”

“I’d need to hire you on the books, because of insurance.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got no outstandings.”

“Outstandings?”

“Warrants.”

“Oh. Good to know.”

Gerard’s expression was resigned. “I did do time, though, at Osborn.”

“Ah. So harder to get union scale working construction. Even so, why this job?”

“I work for you, it’s like I’m keeping up my own house. Fewer people, no paperwork.”

I wanted to ask him what he’d been sent to a maximum-security prison for, but decided not to. He looked to own almost nothing, I didn’t want to take away his privacy as well.

“Parole?” I asked.

“Already completed.”

“It’s a crap job, Gerard, literally; sometimes you’ll have to take me on and off the toilet. No future, no job security if I croak.”

“Didn’t figure there was.”

I forced a smile. “You could do better, just keep looking.”

“So you’re turning me down?”

“Didn’t say that. We’ll give it a try. But you swear to me that when something better comes along, you’ll quit me.”

His eyes reddened behind the wrinkles. “You don’t know—”

“Yeah, maybe not, maybe so. It’s a two-room basement apartment, stairs out there on the left. Take a look, then come back and we’ll talk.”

He turned to go look at the rooms.

“Gerard,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Montville.”

“Montville prison?”

“Did my time there. That’s where I ran out of legs.”