My entry in the double dip contest.

"My God. A criminal. She’s a damn criminal! What am I, a magnet for psychos?"

Cassie Brock sat in her living room staring at her computer, at the results of her google search. It told of Vanessa M, who'd been sent to jail for stealing from - and abusing - a frail Alzheimer's patient she'd been hired to care for. That was 3 years ago; a 2.5-year sentence means she just got out of prison recently. Cassie shook her head as she contemplated what could have happened if she’d not done this online background check. Does her probation officer know she’s been looking for caregiving work again?

Now she rubbed her eyelids and groaned. She'd completed four interviews today looking for someone to care for JImbo, and none would do. Two were oddballs that just left her uneasy; her gut said "keep away". One looked competent, but wanted way too much money. This last lady seemed secretive and insincere, and her google search just showed why.

Ms. Brock felt like crying. She couldn't afford to do Jimbo's care herself, not and work a full time job too. So that meant possibly going jobless. I have some savings, maybe enough for only four months - then it's the poorhouse. She sighed and shook her head. Okay, that's enough of this for one day. The sun will be down in the next hour. Time to pack it in for the night. She went to the front of her apartment to lock the bolt. As soon as she got there, a sharp rap-rap-rap-rap on the door made her jump and squeak in surprise. The peephole revealed a young woman waiting on the front stoop; there was something off about her appearance, something Cassie couldn't put her finger on. She opened the door. "Hello, can I help you?"

The girl smiled nervously. "Hi. Is this ... Are you the lady who put the ad on Craigslist? About needing a caregiver? I wanted to inquire about it, unless you've already filled the position."

Cassie frowned. "I asked persons interested to call. Like, on the phone. NOT to just show up at my place! How did you get my home address?"

"Um," the girl stammered, "I ... I hope I come off a little ... a little better in person. I thought you'd hang up on me if I called. So I did a search for your address based on your phone number, and got this place."

"You're pretty young! What are you, 15?"

"No, ma'am. I'm 18. I just graduated from Roosevelt High. I'm Leesa ... Leesa Kazda. "

The older woman sighed. She was so tired, and ready to call it a night. But this girl seemed sincere, and maybe a little desperate. Probably the last thing she needed was a door shut in her face. "Hello, Leesa. I'm Cassie; call me Ms. Brock. Okay. Come in." I'll let her down easily, give her a consolation hug and send her on her way.

Cassie sat on the recliner in the living room, trying to assess this young girl; she wore jeans and a pretty pink blouse. Her blonde hair was big in volume, more so than most young women wore these days. Anxiously sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, she seemed to hold her breath, waiting for Cassie to break the silence.

"So, Leesa. I suspect you've never had any professional caregiving experience before. I need -"

"I have - excuse my interruption, Ms. Brock - I have a lot of practical experience. For the last 2 years I helped my family take care of my grandma who had advanced heart failure. She was bedridden the last 5 months of her life, so she needed around the clock care. I took the mid-evening to morning shift, so to speak, and my Mom and my Aunt Linda took her during the day. We kept her in pretty good shape until she caught pneumonia this spring; she passed at home with hospice helping us keep her out of distress. Does that help?"

Cassie looked at Leesa with a raised eyebrow. "Okay - but still, that's not necessarily the same as professional training. You're not bonded, right?"

Leesa turned deep red in her face. "I don't know exactly what that means?"

"Never mind. I need help with my ex-husband. He has terminal brain cancer - you know, like the Governor was just diagnosed with? Hospice is on his case too. They provide nurse visits, medicines, equipment and even bathing once a week. But the rest of his care is up to me. He's almost at that bedridden state you mentioned. He's getting more confused, but worsening head pain seems to be the biggest issue. Have you handled a person with severe pain before?"

"N -no," the girl replied. "But I can give medicines. Can he ... um ... swallow?"

"So far; though his doc says he may lose even that ability before he dies. He's got less than 3 months, probably."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Can he still use a toilet, or is he in diaper briefs?"

Wow, thought Cassie. She's asking questions like she really knows her way around a dying-person-situation. "He can still tell when he needs to go, but getting to the toilet is becoming an issue. Hospice is bringing over a bedside commode to help."

"How big is he, if I can ask? I - I mean, how much -"

"6 feet tall; about 150 pounds. He's lost a lot of weight recently as his appetite has dropped. Leesa - do you have references?"

"Just my Mom and Aunt. But they'll be happy to vouch for my work."

"I can't pay for a full time position; money is tight. I'd need you half a day for 6 days a week; or maybe if my work will be flexible, I could schedule you for 3 full days a week. And the first two weeks would be probationary; I'd let you go if your work wasn't up to par. Do you have any special talents or abilities that might help your work?"

