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The second time Kathleen Gunderson went to see Jimmy Brand in his little garage room, the same young man answered the door, Larry Ralston, and again he had his Martin guitar in his hand. She thought she’d heard the rippling intro to an old song, “Help Me, Rhonda,” as she walked up the driveway.
“Kathleen,” Jimmy said. “You’re right on time.” She’d come the week before and spoken to Jimmy and gotten his signature for his medical records in New York. At that time Larry Ralston had been wiring new strings on the red Fender, which now lay across Jimmy’s lap on a pillow.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, setting down her tote and her briefcase and taking the chair by the bed.
He waited to catch her eye and then said quietly to her, “Good. We’re good.”
She took his blood pressure and temperature. “You’re starting a band?”
“Anything’s possible,” he said. “Right, Larry?”
“He’s teaching me a few new riffs,” Larry said.
“Old riffs,” Jimmy said. “Ancient secrets from the Pleistocene era of rock ’n’ roll.”
Kathleen set two big bottles of prescription medicine on the bedside table. “There are two more we’ll get next week that go with these,” she said. “Now I want to get some blood.”
“Kathleen,” Jimmy said.
She snapped the rubber gloves on, then stopped. “What?”
“Larry,” Jimmy said, “could you kindly check with my mother about the availability of some of her cinnamon tea?” The young man put his guitar on his chair and went out.
Jimmy took Kathleen’s wrist. “My dear old friend. We were in a cappella together.”
“I remember,” she said. “We were in The Nutcracker together in fourth grade with Mrs. Weyerhauser.”
“I used to detest The Nutcracker,” Jimmy said.
“You were horrible,” Kathleen said. “You called him ‘that little wooden fascist.’” She laughed. “Jimmy, we were children.”
“I got over it. He was misunderstood, like everyone else.” He waved at the room. “But here, with this. With me back here like this. We’re not going to trouble with any program. My dear, I know what this is, and you know what is going to happen.” He waited. “Right?”
“I do,” she said. “I’ve seen it.”
“Then don’t worry,” he said. “And you don’t have to bring anything around.” He gestured at the bottles of medicine. “I’m thinking I would want something later on.” He looked at her. “Morphine, whenever. It’s what helped Daniel.”
“Your friend in New York.”
“My friend in New York.”
“I can see to that,” she said. “And in the meantime this stuff will actually help. It’s powerful, and it works.” She helped him take two of the pills with a glass of water.
“I was sorry to hear about you and Frank.”
“Not at all,” Kathleen said. “Frank recently made a stimulating decision. Not so recently really—everybody knew this was coming for a while now. We divorced and he has a new friend.” She saw the concern on Jimmy’s face and changed tone. “It’s not a big deal to me. Once he realized he was successful, he got scared. I don’t think he was bored, but he had to have something new. We’ve been through it. It was a good marriage. He worked hard, and so did I. I’m a little surprised we didn’t have kids, but everything was fragile. We were always scrambling up the mountain. It’s going to hurt when he has babies with this new girl though. Mister Jimmy Brand, that is going to hurt.”