by Delia Parr
Aunt Dorothy sat in her bed, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. For the first time since she had entered the hospital, her hazel eyes held a bit of sparkle again, but she still looked forlorn and bedraggled.
Her pale blue hospital gown hung loosely around her narrow shoulders. Mottled bruises surrounded the small white bandages on the back of both her hands and at the crease in her elbows. Her complexion was pasty. Her dark gray curls were flattened in some spots on her head, while unruly clumps stood up in other places, making her look as if she was wearing a broken tiara.
She was a queen held captive on her throne. An IV line snaked from the back of her hand to several bags hanging on a stainless-steel pole, and wires linked her to monitors that measured her heart rate and blood pressure. A urine bag and catheter tubing were discreetly concealed beneath sheets near the floor, and bars on both sides of the mattress gave her something to hold on to, helping her to shift more easily in bed.
Charlene stood next to the pillow, resting a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. Daniel held on to the top rail with one hand on the other side of the bed. Charlene studied him as he told her aunt about the young boys’ basketball team that was coming to camp in the state park this weekend.
The crisp white sheets on Aunt Dorothy’s bed offered a stark contrast to Daniel’s perpetual tan, acquired from a lifetime working as a park ranger. He was a stocky, well-muscled man with dark, wavy hair. He had passed on his cleft chin and love of the outdoors to their son, Greg, while their daughter, Bonnie, had inherited his fabulous blue eyes and the tendency to be reserved and not to reveal thoughts and emotions.
Standing with him, as she had done for more than forty years, Charlene realized again how physically unlike one another they were. She had often said that her figure resembled a salt-water taffy: plump from top to bottom. She had pale skin and hair she’d kept light, long after time had darkened it and later turned it white.
Her life, since she’d married Daniel, had been built around her home, her children and her church. Unfortunately, by the time the nest she and her husband shared was empty, they had become strangers who had two children in common, but little else—except that they both loved Aunt Dorothy.
Grateful for his support during the past week, Charlene glanced at the end of the bed, where Denise Adams stood next to the papers she’d brought to the meeting and stacked in neat piles on the table Aunt Dorothy used to take her meals. For a woman who spent a good part of her professional life helping patients and their families make the transition from hospital to home, the social worker had an unusually stern and rigid turn to her mouth, and the expression in her light brown eyes was pure business.
Charlene was not impressed—until Daniel and Aunt Dorothy finished their conversation and Denise started the meeting. “As you know, Dorothy, Dr. Marks feels you’re just about ready to leave the hospital,” she said in a sweet, soothing voice that immediately set Charlene at ease.
For the life of her, however, she would never get used to hearing the hospital staff refer to her eighty-one-year-old aunt by her given name. Unless requested by the patient, titles and last names, Charlene had learned, were taboo under new guidelines that were supposed to guarantee patient privacy. But no one had asked Aunt Dorothy what she preferred.
“I wouldn’t mind staying a few days longer,” Aunt Dorothy murmured, clearly reluctant to return home and resume the independent life she had always led.
“We’ve got a number of options for you and your family to consider, which is why I thought it best that we all be here together,” Denise replied. “I thought I might briefly explain what those options include. First and most importantly, we all realize you’re not quite up to living alone again.”
When Aunt Dorothy nodded, Charlene lightly pressed her fingertips against her aunt’s shoulder to offer support. She was relieved that the social worker had not come right out and said Aunt Dorothy would never live alone again.
Denise smiled. “We have several alternatives you can consider.”
Aunt Dorothy stiffened and blinked back tears. “Not a nursing home. Please. I—I never, ever want to give up my home and spend my last days in a nursing home,” she whispered.
“You really don’t need to move permanently into a long-term-care facility,” the social worker assured her, clearly avoiding the words “nursing home.” “You could benefit from a short-term stay in any one of the rehab facilities in the area, if you have the resources. While you’re there, you could consider selling your home and moving into an assisted-living facility. I could help you and your family in that regard, as well.”
Charlene, seeing the devastation and panic in her aunt’s eyes, didn’t hesitate—not even to consult Daniel. “Aunt Dorothy, you can come live with us until you’re strong enough to go home again,” she offered.
Relief flooded her aunt’s features. “I wouldn’t be in the way. Not for an instant. And I’d be good and quiet, too,” she promised, looking from Charlene to Daniel and back again.
Charlene smiled and glanced at her husband, albeit belatedly, for his approval.
He looked at her aunt, instead, and smiled. “You can live with us for as long as you like.”
The social worker frowned. “As I recall, the two of you don’t actually live in Welleswood,” she said to Charlene.
“I have my business here, but we live in Grand Mills,” Charlene replied, wondering why that should make any difference.
“Near the edge of the Jersey Pinelands,” Daniel added.
The woman’s frown deepened. “That’s a good hour away. Being that far from Dorothy’s physicians could present problems. When she experiences another episode, which seems likely given the progressive nature of her illness, there might not be time for you to bring her back here.”
