by Raj, Carol;
Natalie reached over and grabbed Muriel’s purse off her lap. “Honestly, Mother. You still cart around that silly old mirror? You should have tossed it in the garbage years ago. Here. Give me your purse. I’ll find your card.”
Muriel restrained herself from grabbing her purse back. There were two Natalies in her life. The real Natalie who missed her mother and was relieved she was back. And the ersatz Natalie, a high-society snob who looked down on her own mother.
If she said anything like that out loud, the admissions clerk would think she was crazy. “Poor woman,” the clerk might say. “Doesn’t recognize her own daughter any more. We’d better put her somewhere with a lock and key.”
“Honestly, Mother, don’t you ever clean out your purse? This is a mess. But here’s your insurance card.” Natalie handed it to Muriel and shut the purse with a decisive snap. “Now can we please get this over with?”
Once again, a blast of cool night air swept into the reception area as the emergency room doors opened.
“Kevin!” A voice rang out with a sigh of−what? Relief? Exasperation? Maybe a bit of both.
Everyone turned to look.
Kevin’s parents were not at all what Muriel expected. How could two perfectly normal people raise a carjacker son with a dragon tattoo? It made no sense.
Kevin’s mother, dressed in a navy suit and half-inch heels, looked as if she had just come from an office job. A dark pink scarf with white roses cascaded down the front of her light pink blouse, the kind of scarf a woman wore to add a little color to her complexion.
Natalie should try adding a scarf to her outfit sometime. She would look so much prettier with something colorful around her face. It would soften her expression. But a scarf wasn’t her style. Not even a silk one. Diamonds were her style. Natural pearls were her style. Anything that shouted wealth and privilege.
Kevin’s mother was hugging him now, tousling his hair as if he were five, not fifteen. Or was he fifteen? There were so many questions Muriel hadn’t gotten around to asking. So many details she’d still like to learn. She’d probably never see him again. The thought struck her like a slap in the face. Her heart sank.
“Paraphernalia.” She had taught him one word. He had taught her so many things. The beauty of sunsets, and the joy of birds singing, and the pleasure of car rides that went nowhere in particular. How could she go back to her lonely house? Eat cold cereal every morning at six after eating eggs cooked over a campfire? Listen to the tick, tick, tick of the analog clock in her living room?
She would throw the clock in the garbage. It didn’t matter that Howard had bought it. She loved Howard. She always would. But he was no longer there. She didn’t need to keep holding on to remnants of the past.
Kevin’s father didn’t look at all like the unfeeling monster Kevin had hinted at. He was standing off to the side in a two-piece suit, jacket unbuttoned, white shirt cuffs showing a half inch below the end of his suit sleeves. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Kevin.” His tone was genteel, non-confrontational, as though he were pointing out that the way to the elevators was down the corridor and one turn to the right.
Kevin sputtered. Once again he looked like the young punk who had jerked Roxanne’s car door open, demanded Muriel drive, and threatened to shoot her. Some teenagers tried personalities on for size, looking for the perfect fit. She had learned that when she taught.
“Oh, give it a rest, Kevin.” The father turned to the nearest policeman. “Is there any reason for us to stay here, officer? Or anything we can do for this poor woman? We’d like to take our son home. Don’t worry. He’ll be facing appropriate consequences.”
Kevin scowled and folded his arms angrily across his chest.
The policeman pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper. “We’ll need to take down your personal information, sir. In case this lady wants to press charges.”
“But I don’t…”
“Yes, she does want to press charges,” Stan said. “She’s just too stressed to think clearly now.” His bushy black eyebrows rose like two caterpillars on a collision course, each contesting the right of way. He spoke directly to the policeman, ignoring Muriel altogether.
“You have a while to decide, ma’am.” The policeman looked at Muriel. “And we’ll need you to confirm your personal information, too. Name, address, phone number.”
