“I’ve heard horror stories,” I said, conceding an inch. “My ex-husband used to have patients badly in need of extended therapy, but the HMOs wouldn’t cover it. And half the meds they needed too.”
“My point exactly,” Dr. Greed said. “These days physicians practice at the mercy of big business and what some soulless, not-medically-trained creature at a desk thinks my patient should or should not have. It’s outrageous. And, not very effective.”
Millie appeared at the door. “Dinner will be ready in two minutes,” she said. She eyed Dr. Available up and down, then shot me a look that said, You are even more stupid than I thought. This is a nice man and you don’t like him ’cause he gave you bad news? Ain’t that like shooting the messenger?
“Let’s go in to dinner,” Mother said, “shall we?”
She stood and her caftan billowed slightly. Dr. Jack Ass offered her his arm, which she took, winking at me to say, You see? I haven’t lost my touch! Take notes, my moron of a daughter. I followed them to the dining room like a good girl, thinking to myself that he was taller than I remembered. And that I liked the way he touched Mother’s hand. It was sweet, like he was handling something rare, a tropical flower.
He was.
Dinner began with Mother’s usual flourish of protocol. Eric seated me and Dr. Manners seated Mother. The conversation was pleasant enough throughout the soup course. Eric and I got up, cleared the plates, and took them to the kitchen.
There, Millie was plating the next course.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Mom doesn’t know it, but every time she looks at me or Grandmother, that guy has his eyeballs glued to her!” Eric said.
“What?” I said.
“That’s what I wants to yanh!” Millie said. “Eric, you stay with me, boy. Let the grown-ups have their boring talk. You can help me whip cream!”
“Cool!” Eric said, and looked at me for permission to leave the table.
“All right,” I said, “but come join us for dessert?”
When I returned to the table and took my place again, the conversation had turned grave.
“. . . believe in God?” Mother was saying to him.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I surely do,” Dr. Biblical Prediction said.
“You do?” I said. “Don’t you think that most of what people describe as religious experience can be explained by science? Apparitions? Voices?”
He looked at me and saw that Mother and I were borderline in the “accepting” department. If he knew how I flip-flopped back and forth, he’d surely think I was a woman incapable of convictions at all, not that I cared what he thought at all.
“Yes, science explains a lot, but there is a lot it doesn’t explain and even more that defies explanation. I’ve seen too much over the years not to believe.”
“Such as? Can I get anybody anything?” I said, waiting for him to shoot himself in the foot.
“I’m fine, thanks. Well,” he began slowly, “when I was an intern, I practiced emergency room medicine. I had the privilege to be with many folks at their last moment of life. I have seen dying patients claim to see Jesus. Many times.”
I took a bite of my fish and salad and mused for a moment on that. “Don’t you think people project what they want to see?”
“By the way,” he said, “this fish is delicious. Maybe, but not when they’re comatose.”
“Comatose?” Okay, he had my attention.
“My word! My grandson caught the fish himself! But, let’s not change the subject. This could be useful to this woman I know who’s dying.”
We all stopped breathing for a moment. Here was the moment.
“And, she claims not to believe in God,” Mother threw in for good measure.
Eric rambled back in and took his place at the table. He all but went unnoticed.
“Mrs. Wimbley?”
“Please call me Lavinia, Dr. Taylor.”
“And you call me Jack. Lavinia? Anyone who doubts the presence of a real and living God should spend a few days with me. I see people of great faith heal from life-threatening diseases and people of little faith die from minor illnesses.”
“Mind-body connection,” I said, the cynic in me rearing up on my hind legs.
“No,” he said, and blotted the corners of his lips with his napkin, “it just isn’t that simple.”
“What’s simple about the mind-body connection? Have you seen Bill Moyer’s stuff ?”
“Caroline! You are particularly contentious tonight! What on earth is the matter?”
“Mother? Dr. Taylor?”
“Jack, please,” he said.