“You could change doctors for the time being. People do that all the time,” Daniel suggested. “I’m sure the hospital could transfer your records to a closer facility.”
Aunt Dorothy blinked back a fresh wave of tears. “But then we’d have to change back again when I move home. That’s an awful lot of trouble for everybody.” She sighed and worried the tissue in her hands. “It seems to me the good Lord should just call me Home, but He doesn’t appear to want me yet.”
Before Charlene could comment, the social worker responded, “Perhaps a better alternative would be to hire someone to live with you at your own home, assuming you have both the room and the resources. Whether you choose a home health aide or a companion, you’d receive the help you need and be able to keep the same doctors.”
Aunt Dorothy’s face lit with interest before she dropped her gaze.
Charlene swallowed hard. Hiring anyone to live with Aunt Dorothy full-time was well beyond the elderly woman’s means, but even if it wasn’t, Charlene could not imagine letting a stranger care for her beloved aunt. “We’re family. We take care of one another,” she murmured, patting her aunt’s shoulder. “I have to come to work in Welleswood five days a week anyway, so why don’t I just move in with you, temporarily, until you’re up to living alone again,” she suggested, unable to bring herself to suggest that Aunt Dorothy would never actually be well enough to live by herself again.
Based on the literature she had read, and what the doctors had told her, the progressive nature of CHF—combined with the complications of aging and diabetes—meant that Dorothy Gibbs would probably never be self-reliant again. But pointing that out now, when her aunt was so vulnerable, just didn’t feel right to Charlene.
She looked over at Daniel again. “You could come and stay with us for weekends, couldn’t you?”
He winked at Aunt Dorothy. “Why not? You’re still my best girl, aren’t you?”
“I can’t ask you two to uproot yourselves like that,” Aunt Dorothy argued, but her voice was soft and unconvincing.
“You didn’t ask. We offered,” Charlene countered, grateful for her husband’s support.
“I’ve been promising you all winter t
hat I’d come take a look at that backyard of yours once spring came and clear it out for you,” Daniel added. “It would probably be a whole lot easier for me if I had a few weekends where I could work in the yard without driving back and forth.”
Aunt Dorothy batted her lashes at him and smiled demurely. “I haven’t had anyone over for Easter brunch for years. Not with the yard so overgrown. It’s lovely to think we could have brunch by the creek again this year. Do you think Greg and Bonnie could come, too?”
“The kids aren’t coming home for Easter this year, remember?” Charlene prompted, to remind her aunt that they had talked about this when Greg and Bonnie had visited her.
“Greg and Margot are spending the holiday with her parents and Bonnie is going to Spain as a chaperone with the Spanish club at her school,” Daniel added. “Charlene and I will be there, though. I can’t promise to have the yard cleared out by then, but I’ll try.”
“You’re such a strong man. I just know you’ll have my yard looking better than it ever did by Easter,” Aunt Dorothy said confidently.
Watching her husband and aunt chatting, Charlene blinked hard. Aunt Dorothy was actually flirting with Daniel, and he was absolutely beaming!
“I think you’ve found a wonderful solution.” The social worker smiled proudly, as if the idea had been hers. “I’ll speak to Dr. Marks this afternoon. From what he told me earlier today, our patient might even be able to go home tomorrow,” she offered. Then she packed up her papers and left.
“My house keys are in my purse. You took that home with you, didn’t you?” Aunt Dorothy asked as she took a fresh tissue from the box beside her bed.
“As a matter of fact, I still have it in the trunk of my car. I wasn’t sure if you’d need anything in your purse or not.”
Her aunt smiled. “Good girl. Instead of staying here all day, why don’t you go to my house and air it out a bit? You could move a few things around to make up the spare bedroom for you and Daniel to use while you’re staying with me. Just stick anything in your way up in the attic or anywhere else you find room. I’m afraid there isn’t much in the refrigerator, either, except for a few old leftovers that probably need to be tossed out.”
She paused to mop her brow with the tissue. “Unless you need to get to Sweet Stuff. You haven’t been at your store all week.”
“The store is fine. Ginger King offered to work full-time for me this week so I could be here with you. I’ll get your house ready, instead,” Charlene reassured her.
“What about you, Daniel?” her aunt asked.
“I’m afraid I have to get back to work. I’m on duty this weekend, but I can start on that yard of yours next weekend,” he promised.
“Well, go on, then,” Aunt Dorothy said, waving them both away. “You two have important things to do.”
After a round of hugs and kisses, Charlene walked to the elevator with her husband. “Thank you,” she murmured as they waited side by side for the elevator.
He nodded, but kept his gaze on the arrows over the elevator. “Sure. Nothing else made much sense.”
The down arrow lit up, a bell sounded and the elevator doors opened. “It won’t be for long,” Charlene offered as they stepped into the empty elevator, saddened to think Aunt Dorothy’s days on this earth were nearing an end.
He shrugged and pressed the button for the lobby.
“Maybe it might do us both some good to spend a little time apart during the week,” she said, giving voice for the first time to the fear that the indifference that had marked their marriage these past few years might be too great to overcome.
