by Lisa Wingate
“No,” I said, because I didn’t want them to come in and put me back to bed. “I donnn’t …”
Rebecca rubbed my hand between hers. “Don’t worry,” she said, then assured me that everything would be all right.
But her face said otherwise, making the promise feel hollow.
CHAPTER 21
Rebecca Macklin
It seemed strange to be making plans for Hanna Beth’s eventual homecoming. Considering how I’d always felt about her presence in the house, I’d never imagined calmly meeting with nursing center committees, arranging for a special bed, a bathing chair, grab bars, and wheelchair ramps. I’d never guessed that I would watch delivery trucks and workmen move in and out, and be filled with a sense of anticipation. At some point during my time on Blue Sky Hill, I had ceased to see my own mother, my own childhood, here. I no longer rounded corners and caught shreds of memory floating like dust motes in the air.
The house had become Hanna Beth’s house, Teddy’s house, my father’s house. It took on a new life, a life of its own, with my father in a more stable mental state, Teddy coming and going from his flowers, Mary and her boys spending evenings in the yard or the living room, and Ifeoma sitting with my father during the day, telling stories about Ghana. Ifeoma’s strong, confident presence captured my father’s attention, helped him pass the long afternoons peacefully. Now that he no longer saw those people, he was tolerant even of the construction work and deliverymen passing through.
With new help in the house, I was able to develop a daily routine that included minimal direct contact with my father. Despite long medical dialogues with Dr. Amadi, information from Internet pages on Alzheimer’s disease, and input from Mary and Ifeoma—despite the fact that my father’s behavior and lapses were typical of an Alzheimer’s patient, particularly considering his recent medical trauma—it hurt that, so often, I was one of his lapses. Much of the time, I was still Marilyn. On good mornings he knew me, at least after some prompting. “Oh, yes, Rebecca,” he’d say, blinking slowly, his eyes turning upward and to the left, as if he were trying to draw the tattered information from his memory banks. “Have you been away?”
“A while,” I’d tell him. It comforted him to believe he didn’t recognize me at first because I’d been gone on some sort of vacation.
“I thought so,” he’d answer. “Did you have a good trip?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Wonderful. Have you seen Hanna Beth today? I was looking for her this morning.”
At that point, in spite of all sense of reason, the choking rejection would coil around me. I’d feel myself grasping at bitterness like an addict reaching for a fix. “She’s in the nursing center, remember? That’s why the workmen are building the ramps, so she’ll be able to come home.”
“Oh, of course.” He’d look benignly around the house, observing the changes. “Teddy could help them. He loves to build things.”
It hurt that he always remembered Teddy. A small, vindictive part of me liked things better when Teddy was one of those people, less welcome in the house than even I was. I hated that part of me. If I was finding it easier than I’d thought to give over the house to Hanna Beth and Teddy, giving my father to them was turning out to be more difficult.
I couldn’t imagine why. Thirty-three years ago, I’d done everything I could to wipe the need for him from my heart. So why was I still clinging to his words, his actions, waiting for something I would probably never receive?
It was a question I couldn’t answer, so I concentrated on the bank accounts instead. Solving the riddle of my father’s convoluted financial system became paramount, as the bills for medical equipment and remodeling mounted and the need for paychecks to Mary and Ifeoma arose. I couldn’t keep covering his bills from my checking account. Kyle had already mentioned, somewhat offhandedly, that he would have to transfer some money from our 401(k) to fund the unexpected expenditures. He was understanding about it, supportive even. We talked one night as he was leaving the office. He’d hired a new nanny for Macey, which freed him up to stay late in the evenings again. While his mother was staying with Macey, he’d been trying to make it home for supper.
“If you need me to move more money over, just let me know,” he said. He was in a good mood. He’d just settled a potentially costly property dispute for a corporation out in Silicon Valley.
“I will,” I said. “Thanks, Kyle.”
