“Hmmm,” Laura mused. “You’ll miss them. They’ve been here a long time.”
It was an opening. She could tell her now. But she hesitated.
Earlier, over lunch, finishing up their strawberry shortcake and coffee, they’d all talked about how she was doing, about possible options should she ever decide she didn’t want to stay here.
“You might like to spend parts of each year with each of us,” Laura had suggested.
“That might work fine,” Lillian said.
They mentioned the retirement homes. Yesterday, Howard had driven them in the rented car around the city—“for old times,” but also to give them a view of the three retirement homes—“in case you’d ever want to consider them,” he said. They knew she had friends in two of the three.
They assumed, as she had, that she’d be happiest staying here, in the home she’d lived in for fifty years—with her friends, her church, Will’s sister and brother-in-law only a few blocks away. “We could help you find a housekeeper,” Lillian said, “if you don’t want to stay alone.”
Their recital, with its myriad options, all but made her dizzy—like the options the executor had listed for her after Will died. “Consult with the children. Or do what you think best,” he’d said. “I’m an old lady”—she’d laughed, passing it off. But it was true—her head did get fuzzy if she had too many options to think about. She’d thought then that maybe it was time to let someone else handle the details of life. But that last talk with the doctor made it seem more urgent. “You shouldn’t live alone, Rachel,” he’d said. “Consider getting someone in to stay with you.” A stranger? When she could live with her own daughter?
She took her last bite of shortcake. “Housekeepers aren’t that easy to find,” she said. And then added, “Whose turn to walk with me?” She thought it was Laura’s, but she wasn’t sure.
“Mine, Mother,” Laura said gently. “But don’t you want a nap first?”
“Well, maybe a short one,” she’d said, and gone dutifully to rest.
Now here they were, the walk almost over, and she hadn’t mentioned it yet. Her heart beat a little faster. Not that she was frightened, but it was a big step, moving away.
They reached the edge of the garden.
“Stop here a minute?” she said.
“Of course.”
“Will would have had it all planted by now.” She looked at the weeds, the few wildflowers scattered across the brown dirt. “I won’t see it another year.”
Laura patted her hand. “Of course you will. You’re getting a lot stronger. The last time we walked up this way, you were much shakier. You’ll be bounding up and down the sidewalk in a few weeks.”
She leaned her shoulder into Laura’s. “I don’t want to stay on here. I want to come and live with you.”
She felt Laura’s arm beneath the blue sweater tense and stiffen.
“I’m not sure that’s the best thing for you, Mother. You’ll miss your friends.”
“My friends are dying off.”
“You wouldn’t know anybody but us.”
She shook her head, dismissing it. “You’re enough for me. You and Trace and Annie. Bart and Philip when they come home. I’ll love seeing them oftener.”
Laura had begun moving them slowly forward again. “Let’s think about it,” she said. “You didn’t speak of it at lunch.”
“I wanted to hear what you all had to say. And I wanted to tell you first.” The words, begun as shared confidence, turned sour in her mouth. What was the matter with Laura? She’d have thought she’d be pleased. Of course it would be an adjustment for everyone, but last fall Laura had sounded as though she’d like her mother to come. “I’ve already thought about it,” she said.
They reached the house and went in. The cream-and-blue-striped wallpaper in the front hall seemed reassuring, the small Hitchcock chair. She was tired, ready to sit clown.
“Lillian, Howard,” Laura called, as though they were off somewhere instead of right here where they’d been twenty minutes ago.
Lillian looked up from the desk where she and Howard were going over some of Will’s business papers.
“Mother was thinking some more about what she’ll do next—maybe not live here in the house after all,” Laura said, her voice hushed, as if she was telling some guarded secret. “Tell her.” She eased her mother onto the couch and sat down on the edge of the Windsor chair. “Tell her what you think.”