Leesa's face lit up with a hopeful smile. "I play the guitar and sing. I was doing it two Fridays a month this last year at that new coffeehouse downtown. They liked me, but thought my material was too upbeat and serene for all the pseudo-goths and emo types that frequent there. Has he - I mean your ex-husband - had any music therapy?"

"I'm still smiling about you using the term 'pseudo-goth'. That's a new one for me," Cassie laughed.

"Um, Ms. Brock. There's another special thing about me that may be helpful for you. Instead of working for just 24 hours a week and paying me money, how about if I did the work full time for 6 days a week, and you reimbursed me by allowing me to have ... um ... room and board here in your house? I mean, for as long as he's still with us."

Cassie sat with her mouth agape, while Leesa sat still with a pensive face and holding her breath.

"Wow, Leesa. That is quite an offer, but one that would require a super huge amount of trust on my part. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that suggestion. Why in the world would you work that much just for food? Don't you have a place you live already?"

Leesa was now visibly flushed, with red eyes. "No ma'am. Not as of yesterday. I'm officially homeless."

Okay, Cassie mused. I knew this sounded too good to be true. Let's see the other shoe drop now. "Where were you living before yesterday?"

"Um. With Mom and Dad ... um ... I mean my step-dad."

"So, step-dad kicked you out, I presume. Drugs? Partying all night? Bringing strange boys home? You might as well tell me, because if you were to work for me I'd find out beforehand."

"No ma'am! I have been a saint. No drugs ever, no smoking ever, no sleeping around. I haven't even been properly kissed."

"Have you been in jail? In juvie?"

"No ma'am." Leesa now hung her head to look at the floor. Her next words came out in a whisper. "It's something completely legal, but ... it may be a deal-breaker for you. It sure was for my step-dad. It even was for Uncle Walt, which is why I can't live at Aunt Linda's."

Leesa went silent then. Almost a minute passed before Cassie blurted "Out with it, kiddo! What is this horrible secret?"

"I'm like ... Caitlyn. Jenner."

Cassie's eyes squinted. "You're transsexual?"

"I, um, prefer transgender," replied Leesa, still staring at the floor. "This is going to be ... unacceptable, I can tell. I need to just leave, probably ..."

"How long have you been this way?"

"Since I was a little kid. I've always known. But I didn't come out to anyone until I was 16. Mom wasn't super happy about it, and still isn't. But she didn't reject me. Frank - my step-dad - he's another story. I was forbidden to dress or do anything feminine while I still lived under his roof." Leesa huffed with frustration. "His roof. It was Mom's house too, but he refused to budge and she wouldn't oppose him. Finally after graduation, I said I was going to live my life my way. His answer was the usual -"

"Not under my roof?" offered Cassie.

Leesa nodded. "So now I'm out of there, with a few outfits I've secretly accumulated over the months. I'm living in my Ford Fiesta, with no job and accessing the internet at the library. That's where I was skimming through Craigslist and found your post. I can't tell you the hope it raised in my heart; I can't do many things, but I know I can do this! You need help, and more than just 3 days a week. I need a new roof over my head. Please, please consider giving me a chance!"

Cassie stared at Leesa through a persistent squint, and remained quiet except for an occasional "Hmmm ..."

The teenager's hopeful smile slowly fell into a slight frown. "You're worried about me being transgender, aren't you."

"I don't know, honey. I've never been around one - a transgender - before. Not knowingly, anyway. Are you, like, a militant one? Am I going to be expected to host pride meetings in my house, put rainbow flags in my yard? Are you dating anyone? I can't open up my home to anyone right now, unless they're here to help me and Jimbo. You'll need more than just a few outfits, too. Do you see doctors? Do you even have essentials to live like a toothbrush, a hairbrush, or - WAIT. That's it!"

"What?" Leesa whispered. "What's what?"

"Your hair. It's a wig, isn't it?"

The girl sadly nodded her head. Just another reminder of her inauthenticy as a woman.

"Hey, honey. Don't be sad. It's a really good one; took me a while to realize it. Something – one thing - was bugging me about you, and that's it. Now that I’ve found that one thing, I think I can relax, ‘cause I don’t feel anything else “off” about you. Wearing a wig is a lot better than me finding your picture on the Crimestoppers website."

"Ms. Brock - I think I can contact my Mom and have her sneak me some money to buy some basic scrubs to work in. I've got my toiletries in a bag in my Fiesta. I don't date anyone; the few friends I have are all on social media, and I'll not make you or your home here accessible on that. In all the questions you've had, you haven't mentioned my 'Trans' status. Are ... are you OK with me being ... this way?"