“Sure.” He sounded as if he couldn’t imagine why I’d be thanking him. “Have a good night, hon.”
It was comforting that he’d added the little endearment on the end. I love you was on the tip of my tongue. I said, “You, too,” instead. He probably doesn’t want you in the 401(k), my mother’s voice whispered in my head. That’s why he took care of the transfer himself, rather than reading off the passwords to you.
I brooded on the idea overnight, tried to decide whether I was just being paranoid and suspicious. Thinking the worst of everyone and every situation was one of my mother’s characteristics that I’d tried hard not to inherit.
The next day, a CD came to maturity at my father’s bank, was deposited into my father’s checking account, and almost before I could stop it, the money was routed to a payee account listed under LMK Limited, Inc. I was online, arranging for autopayment of some bills, as it happened, and I was able to call the bank and stop the transfer before the wire went through.
I made certain there would be no more transfers, and no withdrawals could be issued, other than those I’d authorized. For several days, I’d been trying to dissect the complicated nature of my father’s association with LMK Limited, Inc., and another entity called Blue Sky Real Estate Trust. Most of my father’s money seemed to be one place or the other. In the past, only small amounts of money had been transferred to LMK Limited each month, but within the last few weeks, the transferred amounts had grown. Monthly deposits came into his checking account from Blue Sky Real Estate Trust, his retirement, annuity, and Social Security checks, and then were quickly routed to LMK Limited, leaving the checking account dry.
Even after searching through my father’s stacks of paperwork and spending hours researching through the Internet, phone calls, and the county courthouse, I’d found no information about LMK Limited or Blue Sky Real Estate Trust. My father couldn’t tell me anything about either one. The names, like so many other things, were a mystery to him. In the back of my mind was Kyle’s nagging theory that my father was being duped out of his money. Without the financial files or his computer, it would be difficult to tell.
Once again, I enlisted Teddy in helping me to hunt for files. We dug through closets, crept under beds, searched the attic, uncovering file folders filled with everything from outdated drilling leases to pictures my father had torn from Wal-Mart ads.
“I don’ got no more,” Teddy said finally.
“Me, either.” Sitting on the floor amid the pile of folders we’d amassed in the maid’s pantry, I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my hands in my hair. I wanted to go somewhere quiet, curl up, and fall asleep. Lately, all I wanted to do was sleep, but at night when I slipped into bed, I lay awake for hours.
Teddy squatted down beside me. “Sorry, A-becca.” He patted my shoulder so hard my head bounced. “Don’ be mad. I gone look more.”
Teddy was nothing if not helpful. All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was to do everything he could to make the rest of us happy.
It probably seemed to him that I was never happy. “I’m not mad, Teddy. I’m just … stressed.” I was always stressed, going in a million directions at once. When I was home, could Macey feel the self-imposed tension around me?
“Ohhh-kay,” Teddy said, leaning over to see my face. “Don’ be stress, A-becca.”
I chuckled, and Teddy smiled with me. I felt better, despite being surrounded by files that had to be searched and then put away, because we’d stacked them in the maid’s pantry, which was slated for delivery of a hospital bed and wheelchair. “All r
ight. I won’t be stressed.”
“Ho-kay,” Teddy replied, then braced his hands on the floor and pushed to his feet. “I gone look some more.”
“All right, Teddy,” I said, even though we’d searched everywhere. “I’ll finish checking through these, then maybe we can get some of those empty cartons from the garage and box them up, get them out of the way, at least for now.”
“How come?” Teddy asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d asked the question repeatedly as we were cleaning plants and old furniture out of the room the past few days.
“Because the men are going to put your mom’s new bed in here so we can be all set for her first home visit.”
Teddy’s face opened into a broad smile, and he sucked in a hissing, conspiratorial laugh, unable to contain his excitement. “She comin’ in here?” He pointed to the room as if the plans were a mystery to him. His eyes glittered with anticipation.
“Teddy … ,” I admonished playfully. “You know she’s coming in here. We’ve been cleaning this room for days.”