From her perch on the couch, Rachel looked at her son and daughters. They were moving their chairs to form a circle around her. Oddly, she remembered those old pictures of covered wagons forming a circle to fend off the enemy. Howard spoke first. “I thought you’d decided to stay on here.” His eyes swept the room—the wall of books, the Victorian sofa, her mother’s carved rosewood chair by the fireplace, the French doors leading out onto the porch. “It would be a wrench for you to move after fifty years. I’m sure we could get extra help.”
“I don’t want extra help. I want to go with Laura. She invited me. I’ve decided.”
Lillian leaned forward. Her long strand of green glass beads swung across her lap. “What about half the time with me and half with Laura?”
“I’m too old to be traveling like that,” she said. “The rest of you can come and see me at Laura’s.”
“But you’re getting stronger,” Laura said. “On the walk today… You’ve done so well on your own—so much better than any of us thought you could when Dad got sick. You’ll be able to go out again—lots of places.”
“I’m not eager to, without Will. I’ll be content to stay home, with you. I can read, help with cooking. I’ll make friends there. I already know your neighbors.” She didn’t understand why all this effort to dissuade her.
She looked back at her younger daughter. Surely Laura would support her decision. But Laura’s face was distraught. She leaned forward, her eyes wide, dark, and put her hand on Rachel’s knee. “Mother, I don’t think I can do it. I thought I could. This has been a hard year for us. Not just about Dad. Philip’s leaving for college has been a major change. We’re having some struggles with Annie growing up. Bart’s going to graduate. I’ve just started to make my way again as an artist. We’d love to have you visit, or live with us six months of the year. But all the time…” Her voice faltered; she looked around frantically, as though searching for help. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said. “I know it’s terrible, going back on my invitation.”
Rachel, stunned, moved her hand stiffly against her brown challis dress. “But last fall…”
Laura’s face, already pale, turned paler still. “I know. I thought I could, last fall.”
There was a terrible lump in her throat. “I took care of you when you were sick,” she said. “You’d never have made it without me.”
Quickly, Lillian spoke. “Mother”—her hand closed around her beads—“you’re welcome to come live with us in Michigan. We have a bigger house. There are more of us there, to keep you company.”
They were all looking at her, the same look of pained intent on each face. “Thank you,” she said to Lillian. “I’m glad someone wants me.” She looked over at Laura, then back at Lillian. “Thank you. I’ll think about it. Not now. Maybe later.” The truth was, she didn’t want to go to Lillian’s. Too many people buzzing in and out all the time. Howard? Howard hadn’t said a thing. If she was to go with him, a lot of it would fall on Irene. It wasn’t a son’s place to make such an offer.
*
After a supper marked by strained silences, they talked of it again. Laura reiterated her offer. “I’d love to have you stay for six months. But I need some time to myself. And you…you’d miss everything you’re used to. We—” She spoke as though it was some kind of a joke. “What if we got to resent each other?”
“I never resented my mother,” Rachel said.
After another moment of silence, Laura excused herself. “I want to call home. Last night was Annie’s prom.”
/> She was gone a while. When she came back, she was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
After a minute, Howard said, “How are Trace and Annie? How was the prom?”
She swallowed, took an audible breath. “Trace is fine. He wanted to know what all we’re doing. I told him.” Her voice caught. “He sends his love.”
“And Annie?” Howard asked.
“Actually, Annie wasn’t there. Trace said there’d been a bit of a schedule crisis—he’d tell me later. He said she had a good time.” She smiled now, her calm returned.
“Bring pictures to the reunion,” Lillian said.
“Sure,” Laura promised.
After a while, Rachel stood up. “I’m going to bed.” She looked toward Laura, then at the others. “It’s true I’ve been quite well,” she said. “But the doctor doesn’t want me to stay alone.”
*
During the next two days, they made efforts to locate a housekeeper. Rachel, still reeling under this turn of events, thought of a woman who might suit her. “Carlena Shaw. I’ve only met her once. I’ve known her sister in church. I think she’s an LPN. She goes around taking care of old people. Maybe she could come.”
Laura volunteered to make the call.