Cassie slightly smiled. "That's of no concern to me, honey. I just need someone who is honest, smart, willing to work, willing to actually care with her heart and hands and her soul, willing to sacrifice a portion of her life just like I am. Jimbo really needs this."

"I can work hard to try to do all of that!" said Leesa. "So ... you're considering me?"

"Yes, kiddo. Considering. Not committing yet. Let's have you meet Jimbo and see what he thinks."

~o~O~o~

Cassie walked to the first door past her master bedroom and carefully grasped the doorknob. She turned towards Leesa and put one finger to her lips in a silent "shhh" sign. She turned the knob ever so carefully, and the two entered. The room was dark except for a glow from a tiny night light in the corner. A black shroud – or was it a blanket? – had been attached to the wall. Leesa realized the fabric was there to cover a window, so no outside sun could get in. There was a queen size bed in the corner; it held a thin bald man whose eyes were squinted shut. Biker tattoos graced his arms and neck, though they appeared less powerful on his loose-hanging skin. He kept one palm on his forehead as his face seemed stuck in an uncomfortable grimace.

“Jimbo. Are you awake? Jimbo – wake up. There’s someone here to see you,” whispered Cassie as she approached the bed.

“I don’t wanna see n’body. No.”

“His speech is starting to get a little slurred. That’s from the tumor,” Cassie side-spoke to Leesa.

“He’s so skinny – but why is his face so swollen?” the teenager asked.

“Side effect of the steroids. He has to take them or he’d be in even more pain, and likely having uncontrolled seizures – at least, that’s what the doc tells me.”

“I said, no. I dun wanna see n’body!”

Cassie set her jaw. “Sorry, buddy. I cannot take care of you alone anymore. I need help. Now here’s someone who’s applying for the position. You and I talked about this a few days ago. Now just give this girl a chance. Her name is Leesa.”

“Hello, Mr. -?” Leesa glanced at Cassie.

“Just call him Jimbo, honey.”

“Mr. Jimbo, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Leesa. Are you needing anything right now?”

The man in the bed growled, “Need you to leave me ‘lone. Both o’ you. Unless y’ got something to kill me so I can die ‘n get this ov’r with.”

“Do you need some pain medicine again, Jimbo?” asked Cassie.

“No. I’m a 3 right now. It’s not th’ pain. It’s the waiting to die. Tired of it. Ready for it to be over. Nothin’ t’ live for. Life holds no pleasure. Just pain, ‘r boring, ‘r both. Now leave, plz.”

Cassie turned towards Leesa with a look of forlorn, and a tear welling in one eye. “Okay. We’re going.” She turned and led her young ingénue out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey. He’s –“

“He likes classic country music, doesn’t he?” Leesa interrupted. “He has a Waylon and Willie poster on his wall, and I noticed the room was decorated with some spurs, leather, boots, and wood accessories.”

“Yes, he does. Or did, before he got so withdrawn.” Cassie shook her head and stared at the ceiling. “He started on antidepressants last week, but they say it takes 4 to 6 weeks for them to kick in completely. I haven’t noticed a diff - … hello? Where … ?” She now realized that as she’d been talking, the young girl had left the area.

She walked to her front door, which was partially opened – and met Leesa coming back in from the outside She held a scratched- but-intact acoustic guitar in her left hand.

“Let me try something,” the teen whispered as she walked past Cassie and back into Jimbo’s room. There was no seat in the room, so she sat on the floor in a lotus pose as she held her guitar in her lap. “Hey there, Mr. Jimbo. You’re a cowboy, aren’t you?” she breathed.

Jimbo sighed. “Always w’nted t’ be one. Nev’r did it. Failed again. Why hvn’t you left?”

Instead of speaking, Leeza quietly began strumming on her instrument. After a couple of strums, she began to sing , barely audibly.

Mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don’t let ‘em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Let ‘em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mommas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
‘Cause they’ll never stay home and they’re always alone
Even with someone they love.

Leesa then changed chords to prepare for the first verse, but before she could sing, Jimbo chimed in!

Cowboys ain’t easy t’ love and they’re harder t’ hold
They’d rather give y’ a song than diamonds ‘r gold
Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levi’s
And each night begins a new day.
If he – if he …

The man in the bed grimaced again. Was he hurting, or just trying to remember the words? Leesa now sang to complete the verse:

If you don’t understand him, and he don’t die young

Jimbo now rejoined her for the last part

He’ll prob’ly just ride away.

Jimbo and Leesa now both sang the chorus again, this time with more gusto. He still had slurred enunciation, but he obviously didn’t care as he stumbled through the melody. Leesa added harmony as best she could.

