Chapter 3: Plum Dinner Fun
Bobby’s POV
There are a lot of places in the world I would rather be right now than in the ‘Burg for a Plum Family Dinner. Tajikistan is nice this time of year and I hear Belize….no, not Belize. Maybe Somalia. Yeah, the pirates aren’t that bad. Unfortunately, since I am the authority on all things medical, I’m forced to endure a Plum family dinner with Bomber and Tank. I was doing so well. Four years of knowing Bomber and this is the first one I’ve been forced to attend. That’s not to say I haven’t heard about them. Oh god, have I heard about them, but this is the first time I’ll experience it for myself.
We pull up at 1750 and Steph looks out the door and whimpers. So far, everything is just as I’ve heard. Mrs. Plum and Mrs. Mazur are on the stoop looking at the SUV. Mrs. Plum looks as if she’s swallowed a bag of lemons and Mrs. Mazur…yeah, I’m wearing a cup. Just gotta watch my six now. The curtains in the surrounding houses are all moving. Damn, nosy neighbors.
I climb out the SUV and grab the wine (always take a peace offering into a tense situation) while Tank carefully pulls Bomber out the SUV and settles her in his arms to carry her inside. Mrs. Plum looks fit to explode now but what the hell can we do? Bomber can’t walk so if she expects her daughter at this fiasco, she’ll have to be carried inside.
“Mom, I hope you don’t mind if Tank and Bobby join us.” Yeah, she minds. She minds a great deal, but she plasters on a sickly smile. “No of course not. Mr….Tank, if you don’t mind bringing Stephanie inside and placing her in her usual chair. You and Mr….Bobby can sit on either side of her.” She turns to me. “Thank you so much for the wine. It looks wonderful and it’s nice to meet you outside a hospital.” OK, she remembers me and she isn’t being sarcastic or nasty….overtly nasty, anyway. “It’ll be tight because your sister’s here too but we’ll manage.”
Great. My first trip and I get the entire Plum circus. Tank is either crying or laughing right now, I can’t tell. As my ass is pinched (shit, how did I get distracted and lose visual on the old lady that fast?), I realize that this is going to be one hell of an evening.
None of my military training has prepared me for what I encounter inside. Mr. Plum is seated in his recliner but the arrival of his youngest daughter propels him up to pat her on the shoulder. Apparently, this doubles as a hug in this family. He motions everyone up from the table and starts reaching underneath. One girl (is this one umm…Alice something?) whinnies and gallops out of the way (Gallops? Really? Galloping?) while another man passes a young child over to the other girl (Angie. That I remember) and tries to help Mr. Plum. He moves the chairs out of the way and reaches underneath the table.
Ah, there’s another leaf but ….Kloughn (ha, I got it) can’t find the latch. I move to the opposite side of the table, find the latch easily and help Mr. Plum adjust the table to a 10-seater. Tank places Bomber at the end of the table closest to her father. My ass is pinched again and my eye twitches. Mr. Plum notices and grimaces. “Can’t help you there. Which one are you? I know you’re the medical one.”
“Bobby, sir. Pleasure to be here.”
“Really? You enjoy being pinched? Where Ranger? He’s the usual victim.”
Damn, I like Mr. Plum so far.
“On assignment.”
“Boy either has a death wish or he’s insane.” He mutters.
Or he’s trying to keep our company profitable because your daughter is a drain on the bottom line but he loves her. Nope, don’t go there. Not tonight.
“Mr. Plum, we’re going to need to make a change in the seating arrangements, if you don’t mind.” Tank says, just as Mrs. Plum comes out to overhear.
“Why? The seating arrangements are set so there’s no arguing over who’s supposed to sit where.” Great, we’ve upset the uber-homemaker’s happy routine, but the look her husband gives her could peel paint. I think we’ll get our way but best to explain anyway.
“Understood Ma’am, but Steph’s left leg is injured, so we would prefer to have her sit on the end of the table next to her father and I will sit across the table so she can balance her leg on my chair. We have to keep her leg immobilized in order to speed her recovery. Tank can sit next to her.” I give her my most charming smile and hope the threat level decreases from DEFCON3 to DEFCON5.
Silence greets this explanation before Mrs. Plum returns to the kitchen. Mr. Plum looks over at us. “Do whatever you need to and don’t explain. Everyone else will adjust.” He smiles at me. “You’ve just put yourself in the seat next to either Kloughn or Edna for the next hour.”