From her bed in the next room, Rachel listened. “Wonderful!” she heard Laura say.
Well. She did like Carlena. But… Her eyes filled with tears. She heard the children coming and turned toward the window.
Laura came into the room, Howard and Lillian with her. “She’ll be glad to come. She finished her last case two weeks ago. She’ll come over tonight and we can talk.”
“I have a good idea once in awhile,” Rachel said. Stiff in her pride, she said, “I have enough money. Though if we spend it all, it won’t go to you.”
*
Carlena came. They all liked her—a sturdy, ebullient woman, her voice loud from years of associating with the hard-of-hearing.
“When can you come?” Rachel had asked.
“Tomorrow. I got nothing holding me back.”
The next day, Lillian and Howard and Laura helped Carlena move into the room that had been Rachel and Will’s.
Back downstairs, Carlena asked, “You got a bell? I’d like her to have a bell so if she needs me in the night.”
Laura found an old brass bell in the attic. Carlena set it on the windowsill by Rachel’s bed. “Now, you use it.” She shook her finger admonishingly. “I don’t mind getting up. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I will,” Rachel gave it a practice shake before returning the bell to the sill.
In the morning, Howard and Lillian and Laura stood in the hall, Carlena and Rachel nearby. “I’ll take care of your mother, don’t you worry,” Carlena said. She was holding Rachel’s arm.
“You’ve called a taxi?” Rachel queried.
“Yes,” Lillian said. “Remember, Mother, if you decide you don’t want to stay here, you’re welcome to come to us.”
“Or share the time with us,” Laura said. Her eyes met Rachel’s briefly, a pleading look, then she looked away.
“Thank you,” Rachel said stiffly.
The taxi came. One by one, they kissed Rachel good-bye.
“We’ll call tonight,” they promised.
Through the open front door, she watched them go down the walk and climb in the taxi, watched the taxi pull away.
She watched until the taxi drove out of sight.
She turned to Carlena. “Do you have children?”
Laura took a cab home from the airport. Trace had classes all afternoon. Once inside the door, she set her suitcase down and took a deep breath. Then she walked slowly through the house, relishing the quiet, the calm orderliness of the house, the soft blues and greens, the touches of peach and apricot, the symmetry of furniture and rooms—the gift of available solitude.
In her workroom—the sunlight slanting in through the western window—she found a single rose in a clear glass vase. A slip of paper lay beside it: “Mom, I love you. Annie.”
“Oh! What a dear,” she said, then read an additional note: “I have play rehearsal until seven. Don’t wait dinner.”
She checked the freezer. She could put together a hasty ragout. In the vegetable drawer were fresh greens, enough for a salad. They must not have done too badly, Annie and Trace.
She took her suitcase into their room, put it on the bed. On her bureau was the accumulated mail from her absence—some circulars, a letter from a friend in Illinois. A letter from the Walter Stone Company—she tore it open. Yes, they liked the preliminary sketches—go ahead. They’d need five double-spread pages, ten singles. She could map out the text however she wanted.
She sat on the bed, clutching the letter to her chest. Her first real contract. A quiver of anxiety went through her. What if she’d agreed to her mother’s coming? How could she have done the work? Still… She saw Rachel’s anguished face, heard her words: “She invited me.”
She unpacked, then went to the phone and called Rachel. “I’m home, Mother. How are you?”
“I’m pretty tired, but I’m all right.” There was a pause. “How’s Annie? How’s Trace?”
“I haven’t seen them yet.” She looked at her watch: ten past five. “Trace should be coming soon.”
Another pause. “Tell Annie I want to hear all about the prom. Be sure you bring pictures to the reunion.”
“We will.” She thought to ask about Carlena, but it was too pointed, drew attention to her own default. “It was wonderful to be there for your birthday, all of us.”
“It was nice, wasn’t it?” Rachel’s voice was a bit formal, but why not? They said good-bye and hung up, and Laura sat in the chair in the kitchen and closed her eyes. Mother! she thought.