Finally the girl on the floor played the last strum of the song. That chord rang and quivered as it slowly faded, leaving nothing but silence. Cassie stood in the doorway, stunned. Jimbo had a trace of a smile on his lips!

“Y’ know any more?” he asked Leesa.

“Sure do,” she smiled.

~o~O~o~

Just shy of an hour later, Jimbo was exhausted and feel asleep. His hands were now down by his sides, and his face looked more peaceful than his 2nd ex-wife had ever seen, at least in recent weeks.

“How did I do?” Leesa whispered to Cassie.

“Great! Just great.”

“Do I get the job?”

Cassie pursed her lips and squinted. “Come back in the morning and let me see you assist him up in the bed and transferring to the wheelchair. Then I’ll decide.”

“Okay,” Leesa sighed. “Do you mind if I leave my Fiesta in your driveway while I sleep in it?”

“Oops,” Cassie grunted as she slapped her forehead. “I forgot. You live in your car. Just sleep on the couch. I’ll do an internet search on you before I go to bed, and if I find any unsavory thing you’ve lied about or left out, then you’ll leave here ASAP. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” the teen nodded enthusiastically.

~o~O~o~

Cassie’s cell phone rang, jolting her out of deep sleep. She looked at the screen. Don’t recognize that number. Wait, it’s asking if I will accept a video call. A video call at 12:39 AM??

She punched the red phone icon to answer. Now she was looking at two women, both appearing her age or a little older. They were on a split screen, both calling from different locations.

One of the women asked, “Cassie Brock?”

Cassie’s just-opened eyes squinted in distrust. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Brenda Frazier, Matthew’s mother. I mean, Leesa’s mother. And this is his Aunt Linda, my sister, on the other screen. We’re so sorry to wake you at this ungodly hour, but we couldn’t call earlier.”

“Wait – you mean you got my text earlier, but couldn’t call until now?” Cassie groaned. “Why didn’t you wait until the morning?”

“Both of us have to be secretive about this,” Aunt Linda replied. “Our husbands would get angry – soooo angry! – if they knew we were trying to help him. My Walt is sleeping now; I’m making this call from my coat closet.“

“And I’m out in my garage,” added Brenda. “Frank’s asleep, but he wakes up easy.”

“Okay, wait,” Cassie mumbled, still trying to get fully awake. “We’re all talking about Leesa Kazda, right? A young transsex- dang it, transgender – girl?”

“That’s how he chooses to refer to himself now, yes,” replied Brenda. “His legal name is Matthew Kazda. I had him with my first husband. It’s a bit complicated. Are you following all of this so far?”

“Yeah, I think … well, I’m awake now. Might as well have this conversation. How is she – Leesa – as a caregiver?”

Cassie listened as both women on the phone practically gushed about Leesa’s work ethic, professionalism, skill, and caring heart when it came to helping the infirm. They both only had the experience with her grandmother to point to, but they were sure that would translate into Cassie’s present situation. One thing really bugged Cassie, though; they kept referring to her as “Matt” and “him”.

“Ladies, forgive my suspicions,” she finally replied. “If you guys think Leesa – or Matt, or Matthew – is so great, why isn’t she welcome in your homes? I mean, she could be just a toxic rebellious teen that you’re trying to shut out of your lives, and I would help that by having her as a boarder over at my place. Or is it that you’re so disgusted by her being a transgender that you can’t bear to be around her?”

Both women on Cassie’s phone screen were visibly starting to cry now. Brenda, the mother, choked out an answer. “I don’t agree with Matt’s choice, but I’ve wanted to have him and us in family therapy to resolve it. I don’t want him out on the street. But Frank can’t be reasoned with. Neither can my brother-in-law. Both of them have refused even the suggestion of therapy, and neither want Matt in their homes.”

“Brenda. Linda. These homes aren’t ‘their’ homes. They’re your homes too! These guys are driving your kid – your kid – away from you! Why don’t you stand strong? Are they abusing you? What’s this hold that they have over you that you would give up your own flesh and blood?”

For a minute there was nothing but silence as both Brenda and Linda fought away tears. Finally, the aunt spoke. “Please hire him, Cassie. He’s an excellent caregiver. And it will help us to know that he has a place to stay. I’m sorry we can’t be the strong women we ought to be in this situation. But it would mean possibly losing our marriages.”

“Yeah, well … I’ve lost a marriage over standing for my principles before. And you know what? Good riddance.” Cassie rolled her eyes at the irony. Yet even though I kicked Jimbo out, here I am taking care of him again.

“I’ll have Leesa – Leesa, not Matt – call you guys with my decision later today. Right now, I have GOT to get some sleep. Goodnight.” Cassie turned off her phone – and muted the ringer.