I’m sending Lester to Somalia.
At precisely 1800, the entire family sits down. The table is covered with a damn fine spread. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli and cauliflower covered in cheese sauce, limp green beans (OK, that doesn’t look so great….if this was the way Bomber was served vegetables as a child, I can see why she doesn’t eat them now) and rolls. Everyone tucks in and the first 10 minutes of dinner are relatively silent. Except for the whinnying. That’s going to drive me insane.
I haven’t failed to notice that Mrs. Plum isn’t really eating. She staring at Bomber and sipping her meal. OK, so the stories of her drinking are true. Kloughn has spilled gravy down his shirt. Please don’t lean toward me. Mr. Plum hasn’t looked up from his plate yet. Damn. Only military men eat like that. So far, Ranger, Tank, Lester, and Cal have not over exaggerated a Plum family dinner. And true to form, Bomber is eating but with absolutely no noise and no expressions of pleasure. It is literally the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. No one has said a word. It’s almost as if we’re all waiting for permission to speak and no one wants to be first.
Thank god children are innocent and oblivious.
“I got an A on my spelling test.” The youngest one, Mary Alice (ha, got it) is the first to speak and the flood gates open. Kloughn starts talking about a new client he picked up (I guess attorney-client privilege means nothing to him) and Valerie discusses sales at Kohl’s and Macy’s with her mother (who isn’t really responding. She’s too busy staring daggers at Bomber, willing her to talk). Edna has apparently found a new man at the senior citizens home and is telling anyone willing to listen.
“I’m telling you, he’s got all his original parts. Mildred Griffin said that he’s just a playboy but that’s because she wanted to get married to him. I’m not looking for a ring, just want a cutie pie to get laid.” She grins and adjusts her dentures. I’m starting to understand Mr. Plum. I don’t have to acknowledge anything if I continue to look at my plate. “He’s not as muscley and tight as the two stud-muffins on the end there, but he’s got a driver’s license, a car, and he likes to dance. I shoulda brought him over tonight so you could meet him.” God no. Please.
“Mr. Bobby?” Complete silence over the table. Mrs. Plum’s first words are directed at me. Oh joy.
“Yes, Mrs. Plum?”
“Helen, please. I see you at the hospital enough that we should be on first name basis. Can you tell me exactly what the diagnosis is and what Stephanie’s recovery will be?”
Oh. Awkward.
“Mother, I’m sitting right here. You could have asked me.” Steph is angry and indignant and I so don’t want to be in the middle of this.
“Yes, I could have. I tried to. All yesterday. All of today. As a matter of fact, since the phones started ringing I’ve been trying to find out exactly what happened. From YOU. But MY daughter doesn’t return phone calls, even though she has a cell phone and a home phone.” Her voice is getting louder and louder and she’s shouting by the end of the sentence.
“That’s partially my fault, Mrs. Plum, er, Helen. I gave her something for the pain yesterday that pretty much knocked her out all night and I turned the ringers on her phones off to make sure she slept.” Why on earth did I say that? Shit, now I’m in the line of fire. Stand strong, soldier. Mrs. Plum stares at me with hard, angry eyes and I realize that this woman isn’t really angry at me. She’s angry and upset because no one called her to say Steph was OK. Finally, she nods.
“OK, I can accept that, but I would prefer it never happens again. Even if she isn’t transported to the hospital, if you give her something that’s going to knock her out and she doesn’t call us, please call her father and me. We worried. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Mother!”
“No, Stephanie! This young man has patched you up more times than any ER doctor. Are you going to tell me exactly what’s wrong? Or are you going to lie to me or downplay it like you usually do?”
Wow….Tank meets my eyes across the table and we realize that this is a new battle front. This isn’t the usual “You need to marry Joe and have babies!” or “You need to quit your job!” or “The button factory is hiring!” that I’ve heard about. We have no precedent for this battle, so as with any new terrain, the plan is to proceed with caution, eyes open and covering our rear.
Steph, however, isn’t military and doesn’t know how to do that. She’s fighting the usual battle. “I’m fine Mom. I just have to stay off my feet for a while and I’ll be fine.”
Oh man Plum, you are going down. She just told you not to lie or downplay. Before this turns into a screaming match between mother and daughter across the table, Mr. Plum looks up and says, “Don’t insult us Stephanie. Tank carried you into the house. You’re balancing your leg on Bobby’s chair. Is your leg broken or just fractured?”
