“Your mama had a little driving problem this morning and I thought we’d better all talk it over.”
“What. Happened?” She was going to scream if someone didn’t get down to details in about two seconds.
George patted Hilda’s hand. “Well, honey, Hilda here ran a red light and missed banging into my patrol car by about a cat’s whisker. I drove up onto the lawn over at the Sylvester Building and just about smashed into Miranda Hogbinder’s old Caddy to keep from getting hit, and don’t you know I’m going to hear about that. Miranda’s called the station four times already.”
Sarah turned to her mother. “Mama?”
“I didn’t see the light,” Hilda said. She didn’t meet Sarah’s gaze.
“Or Uncle George’s car?”
Hilda pouted, managing somehow to look more like a recalcitrant five-year-old than an eighty-something grande dame.
“Hilda, you’ve had three tickets for running stoplights or signs in the past month,” George said gently. “It’s time for you to stop driving.”
Hilda struggled to her feet. “No,” she said. “No. You can’t do that to me.”
George turned to Sarah. “Help me here, honey. You must have been worrying about this.”
Of course she had. And George didn’t even know about all the close calls, or about the two times Hilda had backed out of the garage and smacked into Sarah’s battered old VW. “Mama, he’s right. You know how often we’ve talked about this. We should be grateful no one is hurt.”
Hilda ignored Sarah and glared at her old friend. “George, how can you do this to me? You said everything would be all right. You told me in plain words that you weren’t going to give me a ticket. You promised.”
“Well, Hilda, I’m not going to give you a ticket.” George leaned back in his chair and managed to sound soothing and avuncular. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take some action here. My job is to keep the people of Crowley Falls safe, and in this case, that means yanking your driver’s license.
“You’re not a safe driver anymore, and a woman as sensible as you’ve always been ought to be glad to stop before something terrible happens. What if that had been Mrs. Dobbs with a car load of Sunday School kids this morning instead of me? Or Violet Henderson in that pretty pink car of hers? You could have killed someone. Not to mention smashing up that antique Cadillac that Eldon loved so much. I won’t even bring up how you might have hurt yourself enough to end right back up in Bellonna Gardens.”
Hilda turned her head away from him.
“Aw, come on, Hilda.”
“I don’t notice you ‘yanking’ Violet’s license. She’s not exactly one of those professional drivers, like that Mario Andretti Eldon always talked about—”
Sarah met George’s gaze over her mother’s head. No way was she going to say that Violet had always been a better driver. “I guess she’s slowed down some, Mama. And she hasn’t gotten any tickets lately.”
“Hilda, honey,” George said. “You’re not making sense here. This has nothing to do with Violet or anyone else. I know it’s hard, but this is one time that I’ve got to be the police chief as well as your old friend.”
“Some friend,” Hilda snorted.
“I am being your friend. If I weren’t, I’d have given you another ticket, and you’d be headed for court with the recommendation that your license be revoked. I’m giving you a chance to do this privately. No one has to know, Hilda. You can just say that you’ve decided to stop driving before you have an accident.”
Hilda turned away and refused to look at him.
“Sarah, talk some sense into her, can’t you? Unless you agree with her.”
“Absolutely not. Mama, he’s right. You have to stop driving. I’ve been so worried about you lately, every time you get in the car.”
“It’s so easy for you two.” Hilda’s face was red with emotion, and her voice rose with every word until she was shouting.
Sarah couldn’t remember ever hearing her mother shout.
“You’re not the ones who will be cooped up at home,” Hilda went on. “You’re not the ones who will lose your independence. You’re not the ones who will be totally dependent on others.”
“Mama. Stop.” Sarah put her hand on Hilda’s arm. “Please. Sit down. Let’s have another cup of tea and talk about this.”
