by Gayle Trent
“I’ve got it.” I turned to Uncle Hal. “Lead the way.”
“So, how’s Mom really?” I asked when we were in the elevator.
“I knew this was more an inquisition than a soda run.” He smiled and shook his head. “Honest to goodness, she is doing fine. She’ll probably get to go home tomorrow.”
“Great. What about you?”
“We’re tired. We’ve been here all night. Now that you and Violet are here, Nancy and I will go home and get some sleep. Jim should, too.”
“I’ll try to make him go.”
“If anybody can make Jim do anything, it’s you, baby girl.”
I smiled briefly. “Thanks. But when I asked about you, I meant your health in general. I bumped into Mr. Duncan yesterday, and he told me you had to leave the hunting trip early and go to the doctor.”
Uncle Hal scowled. “Walt Duncan needs to keep his mouth shut about things that don’t concern him.”
“Apparently, this did concern him, and it concerns me, too. Are you okay?”
The elevator doors opened and a young nurse got on. We all spoke politely to each other and fell silent. At the lobby, we got out of the elevator.
As Uncle Hal and I walked to the cafeteria, I revisited the subject of his health.
“About that doctor’s appointment . . . ”
He sighed. “This is between you and me, all right? Not even your dad knows.”
“All right.” Now he was scaring me a little. Uncle Hal tells Dad everything. I remembered Mom’s affair with Vern. Well, almost everything.
“I went to a hospital in East Tennessee to have an MRI.”
“What’s wrong? I mean—”
“I’ve been having a lot of severe headaches, so I went to my regular doctor a couple weeks ago. He said I needed an MRI, and I told him I was going out of town and would prefer to have the MRI there.”
“Why?”
“You read Yodel Watson’s journal. You saw how information in a small town can be made to sound like something out of a tabloid.” He scoffed. “I was hoping that having the test done four hours away would enable me to be the one to determine what and when and who I tell about it.”
“Makes sense. Of course, Mr. Duncan blew that, as far as I was concerned. Do you know anything yet?”
He shook his head.
“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And I’m here if you need to talk.” I fished money for the vending machine out of my purse.
“Have you decided to put your mother’s ancient history to rest?”
I fed a dollar into the soda machine. The machine spat it back out. I shrugged off Uncle Hal’s question by urging the machine to accept my money.
When the machine had taken my dollar and I had made my selection, I turned back to my uncle. “Has Mom ever been in a mental institution?”
Eyebrows raised, he answered, “Not that I know of. Where’d that come from?”
“Just wondering if insanity runs in the family.” I grinned.
“I don’t know about your mother’s side, but quite a few of mine and your dad’s people are certifiable.”
“Yay!” I giggled. “It’s good to know I’m not alone then.” I got Violet a soda while Uncle Hal got himself and Dad a coffee.
By the time we got back up to Mom’s room, she was awake and Violet was standing by her bed and holding her hand. Uncle Hal handed Dad his coffee, and I sat Vi’s soda on the table.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked Mom.
She slowly rolled her head toward me. “I’m tired. How are you, honey?”
“I’m all right.”
She turned back to Violet. “Are my grandbabies doing okay this morning? Are they having trouble readjusting to school after the holiday?”
“Not too much. They’re getting awfully eager for Christmas break, though.”
I sat down in a vinyl orange chair, sipped my soda and was comfortable being invisible.
A few minutes later, Uncle Hal and Aunt Nancy convinced Dad to let them take him home for some much-needed rest.
“The girls will be here,” Aunt Nancy said. “Everything will be fine, and Gloria needs you to be sharp and well-rested for her for when she comes home.”
Dad must’ve been exhausted because he didn’t require a lot of arm twisting. He gave a kiss to Mom, Violet and me and left with Uncle Hal and Aunt Nancy.
Once the crowd in the room thinned out, Mom dozed off again. Violet went down to the gift shop to get Mom some magazines. I drank my soda and watched Mom sleep.
