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He gives a downward jerk of his head that might be a nod and says something interrogatory.
“He wants to know what it’s about.”
“Cary Dressler,” Holly says. “Do you remember him?”
Anderson says something and gestures with his gnarly right hand. The left lies dead on the arm of his chair, palm upturned.
“He says he can hear you, he’s not deaf.”
Holly reddens. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’d pull up his mask, but then I wouldn’t understand him, either. He has been vaxxed. Everyone here has.” She lowers her voice. “A couple of the nurses and one of the aides refused, and they’ve been let go.”
Holly taps her upper arm. “Me too.”
“You remember Mr. Dressler, don’t you, Vic? You called him a mensch.”
“Meh,” Anderson agrees, and makes his one-sided smile again. Holly thinks there was a time, and not so long ago, when he must have looked like Lee J. Cobb in On the Waterfront or 12 Angry Men. Handsome and strong.
“Excuse me one minute,” Evelyn says, and leaves them. On the TV, Aunt Bea has just said something funny, and the laugh-track erupts in hilarity.
Holly draws up a chair. “So you do remember Cary, Mr. Anderson?”
“Yef.”
“And you remember Rodney Harris, right?”
“Oddy! All-all! Oore!”
Evelyn comes back. She has a small bottle of Cetaphil. “He says sure. I don’t know what all-all means.”
“I do,” Holly says. “Small Ball, right?”
Anderson does another of his jerky nods. “All-all, ight!”
His wife kisses him again, on the temple this time, then drops to her knees and begins rubbing cream into his scaly feet. There is a matter-of-fact kindness to this that makes Holly feel both glad and like crying. “Answer Ms. Gibney’s questions, Vic, and then we’ll have a nice little visit. Would you like some yogurt?”
“Oore!”
“All I’m really curious about, Mr. Anderson, is how well Professor Harris knew Cary. I guess not very well, right?”
Anderson makes a chewing motion on the side of his face that still works, as if trying to wake the other side up. Then he talks. Holly can only get a few words and phrases, but Evelyn gets everything.
“He’s saying that Roddy and Cary were good buddies.”
“Ooo-duddies!” Anderson agrees, and then goes on. Evelyn continues to work the cream into his feet as she listens. She smiles a couple of times and once laughs out loud, a sound Holly finds much more natural than the TV laugh-track.
“The prof didn’t go out with the others to smoke, but sometimes he’d buy Cary a beer after the game. Vic says the prof encouraged Cary to talk about himself because—”
“No one else ever did,” Holly says. She got that part. To Vic she says, “Let me be sure I understand, and then I’ll let you get to your yogurt. You’d say they were good friends?”
Anderson gives his jerky half-nod. “Yef.”
“Did they drink beer together at the bowling alley? The Bowlaroo, or whatever it’s called?”
“Nef’or. Elly’s.”
“Next door at Nelly’s,” Evelyn says, and caps the lotion. “Do you need anything else, Ms. Gibney? He tires easily these days.”