“How come?”
“Because your mom’s coming for her first home visit soon.”
Teddy giggle-hissed again. “When Mama comin’ home?”
I laughed, as much at the expression on his face as at the game of verbal volleyball. “Well … that depends on the doctors, but so far, her tests look good. Dr. Barnhill told us that, right?”
“He nice.”
“Dr. Barnhill?”
Teddy nodded, then giggled again. “He gone send Mama home.”
“Yes, he is, Teddy.” I looked around at the stacks of files on the floor. Piling them in here probably wasn’t the best idea, but I’d wanted to put them out of the way, where I could close the door so my father wouldn’t see, in case finding us with his files might upset him. “We’d better get to work. If Dr. Barnhill sent your mom home right now, we’d have to put her on top of all these folders.”
Teddy’s honk-laugh reverberated through the empty room.
The dismal project ahead fell over me like a shadow as Teddy turned to leave. After going through all of these files, I probably wouldn’t be any closer to resolving the banking situation. “If we could find Daddy Ed’s computer, it’d sure make things a lot easier,” I muttered.
Teddy didn’t answer, just headed off to look for more files.
I started sorting through what I had. Two hours later, I’d netted a couple of bank statements from the previous year and the quarterly paperwork for some oil royalty payments that had, at least in the recent past, been deposited regularly into my father’s account. I plugged in my laptop, set it on the floor beside me, and looked at his bank statements online. No royalty deposits had come in for several months now.
One thing was certain. The account activity from the previous year was a far cry from the account activity from the past few months. Tomorrow, I could start by calling the oil companies to see where the royalty checks were being sent.
I was writing down the phone number from a statement when Ifeoma stuck her head in the doorway. Her usually calm countenance held a wrinkle of concern. “Is Teddy in here, missus?”
“No,” I answered, realizing how much time had passed. My body was stiff, my legs numb from sitting on the hardwood floor. “He should be in the house somewhere. He went to look for more files. If we can get everything in one place, I’m hoping to …” Glancing at my watch, I realized there was no way Teddy could still be looking around the house. “Maybe he went outside to work with his plants.”
Ifeoma shook her head. “I have searched for him, missus. He is not outside.”
“He wouldn’t leave the yard. He promised he wouldn’t leave the …” I pushed the papers aside and stood up. My body yawned to life, uneasiness stirring my pulse. Teddy wouldn’t wander off again. He’d promised never to leave without permission. “Are you sure he’s not here? Did you check the garden house?”
“I have searched all places. He is not here.” Ifeoma’s rhythmic accent made the words sound pleasant, like poetry, completely out of keeping with her apprehensive expression.
“Let me check the attic. We were up there earlier. Maybe he … fell asleep there or something.” It sounded like a ridiculous scenario, but part of me insisted, Teddy wouldn’t wander off again. He promised he wouldn’t.
Ifeoma followed me upstairs to the attic door and into the musty stillness beyond. Amid the bits of discarded furniture, boxes of old holiday decorations, dried-up paint cans, storage crates, metal sea chests filled with outdated oil field charts and topography maps, and plastic tubs of keepsakes from Teddy’s childhood, it quickly became clear that Teddy wasn’t there.
“I can’t believe he would do this again.” My heart sank, not only because I was wounded, in an irrational way, that Teddy would break a promise to me, but because if he couldn’t be trusted to stay home when I was right here, there was no possible way I could go back to California, leave him with hired help, and expect everything to turn out all right. If he wandered off when Mary was on duty, what was she supposed to do—load my father and two kids into the car and canvas the neighborhood?
I took in a breath, held it tightly in my chest, tried to think. “He did this once before. I found him near the construction sites on Vista Street. He’d been down to the school. And I’m not sure where else.”
Ifeoma’s eyes widened, and I knew what she was thinking. The school? Four miles away and across two busy streets? Past the bridge where the homeless people live. “I can go in search of him in my car.” She shot a glance out the attic window, hoping, no doubt, that she’d see Teddy walking casually down the street.