He let out a long, deep sigh. “If that’s what you want,” he said hoarsely.
And her heart trembled.
Maybe that’s what he wanted, too.
Chapter Five
Still shaken by the notion that living with Aunt Dorothy might also be an odd, unexpected trial separation of sorts, Charlene walked up the slate walk to her aunt’s house on Lady’s Creek Drive. Dwarfed on either side by a copse of majestic oak and maple trees older than Welleswood itself, the one-story cottage looked sadly neglected.
Using the set of keys retrieved from Aunt Dorothy’s purse, Charlene unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room. Memories of happier times assailed her, and she swallowed hard, praying there might be more time to share with her aunt and more memories to create.
Once her eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, she pulled up the shades on the windows to let in more light. The living room was dated, yet neat, and was obviously in need of a good cleaning, just as she had suspected. Before she could continue walking through the house, however, there was a sharp rap at the front door.
She recognized the visitor standing on the porch and wished she had not bothered to answer the door at all. “Hello, Mrs. Withers,” she murmured, and managed a smile for her aunt’s elderly next-door neighbor.
A pair of curious brown eyes tried to see past Charlene into the house. “When I saw your car in the driveway I came right over,” she said, holding her buttonless coat together with both hands. “I heard poor Dorothy has passed. Is it true?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“No, it’s not true. Not at all. Aunt Dorothy is recovering from a slight heart attack. She’s coming home tomorrow, we hope,” Charlene said, anxious to correct the woman, who had a well-earned reputation for gossip and exaggeration.
Agnes Withers furrowed her brow. “Really? I heard she had a real bad heart attack. Then I heard—”
“I’m sure my aunt will tell you all about it when she’s home and up to having visitors,” Charlene interrupted. “I just came by to straighten up a bit for her.” She decided not to share more, for fear of adding to the gossip.
The neighbor leaned forward a bit. “You need to move in. That’s what you need to do,” she whispered, as if someone might be lurking behind the overgrown bushes to overhear her. “Dorothy won’t admit it to anyone, not even her doctor, but the poor dear can’t see well enough these days to take her insulin right. Half the time I’m here, she either fills that needle with too much or too little, and I have to fix it for her. Sooner or later, if that heart of hers doesn’t give out first, she’s going to take an overdose or go into one of those diabetic comas, all because she can’t see to get her dose right.”
“I hadn’t realized it was a problem,” Charlene admitted.
“Well, it is a problem, but you can’t tell her I tattled. She’ll get mad at me, and I couldn’t bear losing my very best neighbor.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“And don’t mention I heard she was dead, either. She’d really get mad at that,” the woman added.
“No, I won’t,” Charlene promised, eager to send the woman on her way.
Mrs. Withers apparently had other plans in mind, and took a step closer. “I’d be glad to help you straighten things up for Dorothy,” she offered.
Charlene tightened her hold on the door frame. “That’s so kind of you, but I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can take care of things here, but maybe you could do something else for me…and for Aunt Dorothy.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, although disappointment laced her words.
“Considering the rumor that she had passed on, maybe you could call your friends to reassure them that she’s doing much better and that she’ll be coming home very soon.”
“Absolutely. I will. I’ll make the calls right away.” Good as her word, she turned and walked away.
Relieved and convinced Agnes Withers would put the rumors to rest, Charlene went into the dining room, where more memories greeted her. Then she headed into the sun-drenched kitchen, where light poured onto the cracked red-and-green linoleum floor through a pair of windows facing the overgrown backyard. On the red Formica countertops that had faded to pink, Aunt Dorothy had new hypodermic needles and used ones. The room itself was orderly, but like all the other rooms, it needed a good cleaning.
&
nbsp; Charlene opened the refrigerator and found a few Styrofoam boxes of leftovers on the shelves, beside all sorts of single-serving condiments. The freezer was packed with more Styrofoam containers covered in ice crystals and frozen meats dating back as far as two years.
She inspected the bedrooms on the other side of the house. She poked her head into Aunt Dorothy’s bedroom, where she detected the stale smell of Tabu, but instead of going inside to pull up the shades, she flipped on the light with the switch near the door. As she expected, the room was as tidy and as sadly worn as the others and just as needy of a cleaning.
Sighing, she turned out the light and bypassed the bathroom to look in the spare bedroom, where she would be staying alone during the week and with Daniel on the weekends. When she flipped on the light, she gasped and stepped back. There had to be a bed in this room somewhere, but she couldn’t see past the three tall dressers and the dozen or so tall tin cabinets and wardrobes huddled together, leaving only a narrow aisle.
Charlene groaned out loud.
There was no way she could get all this stuff up into the attic as Aunt Dorothy suggested. Dismayed, she closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on positive thoughts. Unfortunately, they were as thin as Aunt Dorothy’s bedspread.
Charlene let out another groan and opened her eyes. Cleaning the house would take hours and hours. She would probably be up half the night, which meant she could barely spare time to drive home to pack some clothes for herself, let alone think about spending her last night of freedom with her husband.