Steph is looking at her father, stunned. Actually, everyone at the table is. Wow, I guess the man does not speak at the dinner table and this is a momentous occasion. Bomber looks over at me and, tears in her eyes, nods.
“Steph has a hairline fracture of the tibia, which is the bone that runs from her knee to her ankle.” I’m looking directly at Mrs. Plum. “Recovery calls for 2 weeks total bed rest, which will begin tonight, and afterwards, 10 weeks of physical therapy. The stitches in her arm and head should come out in a week and everything else will heal on its own.”
“How did you diagnose that?”
“We had a MRI done at St. Francis after the accident. It was reviewed by an orthopedic surgeon.”
“Gunshot wounds?” Damn! When did she get this thorough? Then again, as many times as Bomber’s been through this, I guess these are the questions she just knows to ask now.
“Grazed twice. Both areas have been stitched. Everything else is what we call “road rash”, or abrasions of the skin. Basically, we just keep that clean and let it heal naturally.”
“Possibility that this could turn into a stalking situation?” Whoa….she’s really gotten thorough.
“Unlikely, but we’re on the lookout, as always.”
“Thank you Bobby. I appreciate your candor and professionalism. Stephanie, I’ll prepare the room upstairs for you. Frank, you’ll need to move the TV into Steph’s old room—”
“That’s not necessary Mom! I’m going to stay at RangeMan during my recovery so Bobby can do daily checkups and monitor me. And I can work while on bed rest while there so I can still pay my bills.”
“Hot Damn! My grandbaby’s gonna be in the building with all the hot men with nice packages. You should pinch as many bottoms as you can. I’ve pinched Bobby’s bottom. It’s very nice.” I feel my balls shrivel while Tank tries not to laugh. “If you sleep with him, let me know if black men’s wangers are as big as they say. I wanna try one but I don’t want to be disappointed.”
My balls are now confused. They want to shrivel but there’s cultural pride and heritage to be considered. Tank is clearly holding back laughter. Meanwhile both Mr. and Mrs. Plum are telling Edna to shut up because Steph’s nieces are young and impressionable. I get the feeling these girls aren’t fazed by much. Mary Alice is still trying to eat off her plate like a horse (I can’t watch) while Angie is rolling her eyes and wiping the baby’s mouth. Kloughn just dropped mashed potatoes in his lap while Valerie dabs at the gravy stain.
“Stephanie, I understand what you’ve said, but it’s completely unacceptable and out of the question. It is improper of you to stay in a building full of men, none of whom you are married to or in any kind of relationship with. For Christ’s sake, what will people say when they find out you’re living there? If you were to get back with Joe, he could take care of you. No, out of the question. You’ll come home. Susan Stano’s daughter stays home with her mother when she’s sick. Mary Jo Graziano’s daughter insisted on moving home when she sprained her ankle. You’ll come home too. It’s appropriate and correct.”
I’m amazed by Mrs. Plum’s entire statement. Apparently, she is aware that Bomber and Morelli have broken up (glad to see intel was correct there. That will make the rest of Lester’s plan run smoother) but she hasn’t given up on getting them together again. Even more amazing is what she didn’t say, or at least didn’t offer. She did not offer to come take care of her daughter or try to convince her to stay in her own apartment where she could take care of her.
Wow…On one hand I’m glad because there’s no way she’s getting above the first floor of RangeMan. On the other, nice to see that she isn’t willing to make the effort to leave her home to care for her daughter. If my mom lived locally and heard I was injured, I wouldn’t be able to pry her away until I was running sprints again, regardless of where she or I had to stay. For Bomber’s mom, the only option she will consider is that she comes home, like every other lemming in the neighborhood.
“Staying here isn’t going to work, Mom. Dad and Grandma already get into enough fights over the bathroom. And the internet is dialup and I need a DSL connection, at least, to do RangeMan work. I can stay in an apartment at RangeMan and the RangeMan housekeeper, Ella, has already agreed to help me. Actually, she volunteered and I’ve already moved my stuff there. Everything is situated for me to get the best care, so I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t have a car anymore, so when it’s time to go to doctor’s appointments and physical therapy the guys will be able to take me in the SUV.”
Mrs. Plum is clearly not happy about any of this and I can see her gearing up to make another stab at it when I notice Mr. Plum look up and shake his head once. Just once and Mrs. Plum exhales noisily and walks into the kitchen. She returns with a full glass and conversation around the table proceeds as normal, I guess. Who the hell could tell what is normal in this house?
