Mothermelters

The receptionist at Carewest nursing home heard the front doors open and looked up from her desk.  Almost instantly, her pleasant greeting smile was replaced by a disapproving frown as she saw the two white-smocked men enter pushing a gurney.  All patient deliveries and pick-ups were supposed to be done at the home's rear entrance.  An ambulance at the front door invariably meant a problem and was known to unsettle some of the residents.  "May I help you?"  She asked coolly. 

"We're here to pick up Dora Kent for a transfer."  The thin, stoop-shouldered man with the chalky skin smiled politely.  "My mother." 

The receptionist's hand instinctively reached for the phone.  "I'll need to call the charge nurse."  She made the call and spoke a few barely audible words.  After returning the phone to its cradle she looked back up at the pale man.  "The nurse in charge will be here shortly."

The man nodded.  His expression did not reveal whether he felt any disappointment at the delay.

The charge nurse was in her early fifties, slightly plump, and her hair was darkened artificially to a monotone brown.  She walked the hallway with the metronomic step and ramrod purpose of a Marine Drill instructor.  She recognized the pale-skinned man.  Her smile was polite but held no pretense of warmth.  "May I help you, Mister Kent?"   

"I'm here to transfer Dora Kent to my house."  Kent stated evenly.

One of the nurse's darkly penciled eyebrows raised slightly.  "Transfer?  Your mother?  Is something wrong?"  Her voice was calm and professional.  She took great pride in her job.  This was her domain, and the pronouncement of someone removing a patient from her care was a very serious matter.  Almost a personal affront.  

"No, we're just taking Dora home."  Kent explained.

Eighty-three year old Dora Kent had been brought to the rest home 18 months earlier to live out her remaining days and nights.  She had advanced Alzheimer's and several other ailments, which were characteristic of an elderly person in decline.  Though the deterioration was slow it was steady and inevitable. 

That particular morning Dora had actually experienced one of her better days.  Dora had remembered who she was, and some of her past, though the light of awareness had quickly dimmed.  She'd even been able to converse, though only in fractured Yiddish.  But why take Dora out now? 

It was the nurse's nature to be suspicious of people who wanted to remove a patient from her care.  Even though Saul Kent had always voiced concern for his mother, the nurse had never detected any true feelings behind his actions.  To her experienced eye it had appeared as if Kent had concocted a prescription label schedule of the proper amount of time to spend with his mother.  He had stuck to the formula, never increasing or decreasing the frequency or length of the visits.  And perhaps it was nothing more than the unsettling feeling she always had when Kent was present.  There was just something about him... "As I'm sure you are aware she requires constant, 'round the clock attention."  She stated.  And what game was Kent playing by showing up in a white medical coat?