“Eric? Please ask Millie for some more bread, dear.” I waited for him to leave the room. “Mother? Eric hasn’t been told anything yet, has he?”
“Yes, he has. He asked me if I was going to die and I said, not if I could help it. He seemed perfectly fine about it. I would never frighten Eric. You should know that.”
“Jack?” I said, and lost my train of thought, thinking that the news about Mother should have come from me. So, I just said, “This conversation is upsetting to me. You say that Mother is so desperately ill, yet she seems perfectly fine to me. You’re here at our table and even though I know this is completely irrational for me to think this, I want to hate you. You’re a perfectly nice man, a gentleman in fact, and I can’t bear it—to be in the room with you. And, you’re talking about God. The other night this Bible appeared out of thin air on my table . . .”
“Please forgive her, Jack. Caroline’s been under tremendous stress lately,” Mother said and shot me a look of ice cube daggers.
“It’s all right, Lavinia.” He got up and poured more wine for me and for himself. “What do you mean—a Bible appeared from thin air?”
“Exactly what I said.” I turned to Mother and said, “Unless you put it there?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Mother said.
“Daddy’s Bible—the one you gave him when y’all got married? It was by my bed the other night. On the table.”
The color drained from Mother’s face and she began to slide from her chair. She was fainting and it wasn’t drama. It was real.
“Mother!”
Jack jumped up from his place and caught her as she melted on the floor. I dunked my napkin in my water goblet and squeezed it out to wipe her face. I screamed for Millie and she came through the dining room door in a blast.
“What?” she said.
I said, “Get water! Hurry!”
Jack held Mother’s head in his lap and tapped her cheeks. In a moment she opened her eyes.
“Can’t be,” she said in a whisper we could barely hear.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked.
“Can’t be . . . I buried . . . I buried that Bible with his remains,” she said and began to cry real tears of fright and worry.
To say this put a damper on our dinner party would be the understatement of the year. I got goose bumps as big as golf balls and even Jack Taylor was unnerved. Millie helped Jack get Mother upstairs. He gave Mother a mild sedative. I took a nightgown from her closet and Millie helped her undress. I pulled back the covers and Mother all but slid between her sheets. Millie volunteered to sit with her and I went downstairs with Jack.
“Can I offer you something? Coffee? Tea? Booze?”
I decided it was time to shape up. Something weird was afoot.
“How about ten milligrams of something for you?” he said. “You all right?”
We were standing in the hallway, by the front door, debating whether to say good night or if he should hang around for a while. I felt like talking.
“Let’s see. Mother just informed me that I got a Bible from my dead father’s grave. . . .”
“I’ve seen stranger things.”
“And, according to statistics, she’ll be gone in six weeks to—”
“That’s up to God, not us.”
“Okay. My ex-husband called a few days ago,
suggesting a conjugal visitation, which I declined. With enthusiasm. . . .”
“Thank you for sharing.”
“My most recent liaison ended in karmic hell. . . .”
“Been there. . . .”
“I don’t know where I’m going to be living in the next few months. . . .”
“What’s the matter with right here?”
I had ticked these things off, counting on my fingers, deciding to keep Trip’s problem to my myself. Then I stopped listing my troubles and counted my fingers again. “Yep, five. That about sums it up. How about you?”
“Let’s see . . . aside from your mother’s illness, the rest of that stuff seems pretty fixable.”
“If I could get a grip on it!”
“Sounds like you could use a friend. What about that guy who brought you to the party where we met? Where’s he in all this quagmire of indecision and confusion?”
“Quagmire of indecision—good one. Matthew? Oh, hell, he’s just an old friend from high school. There’s not much going on there. Just a nice guy from eons ago.”
“A-ha,” he said.