Hilda threw Sarah’s hand off and drew herself up to her full height. “I do not want to sit down. Nor do I wish to have any further discussion with either of you. I can see that you’ve made up your mind, George, and that somehow you’ve gotten Sarah to agree with you. I believe there is nothing more to be said.” She walked to the door. “Sarah, perhaps you would be kind enough to drive me home. Unless you intend that I should walk.”
The sarcasm meant her mother was really and truly ticked. Fueled by a mixture of fear and relief, Sarah’s temper snapped and she couldn’t stop herself. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Mama, stop being so childish.”
Just as she’d known, that was the wrong thing to say. The minute the words were out, Sarah regretted losing her temper but it was too late. They lay in the air, almost visible, a mute reproach.
Hilda gave her a stare so frosty Sarah thought her bones might shatter from it before she stalked out the door.
Sarah drove home, the icy silence inside that car much colder than the snowy landscape outside. Not that she had expected anything else.
In spite of the frozen hostility, she had to swallow an inappropriate giggle. They must look so funny, she and her mother, in the ancient VW, not looking at each other and leading a procession. Brent drove Hilda’s shiny old Cadillac, and a police car trailed behind to take him back to the station.
Now that she knew Hilda wasn’t hurt and hadn’t killed anyone, her brain was functioning. “Mama,” she said when they got inside the house. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about what this means to you.”
“Have you.” Not a question. A flat statement that implied disbelief.
Not ready to make up, then. They disagreed so seldom that Sarah scarcely knew how to handle this. Not that she had any options. Her mother marched into the elevator and swooshed upstairs without another word.
With any luck, she’d be more reasonable after a nap. Or a good sulk. Serving her mother’s favorite meal of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and pecan pie couldn’t hurt, either. Sarah put away the vacuum cleaner and tote of cleaning supplies and spent the afternoon cooking.
“Mama, I’m sorry,” she said as soon as her mother came downstairs at dinner time.
“I know you are,” her mother said, drooping into her chair. “In all fairness, I have to admit that my driving isn’t what it used to be.” One side of her mouth quirked up in a humorless smile. “I’m resigned to my fate.”
Sarah heaved a sigh of relief. That was more like it. The unreasonable, shouting woman in George’s office wasn’t the mother she’d known all her life. “Thank goodness. I know this must be awful for you, but you’ve always been so sensible, Mama.”
Hilda’s fingers twisted and crushed her napkin, and she ignored her dinner. “Of course it’s terrible. I’ve been independent for more years than you’ve been alive, and now I’m dependent on others for every trip outside my home. No last-minute dashes to the grocery store. No spur-of-the-moment lunches. I’ll have to ask for rides to every single club meeting, to every church function. It’s unbearable.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“I’m sure we will. Do you think I should apologize to George? I’m so embarrassed about losing my temper in his office. What must he think of me?”
“That you were very stressed. But perhaps it would be easiest if you wrote him a note.”
“Of course, dear. That’s a splendid idea.” Hilda looked marginally happier, and began to eat.
So everything was smoothed over. For now. The flash of resentment she felt was unavoidable, Sarah told herself. She’d already given up her own home and taken over the hous
ekeeping and finances. Adding the job of chauffeur wasn’t that big a deal.
Except that life had just taken another one of those left turns into unknown territory, that was all.
Chapter 5
A couple of weeks later, Sarah stared down at the container of yogurt that was her lunch. “I hate yogurt.”
“Worrying about your mother?” Beth asked. “As if it could be anything else.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. That had been a distinctly I’m-five-years-old-and-I’m-feeling-left-out tone of voice. She really should make more of an effort with Beth, who was a good friend, after all. “I know this is dull for you, and I’m sorry. But I just don’t have the time or energy for anything else.”
“Like friends?”
Yep, Beth was ticked. And this was just one more thing to feel guilty about. “I hate to think of it that way, but yes. You know you’re my closest friend.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know. I do understand. Tell me what’s wrong.” She leaned forward, managing to look interested and ready to listen.
