Chapters are serialized here for paid subscribers.About This Novel

In Clifford's Spiral, the stroke survivor’s past is blurry, and his memories are in pieces. He asks himself:

Who was Clifford Olmstead Klovis?

Stroke sufferer Clifford Klovis tries to piece together the colorful fragments of his memories. A miracle? Why not?

Chapter 22

Jeremy generally dreaded airline flights when he had to travel on business. But when it came time to pay another visit to Willoway Manor, he actually looked forward to the trip. Even though there might be nothing he could do to improve his father’s prognosis, he would be doing a son’s duty. He would be checking on the treatment plan and the list of medications — including any reported side effects. He would cross-examine and harangue the attending physicians and caregivers — not to alienate them, but at least enough to command their due diligence. And he would be paying the bills.

He was in charge of the finances now, and he flew First Class. He rationalized the option because he needed a wheelchair with an attendant on the jetway. The attendant would lift him from the chair and carry him through the hatch and into his seat. Booking a seat close to the front of the plane avoided the inconveniences of being carried down the aisle like a big, floppy piece of luggage.

Far from being embarrassed by this procedure, Jeremy regarded it as royal treatment. He’d grown used to the typical reactions of the other passengers. Most would look, then glance away, then stare back to study him when they thought he might not be looking at them.

Jeremy figured their behavior would be no different if he were George Clooney or Elon Musk (ignoring the fact that neither of those celebrities probably flew commercial anymore).

Ever since he’d first required such assistance, he preferred the attendants to be women. But as he grew older and bulkier, the job required a larger and more muscular person. And perhaps because their work was more strenuous, the bigger folks didn’t smell as nice. When he was lifted by a strapping guy — Jeremy imagined them to be dedicated weightlifters — the fellow’s touch and stance were surer. Jeremy was not as afraid he could get dropped.

Life was so much easier when you trusted your caregivers. This aspect of Jeremy’s logistical challenges made him appreciate how much Clifford’s day-to-day comfort and wellbeing depended on the dedication of a small army of professionals.

Another thing delighted him about flying First. They took your coat and hung it up. Jeremy always traveled in a sport coat. He liked having concealed pockets for his pens and his glasses so he didn’t advertise his geekdom. And whenever he went Back East, he insisted on carrying an overcoat, or at least a convertible raincoat. To his mind, Southern Californians who didn’t sufficiently fear the rigors of cold weather (rainy, snowy, or goddamn slushy) were just plain foolish.

This time, besides graciously accepting his navy blazer and gray Harris-tweed overcoat, the flight attendant efficiently found a way to store what Jeremy had come to call his sticks.

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