Kevin’s father was taking out his wallet now, opening it up, drawing from it the requisite ID. He handed it to the policeman. “May I speak to this woman, officer?”
“Make it short. She’s been through a lot.”
Kevin’s father bent close to Muriel. “Just one thing, ma’am. Did my son hurt you in any way? I want you to tell me the truth. I need to know.” The look on his face was one of sadness and concern.
Kevin’s father loved his son. Muriel was sure of it. All teenagers thought their parents were unreasonable. Kevin would be OK.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Your son didn’t hurt me. In fact, he was quite…” Muriel paused. The events of the past several hours flashed through her mind.
“Yes, Mother.” Stan leaned forward eagerly. “Tell him all the horrors you had to undergo. Tell him about the hours and hours of pain and suffering you were forced to endure.”
Muriel continued as if she hadn’t heard Stan. She looked directly at Kevin’s father. “In fact, Kevin was quite responsible.”
“Responsible? My son?” Kevin’s father raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Your son made sure I was warm when we camped out last night. He got breakfast for me this morning. He walked to get gas for the car because I forgot to check the fuel gauge. His quick thinking saved me from a threatening old man. Responsible. That’s the word I’d use to describe Kevin. Even responsible people make mistakes sometimes.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Muriel could see Kevin beaming.
“Mother! What are you saying? A carjacker? Responsible? What is wrong with you? You should be pressing charges.” Stan’s voice was a stage whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear.
14
“Well, of course, I can manage at home. I’ve managed all these years, haven’t I?” Muriel, her foot professionally wrapped, sat in the center seat across from the hospital social worker.
Natalie sat on her right and Stan on her left.
Were they acting as her guardians? Or were they not getting along? Muriel couldn’t tell.
Stan was opening his mouth every so often as if he wanted to talk to the social worker himself and then closing it again.
The social worker leaned forward in her chair. “You do realize you’ll need to keep your foot up for a few days?”
“That’s not a problem. I can do that in my own home.”
The social worker drummed the fingers of one hand on her desk. “Do you have a one-story house?”
“No. Two stories.”
“How many bathrooms?”
“Just one.”
“Is it downstairs or upstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
The social worker shook her head. “I can’t see you going up and down the stairs. Not several times a day. Isn’t there somebody you could stay with? Just until you’re sure you can manage on your own?” The social worker stared pointedly at Natalie and then Stan.
“We have facilities downstairs,” Stan said. “Mother can stay with us.”
Natalie crossed her arms. “But Stan…”
“Mother can stay with us.” Stan turned to Natalie. “It’ll just be for a few days, Natalie. It will give us a chance to discuss what Mother should be doing to further this lawsuit along. She doesn’t seem to understand how much money she could gain. Especially if she opts for a jury trial. White-haired old lady, young punk with a tattoo. A few tears on the witness stand as she recalls the horrors of her hours in captivity. We could be talking millions.”
“But, Stan…”
“It’s not like Mother will be staying with us for a long time.”
God
forbid they took her for a long time. Twenty-two years, now that was a long time. Three years of dirty diapers. Thirteen additional years driving Natalie to Girl Scouts and sitting on the sidelines at her ballet lessons and listening to the screeching of horse hair on catgut as Natalie practiced interminable scales on her violin. Then two more years of sleepless nights while Natalie drove their only car around and accumulated a series of fender benders. Then four years of college bills. Then wedding expenses on top of everything else.
And what was with Stan calling her Mother all of a sudden? And why were they talking about her as if she weren’t even there?
Natalie and Stan rose and shook the social worker’s outstretched hand. When they got to the door, Stan held it open for Muriel and took her elbow to guide her through. It would have felt good if it weren’t so out of character. As soon as they were out of sight of the social worker and following signs to the parking garage, Stan walked a good two feet ahead.
Natalie opened the back car door for Muriel, settled her in, then reached across to buckle her seat belt.