~o~O~o~

Less than 5 hours after the video call, Cassie and Leesa were up tending to Jimbo. Cassie mainly watched as her young potential hire gave him an in-bed washcloth bath. Then Leesa changed the bed linens while Jimbo was still in bed – a difficult task that she pulled off with gentleness and efficiency. Finally, she prepared and slowly fed the dying man some oatmeal, using small portions and encouraging him to swallow carefully. Cassie smiled.

“I approve. Now, I typed up a basic contract last night. 6 days/48 hours a week, and you can stay in the 3rd bedroom. Meals included. Your specific duties are lined out in the contract, but I may need your help with new ones as Jimbo gets worse.”

“YAY!!” cried Leesa. “Thank you so much, Ms. Brock. I swear I’ll do right by you and Jimbo.”

Cassie's face suddenly turned stern and serious. “Leesa, I guarantee you’ll do us right, or there will be hell to pay. The morphine drops he sometimes needs? You will keep a strict diary of when and how much you gave him, like I showed you. If I have a good suspicion you’ve dipped into it yourself, then you’re outta here. You will agree to give me a urine sample any time I request, and if there are narcotics in your pee, I’ll call the cops. You will attend to him promptly when he calls; if there’s a problem, you call me ASAP. I have security cameras all around the house; don’t worry, I’ve turned them off in your bedroom and the guest bath. Other than that, I’ll be watching. No others allowed inside, and no leaving the apartment during the day unless I specifically allow it. No exceptions; it’s my way or the highway. Do you agree, or not?”

Sobered but resolute, Leesa nodded with vigor. “Yes ma’am. I will follow the rules to the letter.”

With that, Cassie left for her work.

~o~O~o~

Later that morning Leesa called Cassie.

“Ms. Brock – you said no one allowed inside. But this guy is at the door saying he had an appointment to see Jimbo, and that you have approved it?! He says his name is Reverend Phillips, and-“

“OOPS! Well, nuts,” said Cassie. “Yeah, he’s the chaplain from hospice, here to make a one-time visit. I forgot, you WILL need to let the hospice people in – even the ‘spiritual support’ staff. He’s okay to enter, Leesa. I don’t know if he’ll be okay after meeting with our ‘patient’ – Jimbo always hated church types.”

Leesa opened the door for the middle aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard and balding head. He had kind eyes and a smile as wide as the Mississippi river. His name tag said “Chaplain” but he wore no religious garb – he had on a golf shirt and jeans. “It’s good to meet you, Miss … ?”

“Leesa.” She stood with arms crossed, refusing to shake his outstretched hand.

“Miss Leesa. I know that Ms. Brock was looking for a part-time caregiver; are you the one she hired?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great!” Rev. Phillips sensed the cold shoulder she was giving him. “You can call me Trevor, by the way. Ah … how are things with Jimbo?”

“Sir, just do whatever you came to do, please. You want to see him, so follow me.”

“Okay,” said the disappointed chaplain. He trailed Leesa as she walked down the hall, her eyes narrow with suspicion, and arms still folded. I’ve learned to hate church types too, she thought.

She approached the bed and touched her patient’s arm. “Hey, Jimbo. There’s someone here to see you. He’s a Reverend from the hospice.”

Rev. Phillips appeared beside Leesa at the bedside. “Hey there, sir. You can call me Trevor. How are you feeling?”

Jimbo was lying on his side, facing the far wall, back turned towards them. He made no attempt to face his new visitor, but he did respond with a gruff voice. “Rev’rnd, huh? You here t’ preach t’ me? Try’n t’ save my soul, put anoth’r notch on your belt? Or are y’ here to read me th’ last rites?”

Rev. Phillips laughed slightly as he knelt by the bed, coming down to Jimbo’s level. “I’m not catholic, so I don’t do “last rites”. If you want them, I can get a priest to visit you. And I’m not here to proselytize. I’m here if you have any questions, or we can just shoot the breeze, if you’d like.”

“Questions? What kinda questions would I have f’r a preacher?”

“Spiritual questions. About God, or anything. Do you believe in a god? And by the way, if the answer is 'no', that’s OK with me.”

“It is? What kinda stupid preacher are you?” Jimbo spat. “Of course I b’lieve in God! Not that it does me any good!”

“Why do you say that?”

Jimbo still refused to turn towards Trevor. “Look. I have lied, ‘n stole, ‘n cheated all my life. Drove away all good people ‘n family. Pretty sure that’s why God allowed me to get cancer. So I deserve t’ die, and I will, at just 48 years old. And I know my ship ain’t comin’ in.”

“You mean, you think you’re –“

“Goin’ t’ hell. I’m GOIN’ T’ HELL. An’ there ain’t no way outta it.”

