The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

  “He’s got dementia,” said Nate. “I don’t know about Alzheimer’s.”

  “So he’s forgetful?”

  “Yeah,” said Nate. “He has a hard time tracking normal conversation. Sometimes, it seems like he loses his place in time.”

  “Yes.” Nate glanced at the officer. “I think your grandfather’s going to be okay,” he said. “The cut at the back of his head may require stitches and will probably give him a bit of a headache, but I’ve seen worse.”

  They walked several more steps. “Why would he go outside in his pajamas?” asked Nate. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Your grandfather’s brain is not working the way it’s supposed to,” said Handley. “It tricks him now into thinking he’s dressed appropriately or he’s a different person or it’s summer instead of winter.”

  “That sucks,” said Nate.

  “Yes, it does,” said Officer Handley, looking ahead to the lights of the Baronses’ house.

  Nate pulled his car out onto the road for the second time that night. Eileen sat in the front with her grandson and Selma sat in the back. During the ten-minute ride to the hospital, Nate told them about finding Sam. He told them about the cut on the back of his head without going into detail about the frozen blood. He told them Sam looked okay without mentioning the fact that he’d urinated himself. And he repeated Officer Handley’s optimistic prognosis. All the while, Nate’s stomach churned. He could not erase from his mind the picture it had made of his grandfather on the front porch. It was the picture of a dead man, a street person in a rumpled, rotting heap at the end of a Detroit alley. And because Nate barely knew his grandfather and was afraid of his affliction—now more than ever—he had been tempted to run away from the Nelsons’ front porch. Like city dwellers passing homeless people on their way to the subway, Nate didn’t want to know how bad it was.

  They met Lauren in the waiting room, busy and noisy with patients, family members, and medical personnel. They all made their way around children drawing in hospital-issued coloring books on the floor, parents trying to console crying infants, and older women in wheelchairs stenciled with GRACE MEMORIAL to the far end to several empty chairs. Eileen’s coat had barely touched the molded plastic when she started asking questions about Sam. Lauren told them what the emergency medical technicians, or EMTs, as Lauren called them, told her—that the wound was superficial, that the biggest issue was getting him warm. He’d lost a lot of body heat on that front porch. Nate made eye contact with his sister; Lauren stopped talking.

  A half hour later, they were called to the desk, where a balding, trim doctor told them he wanted to keep Sam for the night. They’d stitched his head and stabilized his vital signs and everything looked okay. Dr. Moyer said Sam needed rest more than anything else, and a ride home would prove more detrimental than beneficial to that goal. Dr. Moyer was very encouraging in general about Sam’s recovery. “You and I know he’s not well,” he said to Eileen. “But he’s surprisingly strong for a man in his condition. A lesser man would be in a very different position right now, Mrs. Sanford.”

  “It’s all the years on our farm,” said Eileen, explaining.

  On the way home, they all talked about making the guesthouse more secure. Two locks already bolted the top and the bottom of the front door. And just last weekend, a handyman had installed a stopper-lock on the slider in the master bedroom after Eileen had seen Sam fiddling with the handle’s locking mechanism. “The answer is not more locks,” said Eileen. “He does have clear moments when he’s perfectly capable of unlocking a door.”

  “Maybe we need an alarm,” offered Nate. “You know, one that goes off every time the door opens.”

  “That can be an awful lot of times in one day,” said Selma.

  “It doesn’t have to be an eardrum breaker,” said Nate. “Just a long beep, or something, so you know the door has been opened.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Eileen. “I’ll talk to your father about it when your parents get home. I think we’ll be safe for a couple of nights. Sam will most likely be too sore and exhausted to attempt another escape right away.”

  Nate pulled the car into the garage and they all sat for a moment before slowly getting out and walking into the kitchen. The lights were on, as if they had never left, but the charged atmosphere Nate felt several hours earlier, created by the prospect of a Friday night in a parentless house, was gone. Instead, Nate felt depleted. He walked around the island to the microwave and shut the door, putting out the interior light that had been shining on nothing since Sam had taken the bag of popcorn. Still, no one said anything until a few moments later, when Selma spoke what they all were thinking. “I’m tired,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Eileen. “Nate, would you walk Selma back to the guesthouse?”

  The guesthouse lights were still blazing from Selma’s search earlier, and yet it felt cold inside instead of warm and inviting. “Let’s have a look around,” said Nate. Together, they checked the sliding glass door in Sam and Eileen’s bedroom that led to a small deck behind the guesthouse. It was locked and the stopper was in place. Sam had, apparently, focused his efforts that evening on the front door only. Selma drew the thick drapes across the door and turned out the bedside lamp. One by one, they checked all the windows and found them locked. After each was inspected, Selma pulled the blind, lowered the shade, or closed the curtains, as if the vinyl, cotton, or polyester could fend off the demons of the night. Nate, who was increasingly spooked by the evening’s activities, did not question her motives. If he could not quell the uneasiness in his own body, certainly he could not convincingly allay Selma’s. “Well,” he said, after checking the final window, “it looks like everything is okay.”