1845 and dessert is served. Dessert is pineapple upside down cake with fresh whipped cream. Bomber looks stunned when it’s placed on the table and she’s given a large piece and lots of cream. Her mother actually comes around the table to place it in front of her and says, quietly, “I want to hear from you once every day, Stephanie. No exceptions. I will expect you to call every day at 10AM or 2PM. If you don’t call, your Grandmother and I will come to RangeMan to see you each day.”
Oh, you are a wily one, Mrs. Plum. You have just guaran-fucking-teed that Bomber will call you every day. Hell, twice a day if it will keep Edna Mazur away from our building. Tank’s face clearly says that Bomber will never miss that call.
“And I never want to be the last person to find out that you’re injured, do you understand me? Your father and I worried and called everywhere. We even called RangeMan and they wouldn’t give us any information about you.” Mrs. Plum looks over at me and says, “When she is injured, I will expect to hear from you. Not Tank, not Ranger, not any of the others because I know that you will be the one with the medical information. You always are.”
And with that, Mrs. Plum returns to her seat and drinks her dessert.
Steph’s POV
It was the sanest dinner I’ve attended in a while. Aside from the threat of a personal visit from Mom and Grandma, I’m surprised it was so low-key. Of course, Bobby is in the backseat looking a little stunned. I keep forgetting that this was his first trip.
“You OK, Bobby?”
“Yeah.” No. Clearly not.
At the end of dinner, while Valerie was trying to get her group out of the door, I tried to explain to Mom that normally Ranger or Tank will be the persons that my medical information would be released to but she wouldn’t hear it.
“It doesn’t matter, Stephanie. Every time you’re at the hospital or the ambulance is called, it’s always Mr. Bobby who ends up talking to the doctors and nurses and explaining things to Ranger and Mr. Tank….Is his name really Tank? I mean, his legal name?”
“No, his legal name is different but he goes by Tank Mom. Just Tank. And Bobby is short for Robert but he goes by Bobby.”
“Humph. Bobby is understandable, but Tank? Tank is a description not a name…oh. Anyway, Bobby seems to be the person Ranger and Tank look to for medical advice so he is the person I expect to hear from. I want to know that if something happens I’m talking to someone who understands everything going on. Is he a doctor? Or a nurse? Does he have any medical credentials?”
Good question. “I know in military circles he’s a medic, but I don’t know how that translates to civilian.”
“Well, he understands what they’re talking about so that’s all I need to know. You make sure that he understands that he can and should call us if you can’t. Just to let us know you’re safe and alive. That’s all your father and I need to know until you can call us yourself.”
I was also pretty shocked she was civil to them during dinner. I’m not quite sure what brought that on, but for once I didn’t feel as if she was thinking “Thugs! Hooligans! Murderers! Thieves!” the entire dinner.
Mom pressed a huge bag of leftovers into Bobby’s hands on the way out the door, including an entire pineapple upside down cake. To serve me cake during dinner is to say “I love you.” To send me home with an extra? I’m not even sure what that is. I really love you? I was worried? This was stress baking? I don’t know how to quantify it.
Half the neighborhood turned out to watch Tank carry me to the SUV. I’m not sure why this is considered so newsworthy, but there you are. That’s the ‘Burg for you.
The ride back to Haywood is quiet. Tank is in his zone and Bobby is completely out of his. It occurs to me that both of them look completely exhausted.
“When was the last time either of you got any real sleep?”
No one answers at first then Tank says, “42 hours ago.” Holy Shit!
“Yeah,” Bobby says. “I think we’re all hitting sheets when we get back.”
No kidding.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah Steph?”
“How many times did she get you?”
“Let’s not discuss it.” I look at Tank. His mouth is twitching.
“What should I tell her about your wanger?”
Tank starts laughing, a huge booming sound that actually scares me at first. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard Tank laugh like that. I twist around in the seat to look at Bobby. His face is screwed up and his eyes are closed. He has a hand over his crotch. “Don’t go there Bomber. I’m feeling a little fragile right now. I was warned about your Granny but I was not given the full extent of the situation. Was that a normal dinner at your folks or was everything off because they were worried about you?”