Stan closed the driver’s door with a bang. “I’m sure Muriel doesn’t want you hovering over her like that. It’s her ankle that’s sprained, not her wrist. She can put on her own seat belt.”
She hadn’t really needed Natalie’s help. But Natalie’s assistance made Muriel feel loved for a moment. It seemed best to change the subject. “So what’s new with you two?” She made her voice sound as normal as she could.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder. “Your friend Roxanne came to stay with us.”
“And you let her in?”
“I didn’t think she’d be so hard to get rid of. All she’s done is let her blasted Pekingese pee on my Oriental rugs and chew my antiques. She’s more worried about that stupid thing getting sick from the varnish than about my furniture being devalued from teeth marks.”
“Oh, Natalie. I’m so sorry. Why is Roxanne staying with you?”
“She wanted to help find you. And her car. Or so she said. She never did do anything useful. And she doesn’t seem to have any interest in leaving. She wouldn’t even come to the hospital with us to pick you up. Can you imagine? Her favorite sitcom was on TV. Some episode she’d missed. Honestly, Mother, is that the best you can do for a friend?”
“So Roxanne’s actually staying in your house? With her dog? I can’t believe it, Natalie. Pickles isn’t even housebroken.”
“Well, Mother, I know that now. I wish you had told me earlier.”
“But I didn’t know Roxanne was going to visit you.”
It was a long ride back to Natalie’s house. And not just because Stan missed the exit off the highway, which was, according to him, all Natalie’s fault for having a mother who would put them to so much trouble at such a late hour. Stan’s tone changed innumerable times. He seemed to be some sort of multiple personality, legions of souls trapped inside a solitary body. “We were so worried about you, Muriel.”
“Thank you, Stan.” Muriel sat with her foot hanging down from the backseat, just the position the nurse told her not to put it in. With all the expensive furniture Natalie collected from high-end department stores, Muriel hoped there’d be some contraption for putting her foot up.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to prosecute that juvenile delinquent. Some nerve he has. You do know carjacking’s a crime, don’t you?” Stan’s voice changed again, this time going from unctuous to forceful, disbelief ringing in the air.
The silence in the car stretched out.
“It seems more like persecution than prosecution to me. There was no harm done. I can’t see any point in ruining a young man’s future.”
“Young punk, you mean. The point is that you could get a lot of money. A nice addition to your account, Muriel. Did you see how his parents were dressed? I know something about clothes. That father was wearing an expensive suit. Nice wool. Good tailoring. Maybe even custom made. I think there’s money in that family. I think you deserve some of that money to compensate you for all your pain and suffering.”
“But…there wasn’t any pain and suffering. Not really. In fact…” Muriel stopped talking.
“In fact what?”
“Nothing. Sorry. The thought just slipped my mind.” She couldn’t say she’d had a wonderful time. Kevin had done a lot to enliven the monotony of her existence. She had enjoyed his company. Who would have thought?
Stan cleared his throat. “You know, it worries me that a thought could slip your mind so easily.”
“Maybe I do forget something once in a while. That doesn’t mean I’m losing my faculties! Everyone forgets something once in a while. Even young people. But as long as we’re on the topic of money, I did want to talk to you about taking a little more out of my account. I need to get some work done around the house. Social Security isn’t enough for extras like that.”
“You’ve mentioned that before. I’ll try to figure out how I can help you. The problem is that your account is doing so well. Remember the year when stocks were down twenty percent? Your account actually went up twelve percent. It was all in the paperwork. I do hope you’re reading it. You’ll see that I’m steering a careful course through the wild waves of investment. I’d hate to have you drawing money out when your account is doing so well.”
“I appreciate your hard work. And your expertise. But what good does it do me if my account keeps growing but I can never use the money? I absolutely need to have some work done around the house. Especially a little landscaping. It’s not as though I’m asking for a lot.”
“Well, if you really want me to jeopardize your financial future by robbing your account prematurely, you just let me know.”
“I’m letting you know now, Stan. I need some money to get my grass mowed. I can’t handle it myself anymore.”