Her face looked more peaceful and younger than it did when she was awake. How many times had I, as a little girl, looked at that face and wanted to look just like her . . .to be just like her? And yet, I never measured up. I still didn’t measure up to my mother’s standards. Violet was the golden child—the petite, porcelain-skinned beauty who shared our mother’s interest in gardening and romantic novels. It was Violet who watched Gone with the Wind with Mom for the umpteenth time while I shot pool with Daddy. Of course, Daddy and I were close; but I longed for a mere smidgen of the closeness Violet shared with Mom. It was Violet who had the storybook marriage and had given Mom grandchildren. It was to Violet that Mom had confided her affair with Vern March.
Tears were flowing down my cheeks unheeded now. I stood and took a tissue from Mom’s nightstand. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Daphne…darling…it’s all right.”
I gulped convulsively and gave an awkward nod.
“I’m going to be fine,” she said. “Really.”
Again, I nodded. Then, barely realizing what I was saying, the words tumbled from my lips. “Why didn’t you tell me about Vern March?”
Mom squeezed her eyes shut. Her face crumpling in pain. As tears fought their way through the iron slits, she whispered, “I was afraid you’d judge me too harshly.”
Her vulnerability left me incapacitated to unleash the rage and resentment I’d been feeling toward her. I couldn’t even ask the questions I knew I deserved to have answered. Instead, I went to her side and held her hand.
That’s how Violet found us when she returned from the gift shop. “What’s wrong?” she asked sharply, piercing me with an accusatory glare.
“Nothing,” I said. “Mom and I got a tad emotional, that’s all.”
Looking as if she couldn’t quite believe me, and as if she should’ve known better than to leave me alone with Mom, Violet opened the bag and presented Mom with a diverse selection of magazines. I released Mom’s hand and resumed my place in the ugly orange chair. Almost immediately, I became invisible again.
I was about to nod off when a hospital cafeteria worker brought Mom’s lunch. The food smelled scrumptious. That, or I was getting hungry. When Mom removed the metal cover to reveal the plate underneath, the meal’s blandness was apparent. A grilled chicken breast appeared to have been drained of the slightest hint of succulence. Steamed carrots and peas could possibly have been made palatable by a pat of butter, but Mom didn’t even have butter for her roll. A cherry gelatin jiggled around some fruit enmeshed in its center. I thought I could detect a grape and maybe a smidgeon of peach inside it.
Violet and I exchanged looks. Both looks clearly shouted, “Ewww!” Okay, to be more accurate, my look shouted, “Ewww!” Violet’s look shouted, “Nasty gross!” which was one of her favorite phrases as a teen. You have to say it like a Valley Girl, which she did, even though we couldn’t have gotten any farther from the Valley if we’d tried. Still, I think you get my point.
“Mmm,” I said, not sounding the least bit convincing. “While you start on that, we’ll stretch our legs.”
Violet eagerly followed me out into the hall and several feet away from Mom’s open door. “She can’t eat that! It’s nasty!”
“Nasty gross,” I corrected. “But it might be all she can have. Whatever the case may be, we definitely cannot eat in front of her.”
“You’re right. What’re we gonna do?”
“We’ll eat in
shifts. You go first—say you’re going to check your messages or something. She’ll buy that—you’re important.” I ignored Vi’s grimace of protest and/or martyrdom. “Meanwhile, I’ll check with the nurse to see if there’s anything not falling into the cardboard food group that we could get Mom to eat.”
“Good thinking. And I do need to call Annette and see what’s going on with the Steins. I’ll get a sandwich while I’m at it.”
“Take your time.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I was until I got an eyeful of Mom’s lunch.”
“Yeah.” She scoffed. “Way nasty gross.”
Violet went to the elevator. I went to the nurse’s station.
“Um . . . hi.” I gave the nurse at the desk my most charming—I hoped—smile. “I’m Gloria Carter’s daughter. I’d . . . um . . . like to get a treat of some kind for her dessert.”