Alone together, standing in the dim light, there was obviously the beginning of a pheromone sizzle, despite the fact that my dead father’s Bible was floating around. We’re not talking about fireworks, no, the chemistry between us was more in the realm of a sparkler. I could tell by the tone of his voice, which was slightly lower—the kind lovers use when they exchange secrets.
“And, what does ‘a-ha’ mean?” My voice became quieter too.
“That maybe you’d like to go for dinner? I don’t know, just seems like you are gonna need someone who knows what’s up, you know? I mean, a friend or something like that?”
His face was sincere. His words were honest and true. He was right, but you know me, I couldn’t resist the urge to torture him a little.
“Doctor? Don’t you know I hate doctors?”
“Yeah, I got the drift.”
“It’s because they’re always looking for something to be wrong with you. In my case, I’m divorcing a psychiatrist. Also a Jungian analyst. In his world, people are rarely, if ever, cured.”
“Ninety percent of my practice is reconstructive and cosmetic. Only ten percent is devoted to melanomas. I cure bumpy noses and things that sag.”
“Ah! I feel more pleasantly disposed to you now. Were you saying you’d like to take me out somewhere, sometime—for the purposes of friendship? Or something?”
“Yes.” He smiled wide.
Why hadn’t I noticed his dimples? “Okay. Yes. I’d like that.”
Why did I feel like I had known him all my life?
Forty-four
Lavinia Says, Y’all Deal with It
THE very first thing I did when I woke up was to pull my laptop into my bed and get on the Net. I was going to the Vatican to see if I could find a priest or maybe even a cardinal to tell me why Nevil’s Bible was out of his grave. No luck. I signed the guest book and asked for their prayers. That was the whole problem with being a Protestant. We didn’t have a Vatican, not that it did me much good. After I’d been there and had no luck, then what did I do? Got in a chat room and asked directions to Web sites that would give me some clues as to what was going on with my body and soul, that’s what!
Well, it was not very smart of me to expect to find the crème de la crème on the Internet at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. Nothing but whackos. I gave it an hour and then decided I should call Sweetie and Nancy and tell them to get over here and distract me. I was a bundle of nerves; truly, I was. Before I logged off, I went to BN.com and ordered every book Elisabeth Kübler-Ross ever wrote and got the Bill Moyers tapes too. If I was going to Glory, I would travel as an informed citizen. I even paid for FedEx charges to ship them. It wasn’t as if I had time to waste!
I realized I had to tell Sweetie and Nancy that I had been given a sentence, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it quite yet. I would just simply tell them that I had to have more tests. They’d buy that; I was sure of it. Who wanted to talk about all this dreary stuff anyway? Ah, me. Oh, well. All I seem to do is sigh and sigh. I’m so tired I could go back to sleep for ten more hours!
That nice Dr. Taylor seems to have taken a little shine to Caroline. I hope so. I hope he’s not the kind of doctor who’s a tight-wad with the morphine! I’ll just start to scream as soon as I feel the first twinge of pain, that’s all.
I exited Windows and let my laptop slide to the floor. To hell with it.
Oh, God, Nevil, can you hear me? Are you coming for me? Is that why your Bible is floating around here like a spook?
I must stop this at once! I’ll get myself into a state of depression and that just won’t do.
I reached for my phone and called Sweetie. She picked it up on the fifth ring.
“Sweetie? You old slugabed! It’s the Queen of Tall Pines calling. What are you up to today?”
I could tell I woke her, but she would never have given me the satisfaction of letting me know she liked to lie in bed like the Queen of Siam.
“I was just getting ready to get on my treadmill, why?” she said, lying like a cheap rug.
“I’m in the mood to play cards,” I said as sweet as I could, “care to join me?”
“Sure. Why not? I can exercise anytime! Want me to call Nancy?”
I said that I did. She hung up and called back to say they would be over by ten. I decided to rise and make myself presentable. I didn’t know how many good days I had left and that made me a little afraid. As I rolled over to sit up, my head started to spin. Oh, fine, I thought, here we go. Well, take it slow, sister, I said to myself and took my sweet time standing up.