  Selma put her fingers to her forehead and gently massaged her light brown skin. “It’s been a long night,” she said, eyes closed.

  “Are you okay here?” asked Nate. “You are welcome to stay at the other house.”

  “Thank you, Nate,” said Selma, looking at him. “I’m as good as I’m going to be until the morning.”

  “Okay,” said Nate, zipping his coat and walking to the door. His hand on the knob, he turned to again face Selma. “My grandfather is a pretty smart guy. He could have fooled any of us.” Selma nodded her head. “Lock behind me,” said Nate, opening the door.

  “I will,” she said.

  Nate heard the bolts lock into place just after he shut the door. He gave Selma a quick wave, then shoved his hands in his pockets. Halfway up the path, Nate turned. At the side of the guesthouse, lit by the moon, were the footprints of his demented grandfather, joined by those of Lauren, Officer Handley, and himself. Nate shook his head and turned to face the big house, his house, and the realization that he, too, was now responsible for his grandfather. His walk through the woods and trip to the hospital earned him admission to Sam’s circle of caregivers. His parents, Nate guessed, walking the rest of the way to the back door, would never truly enter the circle. They understood a lot about money and business, but they didn’t understand outsiders, especially those in a weakened condition. Nate turned the knob and pushed himself into the warm kitchen, where his grandmother and his sister were sitting and talking at the kitchen table. A pot of tea was sitting between them; a third, unused cup had been paired with a vacant chair. “How’s Selma?” asked Eileen as Nate took off his coat and hung it on a hook.

  “She’s okay,” said Nate. “A little scared, I think.”

  “I would imagine so,” said Eileen. “This evening has been unsettling for all of us.” Nate stood next to the table, hands in his jeans pockets. “Sit with us,” she said. “It’s decaffeinated tea; it won’t keep you up.”

  Nate smiled. “I’m not really worried about staying up, Gran. I’m usually up until midnight anyway.”

  Eileen looked at her watch. “Well then, you’ve got a couple of hours yet.”

  His mind made up, Nate took a step back from the table. “I’m going to head upstairs.” G
ran stood and approached him, and before he knew what was happening, she had reached up and put both her soft palms on his cold, weather-reddened cheeks. She pulled him to her and kissed his forehead. Nate blushed.

  “Thank you,” she said, releasing him. “Thank you for everything you did tonight. I don’t know if I could have done this myself.”

  “Of course you could have, Gran,” said Lauren.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Eileen, the last word catching in her throat.

  Nate took a step back. “It’s okay,” he said, turning to leave. “Good night now.”

  “Good night, Nate,” said Lauren, able in her grandmother’s presence to speak her brother’s name.

  “Okay,” said Nate, leaving the kitchen. He walked through the dark hallway and up the stairs to his room. He closed the door behind him and then emptied the pockets of his pants: wallet, keys, and cell phone his grandmother had given back to him at the hospital. It had vibrated several times when they were there, but Nate had forgotten about the calls. One message was from Jenny, who had texted him from a movie she described as totally disgusting, and the other messages were from Josh, who was wondering just where the hell he was, since they were supposed to meet Bill and Andy at the community center in thirty minutes (message one) and five minutes (message two). Nate sat down on his bed and called Josh’s phone number. “Dude,” said Nate.

  “Where the fuck are you?” asked Josh.

  “Home,” said Nate.

  “Well, that’s nice,” said Josh sarcastically. “And you decided not to respond to your text messages and blow off your friends for what good reason?”

  “Because I was out looking for my grandfather, who walked out of the guesthouse in his pajamas.”

  “What?”

  “My grandfather,” said Nate, flopping down on his bed, “walked out of his house, wearing his pajamas and slippers and a woman’s raincoat. He walked in the snow through the woods to the Nelsons’ house behind us. We found him on their front porch, unconscious from a fall he had taken that put a nasty gash in the back of his head. And an ambulance came and took him to the hospital. So, actually, I’ve been pretty busy.”

  “Shit,” said Josh. “I’m sorry. Is he okay?”

  “The doctor says he’s going to be fine,” said Nate, removing his shoes and peeling off his socks. He smelled them and then threw them in the direction of his laundry basket.

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Because his brain’s all fucked up,” said Nate.

  “That sucks,” said Josh.

  “It does suck,” said Nate, “and what sucks even more is my parents don’t have a fucking clue about my grandfather, or my grandmother, for that matter. They’re off at some resort in California—because my mother can’t stand to be around us for more than a few weeks at a time—and her father is half-dead in a hospital.” Nate lay back on his bed, grabbing his remote control on his way. He clicked on the radio, then lowered the volume so he could hear Josh.

  “. . . this will change things,” said Josh.

  “I don’t think so,” said Nate.

  “How’s Lauren?” Josh asked. “Was she with you?”

  “Why do you care?” asked Nate.

  “I don’t know,” said Josh. “Girls can get funny about this kind of stuff.”

  “We’re all a little weirded out,” said Nate.

  “Yeah,” he said. “So, are we still on for tomorrow night?”

  Nate ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Who’s in?”