“Did she not get dessert with her lunch?”
“She did . . . and I’m . . . sure . . . .” I’m such a lousy liar. “I’m sure the gelatin will be great, but—”
“No, it won’t.” The nurse gave me an apologetic smile.
Oh, good. We were beyond pretense. I didn’t have to try to tap dance around my request now. Or did I?
The nurse continued. “We’re not necessarily concerned with gastronomic delights right now. If we were, your mother could have whatever she wanted. Our main goal is to get her well . . . to get her heart healthy.”
I nodded, duly chastened. “I just feel so bad for her. Isn’t there anything that would taste good and be good for her?”
The nurse cocked her head. “Does she like blueberries?”
“Loves them.”
“In the cafeteria on the first floor, they have small containers of plain yogurt with blueberries. You can get her one of those.”
I beamed like the light on a miner’s helmet. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I hurried downstairs and got Mom’s dessert. She was still picking dejectedly at the chicken breast when I returned to her room.
“Is it good?” I asked.
“Not bad.”
“Try this.” I sat the yogurt and blueberries on her tray.
She stole a furtive look at the door.
“It’s okay. The nurse said you could have this.”
She set the top aside and plunged her spoon into the yogurt. At the first taste, her eyes closed in delight.
I made her have that expression. I made her happy this time. Not Violet. As soon as that thought flitted through my mind, it was hounded by guilt.
“Thank you,” Mom said between bites, and I felt another wave of self-congratulatory pleasure.
Why did you think I’d judge you too harshly? Retaliation, perhaps, because you’ve always judged me so harshly…held me to standards I could never attain? Why was I never good enough, Mom? Why could I never earn your love or respect or admiration?
All the questions I longed to ask remained in my head . . . swallowed like a bitter pill as Mom smiled and took another bite of her dessert. I smiled back at her. I may not do many things right as far as my mother is concerned, but I hit the ball out of the park on this one.
Violet came back and I went to have some lunch, glad I could escape and be alone for a few minutes. Before I could reach the elevator, though, I heard shoes click-clacking quickly down the hall. I turned and was surprised to see Violet hurrying toward me, a delighted smile spread across her face.
“This couldn’t wait.”
I smiled, too. Her excitement was contagious. “What? Tell me.”
“When I spoke with Annette, she told me the Steins’ attorney had filed a motion to remove me as a defendant in the lawsuit.”
“That’s fantastic!” I gave her a hug.
“And they’re working to reach an amicable settlement with the former homeowners.”
“I’m so glad. It looks like everything is going to work out fine.”
“For everybody. I don’t know what changed the Steins’ minds, but it appears they’re taking a more proactive rather than reactive attitude now.”
I hugged Violet again. “Thank goodness.”
“Yep. Things are looking up.” She smiled again. “I just couldn’t wait to tell you that. Well, enjoy your lunch.”
“I sure will.”
I left the hospital and had my lunch at a nearby sub shop. It was after the lunch hour now, and the restaurant wasn’t at all crowded. I called Ben from my table at the back of the dining room.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said when he answered his phone. Either he has caller identification, or he creeps out a lot of his callers. “Did you get the message I left for you?”
“No. I’m not at home.” I explained about Mom. “She’s doing well, though, and might even get to go home tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah. It’s good news all the way around today.”
“What do you mean?”
“Vi’s lawyer said the Steins filed a motion to remove her from the lawsuit.”
“How about that?”
“Yeah. How about that?”
“I’ve been a reporter long enough to recognize the unasked question.”
“Good. Does that mean you’ll answer it?”
Ben sighed. “Okay. After I left you last night, I went home and called Ralph and Sue. I explained that I know Violet and that I don’t believe she’d participate in anything fraudulent . . . nor represent fraudulent sellers. Maybe I encouraged them to take a more objective look at their situation. I hope you don’t mind my interference.”
