Good Day | Dick Grayson

5. Have a Good Figure

The next day, Rachel came in and she was so excited. We spent half the day talking about mermaids with Mr. Jackson, who was very skeptical about it. However, he told her a made up story about the Sirens from the Greek mythology.

Rachel seemed to like that kind of stuff. The spooky stuff. I worried about it, honestly. She shouldn't be thinking about bad stuffs like that. Yet again, living in Gotham City with her father as a DEA agent, I couldn't disagree that she should know about the real world. Though, this much as such a young age?

What if soon she started to find out the sad stuff about the ocean, too? Coral bleaching? Shark finning? Dynamite fishing? Oil spill? The Bermuda triangle? Megatron dumped to the bottom of the ocean? Blobfish?

After a while, I had to leave the two because the owner, Marrie, of the nursing home just arrived. She heard about my unemployment and suggested me to apply for a job here. We still had to do all the stuff, so, I brought my CV and all. Also, I still had to do the interview.

Still, I had to wait for the result. Marrie said that if I got a call tomorrow night that I should go to work the next day, it meant that I got the job. If not, then, it didn't matter because I would still be coming here as a volunteer anyway every weekend. With hopefully getting paid rarely until I could get a job.

When I returned to Mr. Jackson's room, he and Rachel had left the balcony. Rachel was asleep on Mr. Jackson's bed with a book covering her face while the gentleman sat by his desk, coughing.

I went over to him and rubbed and tapped my hand on his back gently while my other hand was reaching for the glass of water. It took a while before he stopped.

My head turned to the wall clock. Seeing that it was an hour before lunch time, I reminded him to take his medicine. He came pretty cooperative today.

Usually, by this time, Mr. Jackson would go to the porch with a cigarette. I took it as a good sign when he didn't.

Came lunch time, I left to help deliver the food for a few room. When I returned to Mr. Jackson's room, the girl had already woke up and was kind of trying to comfort the old man, who had been coughing.

To that, I called a proper nurse to check in on Mr. Jackson. As the nurse checked on him, I brought Rachel out of the room. I realized that she shouldn't really get too attached to Mr. Jackson seeing what happened. He might not live anymore on her eighth birthday.

Fortunately, Marrie was about to get her and a guest, Dick Grayson, to pick up Rachel. We met in the middle of the hallway and she proceeded to see Mr. Jackson while she gave the guest to me.

"Is Mr. Jackson okay?" Rachel asked. "Is he going to be okay?"

No, he's not. The idea of me saying those words to her broke my heart.

"He is sick," I responded instead. "He is being treated."

"I don't see a doctor," Rachel shrugged.

Oh, Rachel...

"Don't worry," I forced myself to smile a little. "The nurse is a professional, too."

"So, he's going to be okay?" Rachel made sure.

I couldn't say yes. The old timer's going to die. I couldn't say no. The girl's going to cry. I felt so vulnerable right now that I glanced at Rachel's father, asking for help.

"Of course," Dick promised. "But, he's going to need a lot of rest, right, Rome?"

What have I done? What have I done?!

"That's true," I nodded.

"Okay," Rachel sighed.

***