Trace came in. “Hi!” he called from the door. She went to meet him. They hugged and she leaned against him—his familiar steady self. “I’m so glad to be home,” she said.
He pressed the back of her head against his shoulder. “Dearest,” he said, and stooped to kiss her closed eyelids.
“By the way,” he said, “Annie has play rehearsal. She won’t get here till seven. She said not to wait dinner.”
“I know. She left me a note. I thought we’d wait. I got out two sherry glasses.” She led him into the kitchen, poured the sherry, and handed him a glass. “To celebrate our being back together.”
They went into the living room and sat in the soft dusk of early evening, the smell of new-mown grass coming in the open window.
Laura sipped the sherry, relishing the soothing liquid as it slid down her throat. “It was so good to talk with you that night after I’d told Mother. I felt so awful.”
He put his glass down on the lamp table by his chair. “I’m sure it was hard for everyone. But it’s not as though any of us deserted her. Lillian offered. You offered for six months at a time. She’d always be remembering what she’d lost, leaving there. She’d keep telling you. If she can manage in her own home, I’m sure it’s better for her, too.”
Laura breathed in his words. “Oh, I hope so.” She took another sip of the sherry. “How did you and Annie get along? Did you spend much time together?”
“Not a lot. It was pretty busy—for her and for me.”
“Your evening classes were over. I was hoping—”
“She was busy, too.”
They heard the back door open, close. Annie hurried into the living room. “Mom!”
Laura stood to embrace her daughter. “Thank you for the flower, dear. It was a wonderful welcome home.”
Annie returned the hug. “You’re welcome. How’s Grandma?”
“I think she’s doing fine. We—she, actually—found a woman to stay with her. Her name’s Carlena. Grandma’s known her for a while. I called, just before Dad came home. She wants to hear all about the prom.” She smiled and sat back down. Annie collapsed onto the sofa.
“So,” Laura said, “how was the prom?”
“It was fun. We had a good time. Gord
on even sent me flowers.”
“Wrist bouquet? Shoulder corsage? I’m sure you looked gorgeous. I can’t wait to see the pictures.”
The silence was palpable.
“There’ll be pictures,” Trace said. “But we don’t have them yet. Gordon’s parents took the pictures.”
“What? You couldn’t work that simple camera? All you had to do was turn it on and push the button.”
“That wasn’t it.”
“Well, what happened? Were you so dazzled by Annie’s beauty that you couldn’t function?” She glanced at her daughter. Annie was staring at her father with a look of scornful resignation.
“Dad wasn’t here when Gordon and I got home for the pictures.”
Laura turned to him. “What do you mean you weren’t here? Where were you? When we talked, you said everything went fine.”
Trace’s jaw was set in a grim line, his eyes dark, guarded. “I didn’t want to talk about it over the phone. You had enough going on up there.” He raised his hand to forestall further questions. “I’d agreed to give a little speech to welcome Dave Ignatius. We thought there’d be plenty of time.”
“You thought there’d be plenty of time,” Annie burst in. “I told you I didn’t know.”
“We estimated the times. It should have been fine,” he said.
Laura flung up her hands. “But how could you have planned to do anything else? This was her big evening. You know teenagers. A party like that can have all kinds of mix-ups.”
“I waited as long as I could,” he said. “As it was, I was late—which did not go over well with Stoddard.”
They heard the back door open. “Anybody home?”
“Come on in,” Annie called. To them, she said, “It’s Gordon. We’re going to watch a movie on television.”
Laura sighed and sat down as Gordon walked into the room. “Hi, folks. Like my new shirt?” He pulled at the bottom of his T-shirt, flattening it out so they could see the green-and-blue globe and the words Love Your Mother arched above. “Cool, huh?”
“That’s neat,” Annie said.
“Yeah.” He tucked the shirt back into his jeans, straightened the belt around his slender waist. “How is everybody?” He turned to Laura. “How was your trip?”
Such Good People Page 6
