Improvement

“Orville? This is Edna Stillman. Ben is not answering his phone! I need you to give him a message. Tell him that his mother needs one of those handrails installed in her bathroom immediately, and perhaps one of those chairs. I fell in the shower. I’m too young for this. It should not have happened.”

“Are you all right?” Orville’s current concept of Ben’s mother was that, despite her indulgence in a daily cocktail hour or two, she was physically fit and proud of it.

“I am badly bruised, thank you.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stillman. I will let Ben know. He’s in a meeting with one of our suppliers.”

“It’s not Murray, is it? I never trusted that man.” Orville did not know who Murray was, so he told her it wasn’t Murray. “If you want, I can come out there and set something up for you. I might have time this afternoon.”

“I’ll expect you soon, then.” She hung up without a goodbye.

There wasn’t much that Orville had ever wanted to do except be relatively useful and mildly happy. He didn’t want to feel righteous about some cause, or pursue ecstasy. He didn’t try to follow his bliss (except for buying the Mustang). He gravitated toward being a part of things; he liked helping people as long as he didn’t have to play guessing games. Ben’s mother needed a rail and a chair.

“The maintenance person for these apartments was not available,” Mrs. Stillman told Orville when he arrived. “They should really be the ones to do this, but, c’est la vie.” She was right, he thought, the apartment manager, if there was one, should take responsibility. Now Orville wondered if this job was going to be a freebie, if Ben would foot the bill, or if Ben, habitually keeping his distance, would send her the bill.

“I heard you married a few years ago,” Edna said. She was in a baby blue track suit today, sitting on the decorative toilet cover with her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette and watching him drill holes for the safety bar.

“I did. Her name’s Edwina. I met her in Knoxville.” The holes were going into drywall since there were no studs or tile near where Mrs. Stillman wanted it placed. He hoped the thing would hold. He’d also brought her their best bath chair, lightweight but sturdy.

“Edna. Edwina. I’m sure we’d have nothing in common except those first two letters of our names.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked, but Edna didn’t answer. “My wife works at the college,” Orville said. “In the Biology Department. But she used to have a TV show.” The safety bar felt firm. It would hold. As long as the wall didn’t get soaked with no way to dry.

“Why do you think Benjamin is still single?”

Now what was Mrs. Stillman after? How could he possibly answer that? “Ben always put his reading and his projects first. That’s all I know.”

Orville began opening the box containing the bath chair. The box was fighting him.

Well, I think it’s because of the way his father treated him,” said Edna.

“Mr. Stillman has been very helpful to us.”

“Sam and Benjamin were too close when he was younger. It wasn’t normal. A young boy needs to witness a good husband-and-wife relationship. I hope YOU had a good example.”

Orville laughed. “My parents enjoyed each other a lot. They still do.”

“Sam swore the marriage oath, of course," Edna continued. "‘To have and to hold.’ But after we adopted that sweet little Ben, it wasn’t me Sam was holding.” She got up from the toilet seat, lifted it, and dropped her cigarette in.

Now it was Orville’s turn to not answer. He had extracted the chair from its box and placed it in the tub. “This should help. You’ll have to get used to showering while sitting. But if you’d rather not sit some days, you can pick it up and place it over here, behind the door. This is a perfect corner for it.”

Both of them were in the living room now. Ben had gathered all the cardboard and was about to carry it out. He’d bring it back to the store since Ayana would need to look at the labels and prices. There had been barely enough room in his car for the boxes on the way out, but they were less bulky now. He should have taken the store’s van.

“I want to show you the worst bruise, Orville. I’m not flirting with you. Although I could. Look,” Edna Stillman pulled up the bottom of the track suit’s zip-up jacket to display a huge purple and yellow splotch on her left side.

“Oh, you should have that X-rayed, Mrs. Stillman! You might have a cracked rib— that looks awful. It must hurt! I’m sorry.”

Orville’s favorite self-criticism chimed within him: he was too tall and clumsy, physically and emotionally, to help this woman. "You should call Ben now," Orville told her. "He's probably finished with the meeting."

“You know, Orrie, I always thought you were quite handsome, with that mop of blonde hair and those blue eyes. I hope Edwina appreciates you.” Edna Stillman’s smile was softer, not as brittle as he’d last seen it.

"Thank you. I believe she does." Orville feared he was blushing. He hoped not.

Mrs. Stillman gave a little wave before closing the door.

— Macoff