Whatever would Sarah do without Beth? Just having someone to talk to was such a help. A safety valve, really. Even though she knew she was turning into a one-trick pony as a conversationalist, she couldn’t stop. “Well, Mama’s supposed to be getting used to not driving, but I think she’s just getting more depressed. She didn’t eat the lunch I left for her yesterday. She said she forgot. ‘Old people don’t have much appetite,’ she said.”
“She’s right. Appetite and sleep patterns, they change. Anyway, moving back to her house permanently was supposed to keep you from worrying about her. So stop worrying.”
“It’s not enough. I can’t reason with her, and I can’t stay home with her. And she’s going downhill so fast. I can’t be with her all the time. I have to be here all day. And even if she remembered to eat, would she be able to get to the kitchen? She needs to use the walker all the time now. She should, but doesn’t always do it. And she doesn’t use it correctly. If she fell again...oh, God. What if she broke her hip next time?”
“Hire a caregiver.”
“With what?”
“Oh, yeah.” Beth drummed her fingers on the table. “Your mother’s house is huge. What about a boarder?”
Sarah rubbed her forehead. “I’ve thought about that. It would mean money. I never knew how close to the bone she was living until I started doing her bills. But I don’t think she could stand having someone in the house all the time. Imagine the loss of privacy. And it would have to be someone I could trust with her.”
Beth frowned. “I’m sure you could find someone.”
“How? I don’t know what to do. Oh, God, Beth, I just don’t know what to do.”
“Hey, this doesn’t look good.”
Sarah looked up and saw Rob standing next to the table.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
Beth pushed an empty chair away from the table with her foot.
“No, but join us anyway,” Sarah said.
Rob set down his lunch and folded into the chair. “Now. What’s so wrong that your forehead needs ironing?”
“Worrying about leaving my mother home all day alone,” Sarah said tersely.
“Oh man, I hear you.”
Sarah sensed a fellow sufferer. But his problems couldn’t be worse than hers. “Your mother’s lived on her own for years. And she seems spry enough.”
Beth wasn’t so tactful. “What’s her problem?” she asked around a mouthful of tuna salad.
Rob studied his sandwich and sighed. “She’s showing her age some.” He looked up. “She has moments when she’s...ditzier than usual. I’m afraid she’ll do something really off the wall.”
Sarah put her hand over his. “It’s hard, isn’t it? The continual worry.” She caught Beth’s bright-eyed glance at her hand and moved it as though Rob’s were on fire.
“You got that right. That what’s bothering you too? I thought your mother seemed pretty together when I was there working on the elevator.”
“She is.” If you didn’t count the increasing stubbornness, or the refusal to take proper precautions for safety, or the way she’d lost her temper in Uncle George’s office. Thank goodness she wasn’t all forgetful and senile. “It’s just that she’s getting so weak physically that I’m afraid to leave her alone all day. And she gets mad if I phone her all the time. Says it’s too hard to get to the phone, and she won’t carry the cordless.”
“Part of it’s the new technology. Remember, cordless phones aren’t something she grew up with. And at least she has a home. My mum’s apartment building is being torn down, and she’s been out looking for a new place. She was over in Dockside looking at some rooms over a tavern yesterday. If the bartender weren’t a friend of mine, I’d never have known until she’d signed a year’s lease.”
“Dockside. Good grief. She’d be mugged and murdered within a week. That’s the roughest place in three counties.” And what was he doing with a Dockside bartender as a close enough friend to make a call like that?
Rob grimaced. “Tell me about it. She told me the bus service was good because not everyone there has a car. And she just waltzes in to this bar and says, ‘I’d like to look at the apartment you have advertised, please.’ Sunday hat, white gloves and all. I think everyone was too stunned to think of mugging her.”
“It sounds to me like a match made in Heaven,” Beth announced.
“Are you crazy?” Sarah demanded. “Rob can’t have his mother living upstairs from that bar.”
