“The Blue Dragon Project? Remember it?” Craig asks on the phone.
I think for a moment. Something about ghosts in Blue Dragon Lake. “What about it?”
“Barlow over at Knopf wants to see it. I talked to him a few days ago and he called to tell me Jefferson will get a contract offer by messenger. He doesn’t even want to see a written proposal. Jefferson just gave me the okay. It’s a great deal, Larry.”
Jefferson?
“What about it?”
“Craig, aren’t you supposed to be finding out how to help me beat this damned disease? I’m doing the writing. You go find a cure.”
Big sigh. “Right. Call Jefferson, will you?” and he hung up.
Jefferson.
I look in the address book. Only one Jefferson in it. Jefferson Dunn. Literary agent. But my agent ... No, Carly Tommasino. She died, didn’t she? Couldn’t remember going to Carly’s funeral. Crappy agent anyway. Didn’t know the first damned thing about Hollywood.
What was I ... Jefferson.
There is “Blue Dragon” scribbled on my doodle pad. There’s a folder in the file cabinet titled “Blue Dragon Lake.” Letter from me in the folder to Jefferson Dunn. Says we’ve known each other for some years.
Jefferson Dunn. Jefferson Dunn.
I’m a ring-tailed coot and a son-of-a-gun.
Why am I holding this damned folder?
Bide-A-Wee. Happy Valley. Golden Wrinkles. Sagging Damned Arches.
Can’t remember the name of this stupid assisted living center—nursing home—boneyard—to save my soul.
“Your computer is there, Mr. Cragan, and your chair, all your books and files. Your son hooked up everything. You’ll be back to writing in no time.”
“Who?”
“Your son, Craig, Mr. Cragan.” The young woman in the olive pantsuit jabbers some more, but it strikes me at last:—Cragan. My last name is Cragan. Is that why meow—I named the other me Craig?
Looked like a Craig. Thought that’s why...
“Miss.”
She freezes in mid-sentence. Nice face. Red hair. Always liked red hair. Bet she can dance. “Yes?”
“Where am I? The name of this place?”
Her voice goes up about fifty decibels. “North Valley. North Valley Living Center? On Bonny Road? This is Room One-Eighty. This is your room.”
“Not hard of hearing, lady. Just couldn’t recall the name.”
I turn away and look at the bed. Blue blanket from home. My own pillow. Try out the bed. Not bad. Rubber mattress protector. Smart. Hate those pissy-smelling mattresses.
Door opens and there he is. “Settling in okay?” he asks.
“Craig.” I laugh as I look at him from the bed. “Craig Cragan?”
He looks at her. “Can we have a few moments, please?”
She nods, goes away, closes the door.
“Didn’t Craig Cragan seem silly for a name?” I ask him as I sit up.
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“My choice. Actually, meow choice...” Aw, now I forget the damned point—
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Larry, Dr. Hunter at the institute wants to see you.”
“Hunter?”
“Yes. You remember the Lanford Institute? Dr. Hunter?”
“No.”
Craig is impatient with me. “—Got promising results in one of his trials. Just announced it. Maybe not a complete recovery, but real progress. He’s convinced—”
“Hunter.”
He holds me by the shoulders, looks down at me. “Larry.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and says, “Dammit, I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
“Hell, Craig. You should see it from where I am.”
He hugs me and I cry a little.
“Tomorrow I’ll pick you up and we’ll go see Dr. Hunter. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“He’ll help us. He’s got to.”
“Why the computer, Craig. Books and all. Can’t write. Can’t write anymore.”
“Keep talking out your journal, Larry. Understand? You have to keep functioning. As each path is shut down you have to force open a new one.”
“Hard. Dammit, it’s hard.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll see what Dr. Hunter says tomorrow. We’re going to get some good news.”
Dinner was okay. Meatloaf, peas, baked potato. Love baked potato. Chocolate ice cream. Lots of old women there at that place.
Talk all around me like mosquitoes buzzing. Craig. Guy in a white coat, skinny girl with gray hair, big glasses. Noise, lights, machines, panels, screens. I’m all worn out from being stuck in machines, needles and tubes stuck in me. Floor below this one they got monkeys. Got names. Julie can’t get up. Just stares. Blinks once in awhile. Mostly stares.
Jasper is up though. He’s got Nuyen or Noonan’s Disease but he’s up now. Pushing buttons. Making marks show on a screen. I can do that, but not always the right marks.
Big glasses says to Craig things very promising. Research very promising—for early cases.
Too late for latecomers.
“Lawrence, I’m terribly sorry,” she says to me.
“I’m Larry.”
“There was a misunderstanding. Cases as advanced as yours—”
“I want to say good-bye to Julie.”
Craig drives me back to Crappy Valley. So sad. No words for me.
Dinner with all the old women at the place. An old man there now. Frank. Used to be a farmer. Speaks hard against the son who put him here. Calls his son some names that light up those old women. Most of them. One old woman—Betty—giggles. Lemon pie for dessert. My favorite.
Outside sun. Nice wind on my face. Pearl is with me so I can find way back. Pretty flowers. Roses, Sweet Williams, Bachelor Buttons, and the ones with the tough name beginning with high or hy—
“Hydrangea?” says Pearl. Cute face. Really strong, too. Picked up that whole man once. Bigger’n me. No. Not Pearl. The man! The man was bigger’n me. The night I had lemon pie—Frank.
Frank didn’t know either. “Hyacinth?” he says man in my room.
“What’s that?”
He’s there. Looks so sad. Don’t know why he comes to see me if he’s going to be sad all the time. Pulls me down. Must be something fun about farming he can talk about.
“What about pigs?” I ask him. “Chickens, horses. What about cows?”
“What are you talking about? You were trying to remember the name of a flower that began with high.”
Man shakes his head and goes back to packing boxes. “You’re not Frank,” I tell him.
“I’m Craig.”
This one is cleaning all this old junk out of my room. Files. Papers. Books. Now that computer’s gone, have room for a television. See TV in rec room but don’t want to watch Footballers’ Wives and Okra. On my own TV I can watch Spongebob.
He brings in the TV and hooks it up. Looks away quick. Crybaby. Silly.
Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce tonight. Custard for dessert. Gave mine to Betty. Hate custard. Watched Spongebob on TV.
Book. Meow book?
Blue cover with green words. Man give it to me like I should know what it is. Craig.
“It’s Blue Dragon Lake.”
“No pictures in it.”
“Look. Your name’s on it. It’s your novel, Blue Dragon Lake.”
“I don’t see any dragons. Spaghetti tonight, Pearl said.” I laugh and give him back his book. “Funny dessert name, too.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking the book from me. “Good to have something to look forward to. Blue Dragon is up for a National Book Award, you know that?”