“Not at all. I think that was awfully sweet of you.” I wondered again how well he knew the Steins’ daughter.
“What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.”
I chuckled and selfishly wished he could remedy my situation as adeptly as he had Violet’s.
“By the way, someone from the police department’s crime lab will be going to Yodel Watson’s house to get a sample of that yellow stain today or tomorrow.”
“Wow. You’re not actually Clark Kent, are you?”
“No, but I’m flattered if you’re saying I’m super.”
“You’re getting there, Ben. You’re getting there.”
*
When I returned to Mom’s room, she and Violet were watching a sitcom. I sat down and watched the rest of the show with them. That show went off, and we watched another one. The only comments we made were about the shows. It was a comfortable and companionable way to spend the afternoon. I knew those feelings couldn’t last, however—Mom or I was bound to say or do something to hurt, offend or anger the other, unintentionally though it may be—so I was grateful to see Dad, Aunt Nancy and Uncle Hal walk through the door.
I wanted to shout, “Hallelujah! Let me out of here before something bad happens. Now if she dies, she can leave me with a clean conscience.” Of course, that thought alone was enough to ensure that if my mother did indeed die, my conscience would not be clean.
Still, when Dad suggested Violet and I “get on home before it gets dark,” I jumped at the chance. With kisses and hugs all around, I was at the door with my purse in hand before Violet had finished saying goodbye to Mom.
“You didn’t have to be in such a rush to leave,” Vi said as I backed out of the parking lot.
“Yes, I did. I have a cake to finish and deliver tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I forgot.”
“It’s okay.”
“Do you want me to drive? You know, so you won’t be too tired to work when we get home?”
“No, I’ll be all right. But thanks for offering.”
“You’re welcome. And if you need me to take over, just let me know.”
We were silent for a few minutes. I debated over telling her about Ben’s call to the Steins, but I decided that could wait. After all, I didn’t know for certain if his call had any bearing on their new and improved outlook. Odds were good that it did, but I had no proof; and I
didn’t want to come across looking like a giddy teenager crushing on her new boyfriend.
Oh, my gosh, Vi! He’s so hot, and he totally got the Steins to back up off your case!
“Mom looked good, don’t you think?” Violet asked. “Her color, I mean.”
“Yeah . . . um . . . she looked like everything’s going to be fine.”
“Do you really think so, or are you saying that because you don’t want me to worry?”
“I really think so. I mean, yes, she’ll have to make some changes in her diet and lifestyle—a walking regimen would be good for her and Dad both—and she might have to take some medicine. But this is manageable. Mom will be okay.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m your big sister. I’m always right.” That’s what I said, but my brain argued that I’m most assuredly not always right. In fact, it immediately recalled a half dozen times I had been absolutely, unequivocally, slap-your-hand-to-your-forehead wrong. As it began to reel off even more wrongs, I wished it would shut up. I turned on the CD player to drown it out and gave Violet a reassuring smile. To illustrate how not worried I was, I joined Cyndi Lauper in the chorus of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
Violet chimed in, and we sang and bobbed to the CD for the next twenty miles. The car even got into the act. It began thumping and pulling to one side.
Saucer-eyed, Violet turned down the volume. “What’s that?”
“I’m afraid we’ve got a flat tire.”
I pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Sure enough, the front driver’s side tire was flat. I opened the trunk and took out the jack, praying no one would run me over while I replaced the flat tire with my spare.
A black Mercedes pulled in behind my car. As visions of lounge lizards and rich chainsaw maniacs danced in my head, Violet raced up beside me.
Lovely. There goes any chance of Violet getting away from whatever danger might lurk within the black car. Here’s one more thing for Mom to blame on me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Instead of a homicidal maniac, Janey Dobbs got out of the car. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Daphne? Daphne Martin, is that you?”
I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. “Yes! Yes, Mrs. Dobbs; it’s me and my sister Violet.”