Poor Bobby. I almost hate to answer him but I don’t have to. “Actually, Brown, that was pretty subdued.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Nah man. I mean, Mr. Plum spoke, which was a fucking miracle, but otherwise, it was definitely subdued. The baby didn’t scream her head off, Kloughn only dropped half his meal into his lap and violated his professional ethics twice, Edna didn’t have any funeral home viewings to regale us with and Mrs. Plum, sorry, your new friend Helen, only drank 4 glasses of whisky. Morelli was only mentioned once. All in all, calm night.”
Yes. Calm night indeed.
My return to the 7th floor is met by Ella, who quickly helps me strip down and take a shower. I’m still a little uncomfortable, but not as bad as when I first got here hours ago.
(Flashback in Italics)
“Stephanie? I think we should talk about what you need and want for the next few weeks.” What can I say to Ella? She’s already put away my clothing, fed Rex, and helped me hobble to and from the toilet. I’m exhausted watching her.
“Umm…Ok Ella. Where do we start?”
“Well, Bobby tells me that you are on total bed rest for the next two weeks and I want to help make that as comfortable as possible for you. I asked Luis to get a non-slip bath mat for the shower to ensure you don’t fall and he will install some shower grips on the walls, just to help you with your balance.
Now, as far as personal grooming goes, I know that you are a modest young lady, but you are a modest young lady with a broken leg. So you need to let me know what is uncomfortable for you. I don’t mind helping you get dressed and undressed and into the shower or bath. I would prefer that you allow me to help you rather than trying to do it all yourself and ending up hurt. Comprende?”
“Yes.”
“Now, is there anything about your normal routine or day I need to know about? I want to be able to ensure I’m here when you need me and out of your hair when you need privacy.”
This is what I love about Ella. She’s ready to see to my needs without smothering me. I never would have gotten this kind of consideration at Mom’s. “Well, the biggest thing I know I’m going to need help with is first thing in the morning. The moment I wake up, I gotta go. Right then. I usually make a dash from my bed to the bathroom, but I know I’ll need help then.”
“OK dear. What time do you normally wake up?”
“Usually between 8:30 and 9:30.”
Ella beams. Oh good, I hoped it wouldn’t be inconvenient. “Excellent! I’m usually watching the telenovelas at that point while I iron or prep lunch, so I’ll iron up here. Just call my name when you wake up.”
“No problem. What’s a telenovela? Is that a soap opera?”
“Yes!” Ella grins. “Amor Real, Rubí, Sortilegio, they are all wonderful. My guilty pleasure.” Ella looks thrilled to have time to watch them, so I have no problems sleeping in. In fact, I think it’s my duty to make this as easy as possible for Ella. “Now, what’s the plan for the evening?”
“Well, we have to leave for dinner at my mothers, so I need to be ready by 5:30.”
“OK, well it is 2 right now and since you don’t know how long it will take for you to get ready with that leg, what say you take a nap and I’ll wake you at 4:30 so you can start getting ready? Do you need any pain pills right now?”
I nod and Ella returns with half of one of the long white pills and a bottle of water. If this is an indication of how Ella’s going to be for the next 10 weeks, I may never move out. She anticipates everything. Then again, this is Ranger’s apartment, in Ranger’s building and she’s Ranger’s housekeeper. Don’t get too attached, Plum. Ella helps me get situated in the bed and it’s lights out for me.
Sure enough at 4:30, I’m awake. Ella has clearly been shopping. There are maxi dresses and sweats to accommodate my cast but altered for my waist and hips on the end of the bed. Ella bustles into the room with a basket filled with my normal cosmetics and more pairs of pants. Nice dress slacks, loose linen pants, even a few pairs of jeans. How in the hell does she do it? I decide not to ask.
She helps me into the bathroom and holds me steady as I slip out of my clothes. I’m beet-red with embarrassment at taking off my underwear but Ella is matter of fact about it. The waterproof cover is smoothed over my cast and into the shower I go. There’s no comparison between my shower and Ranger’s. Everything Ranger is better.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Stephanie dear, don’t panic but it’s 5 o’clock.” Perfect timing. I shut the water off and as I open the door, Ella is there is a terry cloth wrap. She carefully guides me out of the shower and over to the sink to brush my teeth and subdue my hair. She returns to help me into the bedroom, removes the waterproof cover, and leaves so I can dress in privacy.
By the time the guys come to get me at 5:25, I’m sitting on the couch with my leg propped up praying to god that this will be a quiet evening with just my parents and Grandma.
Clearly, I need to go to Mass again. That prayer wasn’t answered, not even close.