Leesa stood silent in the corner, eyes beginning to fill with tears. She had never seen someone so forlorn, so emotionally lost as the man on the bed.

Trevor carefully placed his hand on Jimbo’s shoulder. “Well, if there’s no way out of it, then you’ll have company because I’ll be going to hell with you.”

“And why th’ hell would you say that.”

“Look, Jimbo. I was a wild child until age 26. I did some crap that was horrible. Now, I turned around 19 years ago … but I can’t undo all the harm I did before then. So if there’s a hell, I deserve it as much as you. But let me ask: do you think God can forgive you?”

“Doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t f’rgive me, not the way I turned out.”

“Jimbo … I think He will. I think He wants to. I believe He forgave me. That’s the only reason I’ve been able to go on. Do you think you can forgive yourself?”

“I … D’SERVE … T’ GO … T’ HELL. Now that’s the long ‘n short of it!”

“Well … can you at least forgive me?” Trevor whispered.

This caused Jimbo to finally turn over in bed. He stared at Trevor with a look of confusion mixed with a little.anger.

The Rev continued. “I’m betting that you’ve been judged, rejected, condemned, and looked down on by religious folks like me. And I’m sorry, Jimbo. I’m sorry for the way that we holier-than-thou hypocrites have treated you. I ask you to forgive me – to forgive us – for all the crap we put you through. Can you find it in your heart to tell me you forgive me?”

There was silence in the room for what seemed like forever as the two men held each other’s gaze intently. Jimbo still looked confused and angry … but finally choked out “Okay. I forgive you. Only ‘cause y’ said y’ were sorry.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the Reverend with a kind smile. “Jimbo. God knows you’re sorry too. Ask him to forgive you. He’ll do it.”

Jimbo was shaking. “God … f’rgive me, please. Please f’rgive me. I’m sorry. So so sorry. F’r all of it.” He then began to weep. So did Trevor and Leesa, just more quietly.

“Now, buddy,” Trevor whispered, “Forgive yourself.”

~o~O~o~

“Thanks, Reverend. That – what you did in there – seemed to really help him,” Leesa said with an open smile.

“Just doing my job, Miss,” said Trevor, smiling back. “You know, if there are any issues that you or Ms. Cassie are dealing with over this – or about anything – I’ll be happy to be an open ear.”

“Aw, and just when I was starting to trust you a little,” smirked Leesa. “You’re here to help Jimbo, remember? Not to counsel - or seduce - the caregivers.”

This jab fazed Trevor not one iota. “If I take care of you, then I’m helping take care of him. Without you two, everything falls apart. So let Cassie know that. And call if any of the three of you have any issues to talk over. If I can’t help, I can get you someone who will.”

The chaplain left, and Leesa went back to check on her charge. “Need anything, Jimbo?”

“No. Maybe. Don’t know. Can … y’ just play some guitar f’r me?”

She did so right away, and for the next hour.

~o~O~o~

The hospice equipment manager brought a bedside commode later that day. Ninety minutes later, Jimbo asked Leesa to help him get to it from the bed; for the first time in 2 days, he felt the need to have a bowel movement.

Leesa pulled him to where he was sitting on the side of the bed. She positioned the commode seat right next to him. Then doing as her mother taught her, she leaned into Jimbo with a frontal hug, pulled him towards her until their center of balance was leaning her way, and stood. He held onto her as best he could.

“Now pivot,,” she said. “Turn to your left. Put your left foot forward … that’s it … and your right one behind you … “

“I’m slipp’n … gonna fall!” he cried.

“Hang on, I’ve got you – we’re there! Now just sit down slowly –“

But Jimbo panicked, and started flailing and grabbing at her shirt and arms. She grunted, and guided him down as best she could; he landed with a THUMP on the toilet seat.

She exhaled and whistled to note the close call with disaster. “Hey, Mr. Jim. Are you hurt?”

“Wha … what th’ hell is this?”

In Jimbo’s right hand was a huge mass of long blonde hair.

Leesa reached up to her scalp, and felt the near military cut of brown bristles her stepfather always insisted on. “OMIGOD!”

Jimbo held the coif up weakly and pointed at her. “Who – or what th’ hell are y’? Are y’ a man??”

She grabbed her wig from him and ran out of the room bawling.

~o~O~o~

Leesa returned in a few minutes, wig back in place – and with guitar in hand. She was visibly tremulous and upset, but appeared to be back to help. “A-are you done, J-Jimbo? Were you able to have a number 2?”

“Tried, but no. I piss’d, tho. Worried. Thought you left f’r good, and I’d be stuck on th’ pot. Tired; need t’ lie down.”