My legs felt funny—pins and needles. I’d have to call Dr. Taylor and ask him what that was from. Probably because I spent too much time in bed. Hell, what time did I go to sleep anyway? I know it was before ten. Oh, yes, I remember now! Dr. Taylor gave me a shot to calm me down. I was in a highly agitated state and who wouldn’t have been?
Dressing seemed to take forever. I kept staring at my face in the mirror and wanting to cry. I didn’t look sick; I looked scared. I was. Then and there I decided that it wouldn’t do at all for a woman like me to go around all hangdog, looking pitiful. I mustered my strength, put on my makeup, and went to greet the day.
When I entered the kitchen there they were—the Tribunal! Trip, Millie, and Caroline. They fell silent the second they saw me.
“Good morning, everyone! Talking about something I’m not supposed to hear?” I knew that was rude, but sneaking around, talking about me behind my back just seemed inappropriate! At least Trip had the decency to get up and give me a kiss! His eyes were all red.
“Oh, dear boy,” I said, “save your tears! I feel fine!”
“I love you, Mother,” he said.
He hugged me so hard I thought he’d crack a rib, mine not his. “Great jumping Jehoshaphat! You’re hurting me, son. I love you too!”
When he finally released me, I moved away as quickly as I could so that I might at least get a cup of coffee! I poured myself the dregs. I hate that.
“Morning, Mother!” Caroline said.
“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Millie said.
“Blow your nose, son. Thank you, Millie. Good morning, Caroline, where’s Eric?”
“Fishing with Mr. Jenkins,” she said.
I looked at them, going from face to face at a deliberately slow pace so they would get the message loud and clear. Then to make sure they understood, I told them what I was thinking.
“I am well aware of my condition. I do not wish to discuss it. I do not wish you to discuss it. And, when I’m good and ready to discuss it, I’ll let you know. Is that understood?”
They nodded their heads and cleared their throats and looked at me like I had two heads.
“Nevil’s Bible is not floating around here for nothing. I know that. But for the moment, I’m fit as a fiddle. Now, Sweetie and Nancy are coming at ten to play bridg
e and, Caroline, I want you to play fourth. Can you manage that without going to pieces and spilling the poop?”
“God, Mother, about the last thing I want to do today is play bridge!” she said.
I leaned on the table and widened my eyes at her. “Given my delicate condition, Caroline, it’s the height of all conceit to refuse me this one little favor!”
“I’d love to play bridge, Mother, just love to,” she said, with a small grunt.
“Please do not grunt, dear. Pigs grunt,” I said.
Caroline rolled her eyes all over her head in complete exasperation, so much so I wanted to kiss her face! She’s more like me every day! That girl!
“Now, Millie? Shall we make some egg salad for the girls?” I said.
“No, I shall make some egg salad!” Millie said.
That was just fine with me.
The doorbell rang promptly at ten. I loved it when people honored the hour of my invitations by being prompt. Caroline and I answered it together.
“Sweetie, darlin’! Nancy, darlin’! Y’all come right on in!” I said.
“Lavinia? What on earth are you so happy about?” Sweetie said.
“Aren’t we bright-eyed today, Lavinia,” Nancy said.
“Oh, you old poops! It’s a beautiful day! The sun’s shining! I’m with my two dearest friends in all the world and my only daughter! Why shouldn’t I be happy?” I said. I spread my arms and turned on my heel.
They followed me into the living room where Caroline had set up the card table. I poured sweet tea for everyone and Caroline passed the sandwiches. Although it was early for lunch, no one refused them. We chatted about this and that and finally Sweetie asked the big question of the day.
“All right now, Lavinia, tell us what the doctor said.”
I was poised for her. “If you must know, Sweetie, he said that I had great legs for a woman my age!”
“Well, that’s just perfect,” Nancy said.
Plantation Page 42