“We’d both better go.” I followed her back to the hall and closed the door. “You head down to the school. I’ll ask around the construction sites and check the shopping center and the old park.” My father’s mention of the Good Humor wagon on the corner came to mind. Teddy had been asking about snow cones off and on for days now.
“What shall we do about Edward and the workmen?” Ifeoma asked as I grabbed my purse from the bedroom and we started down the stairs.
As always, the complications of managing the house were staggering. Take my father along? Send him with Ifeoma? Leave him here with the construction crew? Leave the workmen unsupervised in the house? “You go ahead. I’ll take care of it.”
I fished a business card from my purse as we reached the downstairs landing. “Here’s my cell number. Give me your number, and we can call if either of us finds him.”
Taking the card, Ifeoma frowned apologetically. “I do not have the benefit of a mobile phone, missus.”
“Just check back here at the house every little while. Call me from here if you find him.” If I hadn’t been focused on the situation with Teddy, I would have been embarrassed. Of course Ifeoma didn’t have a phone. She was working two jobs and living wherever she could to save money to bring her son over from Ghana. In the midst of my own issues, it was easy to forget that other people were struggling, too. “Do you need money for gas or anything?”
“No, missus.” With a confused, sideways look, she moved past me, tucking the card into her pocket. “I will go ahead of you now. Perhaps I will find him even before you leave.”
“I hope so,” I said, but it didn’t seem likely.
“Your father is sleeping by the television,” she called back, then skirted a pile of construction supplies and disappeared out the door. I heard her car rumble to life outside as I tracked down Sy, the leader of the three-man remodeling crew I’d hired on the recommendation of the site foreman down the street. Sy did light construction during the day and played guitar in a fusion band at night. So far, I’d been pleased with his work, but I’d made a point of not leaving him and his crew in the house alone.
He paused to listen as I explained the situation.
“Yeah, Andy told me the Tedster headed out a couple hours ago,” Sy answered, unconcerned. Sy and his crew had taken to calling Teddy the Tedster and Tedm
an, which Teddy loved. “I was gonna let him help bring some stuff in on the dolly, but Andy said he pushed it off down the street.” Sy shrugged. “I figured he had somethin’ to go get with it, or maybe he was just havin’ some fun.”
My jaw tightened in frustration. Why hadn’t Sy said something to me? “He isn’t supposed to leave the yard on his own.”
“Oh, dude,” Sy lamented. “Dang. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s not your fault.” I should have told them Teddy wasn’t supposed to leave. “I just need to go find him, that’s all. Why would he take your dolly?” There were many social nuances Teddy didn’t understand, but he did know it was wrong to take things that didn’t belong to him. Of course, he also knew he wasn’t supposed to leave the yard.
Sy lifted his hands, palms up. “Don’t know. Maybe he was headed down to get some more boards to build them benches he likes.”
I hoped that was it, but the truth was that Teddy could have walked down to the construction sites and back four times by now. “I hope so,” I muttered, digging my keys out of my purse. “I’m going to drive around the neighborhood and see if I can find him.”
Sy wagged a thumb in the direction of the living room. “You want me to watch the old man?” I had made a point of telling the crew when they’d started that my father had Alzheimer’s and under no circumstances was he to leave the house. So far, he had never tried.
My mind whizzed through a quick mental debate. Rousing my father and getting him into the car would take time, and he didn’t always awaken in the most amiable mood. On the other hand, I would be leaving him in the care of Sy, who thought it was fine for a mentally handicapped man to wander off down the street with a dolly and not come back for hours.
“It’s cool,” Sy offered, as if I were telegraphing my conflicting emotions. “I got a grandpa like that. He can’t remember stuff, I mean. I go by there in the evenings and sit and watch TV with him. If the old man wakes up, I’ll find him somethin’ to watch.”