Leesa transferred him back into bed; it went off without a hitch this time. He lay still, looking at her as she stood silently, waiting for him to speak. Finally he did: “Does Cass know?”

“Um … about me, you mean? Yes. I told her last night when she interviewed me.”

“You gay? Do I have t’ worry ‘bout you when y’ cleanin’ my junk?”

“N-no! Absolutely not! I’m only here to help take care of you! That is … if-if you still will allow me to …”

Jimbo coughed a few times; he winced with discomfort as he did so. Then he resumed his stare at his caregiver. “So, y’r a tranny then.”

“I’m a woman, Jimbo. In every way but physically. And one day, that’ll be changed.”

“I need help. Cass needs y’ too. So … even tho trannies ‘r disgustin’ to me, y’ need t’ stay. Ain’t callin’ y’ Leesa no more. What’s y’r real name?

Leesa dropped to her lotus position on the floor, head hanging downward. She appeared to be in deep thought. After less than a minute, she pulled her guitar to her lap and began to strum.

“Mr. Jimbo – are you familiar with Jessie Colter and her biggest hit?”

“Hm. Jess’ Colt’r. Waylon’s wife. Pretty country voice. Sang I’m Not Lisa.”

“Right. Well, I’m going to play that, but I changed the lyrics so listen closely, please.”

She tenderly plucked the guitar strings as she began the ballad.

I’m not Leesa
My name is Matthew
That’s what it says
On my I.D.

But Leesa is me
Leesa cares for you
And I won’t leave you
Unless you send me away.

“Stop. ‘Kay?” Jimbo interrupted.

Leesa halted her playing and singing. This is it; he’s throwing me out, she thought.

“Hey … ah … I f’rgive y’. F’r misleadin’ me. Might as well, I’ve f’rgiven ev’rybody and their dog t’day anyway. So pleaz stay. I’ll still call y’ Leesa.”

Leesa jumped to her feet and grasped his thin hand in both of hers. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Jimbo!”

~o~O~o~

“Wow. Just … wow, you two.”

Cassie shook her head in wonderment as she talked to Leesa and Jimbo in his bedroom She had come home from work with a little anxiety as to how their day might have gone; this report was a pleasant surprise.

“Not in a million years would I have guessed that you would accept Leesa as a caregiver if you knew she was transgender," Cassie said to her ex-spouse. "Thank God, because the other options were pretty slim.”

“I bet I’m slimmer," Jimbo snorted. "But don’t want any supper. Feel like I’d throw it up. Just want t’ call it a day and go t’ sleep. G’night,” he said, closing his eyes. It was only 6:15 pm.

The two women left the room and walked to the den.

“My God! That was such a huge smile on his face just now,” raved Cassie. “I haven’t seen him beam his choppers like that since our honeymoon, and that was decades ago.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” said Leesa. “You two have been divorced – for how long, now?”

“Nineteen years. Our marriage lasted less than two.”

“Do you still love him?”

Cassie glanced a wry sideways smile towards the young girl. “As in, IN love with him? NO. Absolutely not. He slept around, spent all of our money, and was an alcoholic. Still is, in fact; he only cut down on the drinking because he started having trouble swallowing in the last few months. I wouldn’t get back in a romance with him if you held a pistol to my head. He’s long moved on from me, too; he’s had 3 more marriages since I divorced him. Wife #5 just left him in March, right after he got diagnosed with the cancer.”

Leesa’s jaw hung open in bewilderment. “Then … why are YOU … ex-wife #2 … the one who’s taking care of him?”

“Because, honey, no one else would.” Cassie shook her head and sighed. “When Jimbo’s daughter called me to let me know about his condition, I asked if she was going to help him; there was no way he could make it on his own, getting worse every day. She backed off. I also called the more recent ex-wives, his brother, his so-called good friends. No one volunteered, not a bit.

“I know Jimbo’s burned a lot of bridges – and people – in his life. But nobody deserves to die alone, unable to wipe themselves or get to medicine. So I told him I would help. I don’t have the time nor enough money to do it right. But I couldn’t face myself in the mirror each morning knowing I had let him die suffering when I could have given aid.” Ms. Brock laughed. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m a fool, a bleeding-hearted sap for doing this.”

Leesa’s eyes were leaking tears yet again today. “No. You’re an angel sent from heaven. A one in a million. And I am so honored to be helping you now.” She pulled Cassie into a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek.

~o~O~o~

It was now Saturday morning of Leesa’s first week. She and Cassie had taken care of Jimbo’s needs. Now they were in a home tutoring session:: Cassie was teaching her ingénue the basics of makeup.