“I understand completely. But I don’t think you understand the complexities of the financial investments I’ve made for you. Of course you’re well diversified. But I’m using techniques you wouldn’t even think about. Like using derivatives to hedge risk and evaluating head and shoulders patterns for various stocks. Do you even know what a head and shoulders pattern is?”
“Something to do with dandruff?” She was sure she had heard the term in some TV commercial.
Stan laughed. “Not exactly. No. You see, this is why I have to stay in control. So you don’t make any egregious mistakes. These technical terms are too hard to explain to a lay person like yourself. Timing is critical. How about if I take a couple hundred extra out of your account next month? Just on a one-time basis. Would that be enough?”
Muriel’s head started to spin. “A couple hundred would be a blessing. I have to get my grass cut soon. It’s getting too long. It’ll be impossible to do next month.”
“Well, of course. I’ll see what I can do.”
He was just stringing her along, hoping she’d forget. How could she forget when that tall grass waved at her morning, noon, and night? If only she hadn’t given Stan control of her assets. It seemed like the right thing to do when Howard died. Though, come to think of it, Howard was the one who refused to sign over any control to Stan. Howard always suspected Stan was running some sort of Ponzi scheme.
Muriel knew it was illegal. But one could enjoy a very wealthy lifestyle until one went to jail. Stan certainly had a very wealthy lifestyle. But Natalie wouldn’t let him impoverish her own mother. Though it was quite possible Natalie didn’t understand what Stan was talking about any more than Muriel did. Muriel leaned back in her seat and relaxed. She just hoped Stan would really come through.
15
Before Stan turned the key in his front door, Muriel heard the high-pitched barking of Roxanne’s Pekingese interspersed with lower pitched growls. As Stan led the way into the house, the dog sank its teeth into his left pants leg. Stan shook his leg at each step, but the dog hung on, as tenacious as a burr.
Roxanne lay on the sofa. Her sneakers, shades away from their original white, were up on th
e Italian leather. Twigs and pebbles showed in the tread of the soles. “Isn’t Pickles just the cutest little thing? I sure hope you didn’t put a lot of mileage on my car, Muriel. It won’t be worth as much with a lot of extra mileage, you know. I might have to charge you.”
“Thank you for your concern, Roxanne. Yes, I’m safe. No, the young man didn’t rape me or cut off body parts to prove he meant business like they do on TV.”
“Well, of course he didn’t. Don’t be silly. He wasn’t after you. He was after the things in my trunk. That’s obvious.”
Muriel sank into the wing-chair across from the sofa. There was no hassock to keep her foot elevated as both the nurse and the social worker had ordered. The only coffee table was the one the Pekingese was now sprawled over.
Natalie had so much money. How sad that she never used any of it to turn her spacious house into a comfortable home. A throw pillow here and there would have added a little color. A display of family pictures in matching frames would have made the place less generic. The living room looked like the display window of an upscale antiques store, not like a room people actually lived in. Every square inch shouted “don’t touch.”
“Could somebody please get me something so I can put my foot up?” Muriel tossed the question into the air.
No one made a move.
“Roxanne? Roxanne! Could you just push the coffee table a foot or two in this direction? That would be so helpful. The nurse said I’m supposed to keep my foot up. My ankle’s sprained.”
“I don’t think Pickles would take kindly to that. She doesn’t like being disturbed when she’s watching TV.”
“Dogs don’t watch TV.”
“Pickles does. Obviously.” Roxanne turned back to whatever TV show was on, joining uproariously with the canned laughter.
Natalie and Stan had already disappeared behind the click of a study door.
Natalie wouldn’t be happy if Muriel hobbled around searching for a footrest. They’d think she was snooping. But Natalie had patted her on the shoulder, expressed relief that she was found and belted her into the backseat of the car. Those memories would remain with Muriel for some time, as soothing as a down comforter on a cold night.