“Not living in Dockside, silly. Use your brain. Ding! Your mother is weak but not fuzzy. His mother is fuzzy but not weak.
“You’re so tactful,” Sarah murmured.
“I cut to the chase,” Beth retorted. “To continue, your mother has a huge house. His mother needs a place to live. You don’t want a stranger in the house. The two moms have been friends since God was a pup. Get it? Get it?” Beth sat back, looking pleased with herself.
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. She looked at Rob.
He looked as astonished as she felt. After a long moment, he said, “Well.”
“What you said,” Sarah responded. “I wonder if it would work.”
“If we could talk them into it. From my point of view, it sounds perfect. But would your mom go for it? Would you?”
Sarah squelched the niggle of worry about Violet’s ditziness and her mother’s recent tantrum in George’s office. Surely that was just resentment about losing her license. Violet’s company would probably be good for her.
“I’ve always liked your mother, Rob. I like the idea quite a lot. We just have to get them to agree.”
“Yeah,” Beth said. “And with the two of them looking after each other, Sarah, you’ll have more time for yourself. Maybe you could even get your own place again. Or even have time for friends again, hmmm? “
Oh, Beth. You silly girl, you just don’t have a clue. Sometimes she really had to wonder if Beth was jealous, or just lonesome, or if the girl saw her as some kind of surrogate mother instead of a friend.
****
“Did you hear they’re going to tear down the Sylvester building, Mama?” Sarah asked at the dinner table that night.
“No. Why in the world are they doing that?” Hilda said, looking up from her chicken and rice casserole.
Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Going to put in some over-sprawling mall is what I heard.” She tried not to hold her breath while she buttered a home-made roll and waited for her mother’s response.
“Well, that’s silly. Crowley Falls doesn’t need another mall. Pretty soon we’re going to have nothing but stores, and no place for the shoppers to live. Oh, dear.” She put down her fork. “What about all the people who live there?”
“They’ll all have to find new apartments, I guess.” Sarah shrugged, trying to look sympathetic but disinterested.
Her mother frowned and took another bite.
Sarah waited to see if she’d say anything
more, but the shrill ring of the telephone split the silence. Damn. Sarah went to the door and stood there, listening for the answering machine message. She’d been trying to get her mother to screen calls, and every chance to set an example was welcome. The tinny sound of an aluminum siding solicitation came down the hall and she returned to the table. “Just another salesman, Mama,” she reported.
“Mmm. Just as well you didn’t answer then. You’d think they’d realize someday that we never ever buy anything.”
Sarah thought about trying to explain about companies selling phone lists and mailing lists, but decided to let it go. “What were we talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?”
“Oh, I don’t know, dear. Nothing important, I imagine. Oh, did I tell you what Miranda Hogbinder said to Mr. Dobbs this morning?”
“No.” Sarah swallowed a sigh and settled down to hear the day’s gossip. Make haste slowly. She’d give her mother a chance to sleep on the news of the apartment tearing-down and see what happened.
The next morning, the coffee had just finished perking when she heard the elevator. A few moments later, her mother came into the kitchen. It was going to be a bad day, because she was leaning heavily on her walker. “Pretty stiff this morning?” Sarah asked, simultaneously flicking off the heat under the bacon and pouring another cup of coffee.
“A little stiff every morning, as you well know. If Rob hadn’t put in that wonderful elevator, you’d have to carry me down those stairs.”
Sarah did know. “Well, we have it and it’s a good thing. I know I’m very grateful to Rob.”
“Yes. Violet can be very proud of that boy.” Hilda settled herself at the table. “Actually, I’ve been thinking, dear,” she said.
“I know that tone of voice. It usually means you’re going to suggest something that I don’t like,” Sarah replied, hiding a leap of hope.
Her mother sat up even straighter and managed to look down her nose. That “you’re-such-a-problem-child” look. “I should hope you’re a more generous person than to object to this,” she said.
“Okay, let me have it.”
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