“See? Understatement is the way to go. Do too much, and you’re a clown or worse, a drag queen. But right now you look like an attractive girl-next-door type,” Cassie encouraged as they stood at the bathroom mirror.

“Wowww … I never imagined in my deepest hopes that I could be this pretty,” replied Leesa.

The doorbell rang. “How about that, 10:00, right on time,” said Cassie. “Come with me, Leesa; this involves you.”

They went to the front door and Cassie opened it. A balding man with salt-and-pepper beard stood there smiling. “Hello there, Cassie. We meet in person at last!”

“Chaplain / Reverend Trevor Phillips, I presume. That’s way too much name for me; I’ll just call you chap.”

“Call me Trevor, ma’am.” He turned to Leesa. “Hey there, my young troubadour/caregiver. I’ve heard about your calming musical super powers. I’m here because I have a present for you. Do you remember me saying that if I take care of you, then I’m taking care of Jimbo?”

“Yes sir,” Leesa muttered warily.

Cassie put her arm on Leesa’s shoulder. “I had a discussion with your Mom and Aunt the night before I hired you. They needed help. You needed them to get help, in my opinion. Trevor here told me to contact him if I needed anything, so I told him about their dilemma.”

“I usually only counsel our patients and their direct caregivers,” resumed Trevor, “but in this case I was happy to make an exception. I met with both your mother and aunt. And now, your mom is here with me; she wants to talk to you.”

Stepping out from behind Trevor now was Brenda Frazier. She waved. “Hello, Leesa! I’ve missed you.”

“Mom! You – you called me Leesa!"

Mother and daughter embraced with joyful tears of release.

~o~O~o~

The four of them sat in the den.

Brenda did the majority of the talking at the start. “After your Aunt Linda and I talked with Trevor, we knew what we had to do. I guess we’ve really known what to do before now; I think we were just too scared to put it into action. So Thursday night we both told our husbands that our houses needed to be open to you, and you should be a welcome and loved part of the family once more.”

Leesa’s eyes were wide open; she’d never seen this much resolve in her mother. “How did THAT go over?”

“Not so well with your stepdad, I’m afraid,” the mother sighed. “He’s now kicked ME out, and I believe divorce is unavoidable. But your Uncle Walt? He’s come around. You’re welcome at he and Linda’s now. You can stay there, if you’d like! We could be roommates – she’s taken me in since Frank ejected me.”

“That creep! HE should be the one kicked out!” Leesa fumed.

“Don’t worry; I’m getting a family lawyer on it. I meet with her on Monday. So what do you say? Are we going to stay together at your Aunt’s?”

Leesa looked at Cassie, who smiled back. “Do what you need to, honey. I can tear up the contract and somehow, I’ll find someone else to help.”

“Don’t you dare,” whispered Leesa. She turned to Brenda. “Mom, I can’t wait to be with you again, especially without both of us living in fear of Frank. But I’m badly needed here. I have to help Cassie and Jimbo,“ she turned to her employer and grinned, “or I won’t be able to face myself in the mirror each morning.”

~o~O~o~

Jimbo’s ex-wife #2 and Leesa were at his bedside. “Time for your medicine drops, mister,” the girl said.

“Wait,” choked out the man on the bed. “Got t’ tell Cass. Need t’ tell her.”

“Tell me what?” said Cassie.

Jimbo’s eyes squinted and he began to weep. Finally he choked out. “Two th’ngs. Thank y’ – so much. Thank y’ for carin’ f’r me. Showin’ me love; tak’n care of me so good. Bring’n me Leesa, and her songs. An’ … an’ …” the weeping started again, but he controlled it once more. “An’ pleaz f’rgive me. I’m sorry I hurt you. Don’ d’serve you. Pleaz f’rgive me – for your sake ‘n mine.”

Cassie’s eyes were wet as she smiled at him. “I already did, dear. A long time ago. But it’s nice to hear you ask me, after 19 years. So, yes – I forgive you, Jimbo. For anything and everything. Forgive me too, because I’m sure I hurt you too.”

Jimbo exhaled. “Whoo. Th’s f’rgivness stuff is ‘xhaustin’. Need’ to go back t’ sleep. Wish I had a Reba song t’ help me snooze …”

“I get the hint, you scalawag,” laughed Leesa as she sat on the floor and positioned her guitar.

You’re gonna see, that sometimes bad is good
We just have to believe, things work out like they should
Life has no guarantees, but always loved by me, you’re gonna be.

**********The End**********

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

I have not written in a while. Health and life issues. This idea, though, got in my head and wouldn't let go until I typed it out. Didn't have an editor or a beta reader, so please forgive me for glaring flaws; point them out and I'll correct them.

Thank you for reading!