  “Billy, Andy, Todd, Steve, Tom, and Nick,” said Josh. “Jenny’s working on the girls, but I know she was hoping to get eight or ten.”

  “That sounds good,” said Nate. “I’ll call you tomorrow, when I know a little more about what’s going on here.”

  “Okay,” said Josh, already thinking they could move the party to Steve’s house. His parents were in town, but they were the coolest adults he knew. Whenever the boys sneaked beer from the old man’s fridge, he just looked the other way. The old man sometimes wanted to join in on the fun—relive his high school days, he called it—which was awkward but tolerable, as long as he didn’t hang around too long.

  Nate hung up the phone, took off his belted pants, and got under his covers. He turned out his bedside light and closed his eyes. There, as clearly as if he were still outside, bending over his grandfather on the Nelsons’ front porch, was the clay-like face. There was the congealed blood. Nate opened his eyes, turned on his light, and hit the remote for his television. He clicked to his favorite music video channel and propped himself up on his pillows to watch.

  Downstairs, Lauren and Eileen had finished the pot of Orange Sleep Well tea. Eileen rinsed the pot out in the sink, while Lauren put the two remaining homemade oatmeal raisin cookies of the original six back in the red tin her grandmother had brought over from the guesthouse. “Maybe I should just give up on him,” said Lauren, continuing their discussion about Judd Acker, the out-of-reach captain of the high school football team.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Eileen, wiping her hands on the dish towel hanging next to the sink. “It’s always good to have dreams. But it’s also good to play the field. Don’t let Judd think he’s the only one.”

  “Gran,” said Lauren, putting her hands on her hips, “we’ve gone over this. He doesn’t know I exist.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t,” said Eileen, approaching Lauren and putting her arm momentarily around her granddaughter’s shoulder, “and maybe he does.” Together they walked up the main stairs and down the hall to Nate’s closed door. Eileen gently knocked on it and called “good night.” At Lauren’s door, Eileen kissed her granddaughter’s cheek and then carried on down the hallway to the spare room she was occupying that weekend. At the doorway, she looked back.

  “Good night,” said Lauren, removing the coated elastic from the back of her head, setting her hair free.

  “Sleep tight,” said Gran, before she disappeared into the room.

  Lauren walked into her room and flicked on the light. She drew her curtains, undressed, put on her favorite flannel pajama pants and a clean T-shirt, and got into bed. She was worried about her grandfather, but tired of thinking about him. She took the latest People magazine from the bedside table and opened to the cover story, again about Brad and Angelina.

  CHAPTER 10

  Nate drove his grandmother, Selma, and Lauren to the hospital the next morning to get Sam. The doctor gave Eileen care instructions for his stitches and said Sam might be even more disoriented as a result of his head injury. Eileen thanked him, and then folded the photocopied instructions and tucked them into her handbag. Sam held Nate’s arm like a prom date as they made their way through the hospital lobby and across the windy, snow-drifted parking lot to the car. The plow had been through the lot once, but the snow, relentless in its descent, continuously recovered the pavement. The roads were slippery and the visibility was terrible; Nate had to concentrate just to see the road in front of him. He took his time, knowing an accident right now might further injure his grandfather. Everyone was quiet, concentrating with Nate as he drove along one wintry street to the next, winding his way across town. Halfway home, Lauren, up front with her brother, fiddled with the radio tuner until she found an easy listening station with music she thought appropriate for grown-ups. Nate reached for the scan button when he heard the opening bars of a Neil Diamond song he’d endured several times while eating at the mall, but reconsidered. Music was better than the silence, interrupted only by the depressing sound of his grandfather clearing the phlegm from his throat. “Who lives here?” asked Sam, when Nate pulled the car into the driveway.

  “I do,” said Nate, driving around to the back.

  “You’ve done quite well, young man,” said Sam.

  “Thank you,” said Nate, pulling his car in next to Selma’s.

  As soon as they were parked, Selma got out and hurriedly made her way along the path. She took her
keys from her purse and unlocked the front door to the guesthouse. Inside, she turned up the heat and turned on the burner underneath the teakettle. She hung her coat in the front hall closet and then swept the snow off the front mat with a broom. Eileen was the first to reach her and then Nate, guiding Sam, and then Lauren, carrying the mystery woman’s raincoat Sam had declared stylish but snug. Eileen thanked everyone and then announced that she and Selma would get Sam into bed. She asked Nate and Lauren to head back to the big house to tidy their rooms, taking any clothes needing washing to the second floor laundry room and any cups, plates, and silverware to the kitchen sink. The crisis was over; it was back to business. Nate looked at Lauren, who gently shrugged. “Are you okay here?” Nate asked his grandmother.

  “We’re fine,” said Eileen, hanging her coat in the closet. “Selma and I will take care of Sam and have a cup of tea. You two have been so good to both your grandfather and me this morning—it’s time for you to run along. Get your chores done, so you can enjoy your day. I think your grandfather just needs to rest now.”

  Lauren and Nate walked back outside, Nate closing the door behind them. “That was weird,” he said.