“I’ve got it,” Sarah told her. “I made soup this morning. Could you go make sure Mama’s awake?”
Christine nodded and lumbered toward the door, one hand pressing against the small of her back, leaning against the weight of the baby.
“Use the elevator,” Sarah ordered.
“As if I could haul myself up the stairs.”
In a few minutes Christine was back. “She’s getting up. I’ll set the table.”
By the time Sarah had soup and a tray of sandwiches ready, Hilda still hadn’t come down to the dining room. “You all start,” she told Christine, Violet, and Miranda. “I’ll go help Mama.”
Upstairs, she tapped on the door and went in. Her mother sat on the side of the bed, an agonized expression on her face.
Sarah rushed to her side. “What’s wrong. Mama?” Panic made her voice high and squeaky.
Hilda shook her head and bit her lip. “I can’t get up.” She squirmed in what looked like pain.
“Mama?”
“I can’t get to the bathroom in time,” Hilda said, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “The minute I move...”
Sarah’s breath whooshed out. “Good Lord, Mama, you scared me half to death. I thought something was really wrong. Let me get some towels.”
“But Sarah, the mess.”
“Not a problem. Mama. We put a plastic cover on the mattress, remember? You have on that diaper and I’ll get some towels. It’ll be fine.”
Hilda hunched her shoulders. “The diaper is soaked.” The look of shame in her eyes tore at Sarah’s heart.
“It’s all right,” she said, and could see that the reassurance did no good. With the towels in place, she helped Hilda to her feet and dealt with the resulting mess.
Her mother wouldn’t look at her.
Sarah tried again. “Think of all the times you had to do this for me,” she said, trying to coax a smile, but the anguished embarrassment remained.
“Come on. Let’s go down to lunch,” she said when Hilda was cleaned up and dressed. “I made your favorite chicken vegetable soup this morning.”
“That’s nice.” Hilda gripped the walker and tottered toward the elevator. After a few steps, she stopped. “Do you think I could have lunch in bed, please? I’m just too tired.”
She was breathing hard, as though she’d run a few laps round the house.
Sarah looked down at the frail figure bent over the walker and the ever-present tears burned at the back of her eyes. “Of course, Mama.” And after lunch, the first thing she was going to do was call the doctor.
It was after dinner before he returned her call. “Yes, she’s been spending more and more time in bed. But today, she didn’t want to get up at all,” she told Dr. Burgess when he finally called.
Four minutes later, she slammed the phone down and sat glaring at it.
“I’d better get the fire extinguisher.”
She looked up and saw Rob leaning against the door frame. “Why?”
“You’ve got smoke coming out of your ears.”
That wasn’t a surprise, given the sizzle of temper. “You might not have noticed, but health care for the elderly in this country is a joke. Except when you’re caught up in the system, and then it’s a very sick joke.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, but his mouth was grim. “I’ve noticed. What now?”
Relating the day’s incidents raised her blood pressure a few more notches. “And then that self-satisfied idiot told me to get a wheel chair or put her in a nursing home. That there wasn’t anything he could do. He said, ‘Only to be expected with geriatric patients,’” she fumed. “He hasn’t even seen her in months. Something might be really wrong.”
“Aw, Sarah, that’s rough.” Rob patted her shoulder. “Want me to go beat him up?”
A small giggle bubbled up in spite of her black mood. “Yes. Him and every other unsympathetic, overpaid...never mind.”
“Want me to pick up the wheelchair tomorrow?”
“I’d love it, but it’s not going to be that easy. I have to get a prescription for it, and then Mama should be there to try it on. And I have to go clear to Susanville for it. I don’t think she can manage that trip.” Her voice got more and more desperate.
“Deep breath, Sarah. And drink this.” He poured a splash of brandy into a small snifter, a leftover from the days when her office had been a gracious library for her father, and handed it to her. “We can handle this. Tomorrow you get the prescription. You measure your mom, and I’ll pick up the chair when I go to the lumber yard.”
He made the solution sound so easy. And with him in charge, it would be. Rob to the rescue. As always. She tossed back the brandy. “That would be wonderful,” she wheezed through the burning in her throat. “What would I do without you?”
****
“Mama, just try,” Sarah pleaded a few days later. “Just put your hands here, and here, and push the chair along.”
“It’s too hard,” Hilda said, in a voice that was as close to whining as Sarah had ever heard. “And I’m tired of trying.”
“All right. I’ll push.” Sarah guided the wheelchair along the hallway and into the elevator. As the car creaked its way down from the second floor to the first, she looked down at her mother, at the bits of pink scalp that showed through the thinning hair, and the claw-like hands gripping the armrests, and her own hands tightened on the handles of the chair. Sometimes it felt like this person wasn’t even her mother anymore.
Rob had cleared one side of the table so there was space for the wheelchair. Sarah set a plate with a sandwich and some fruit in front of Hilda, and fixed a cup of coffee with sugar and cream, just the way she liked it.
“Thank you, dear.” That sounded like her mother, but the next minute, she was spilling coffee down the front of the blouse Sarah had just helped her into.
The meal lasted forever. The moments of lucidity didn’t.
After she’d helped her mother back upstairs for a nap, Sarah trudged down the stairs to her office. She had a pile of work to do, but the weight of watching the disintegration into senility didn’t leave her much energy to get it done.
She understood now why so many people put aging relatives in nursing homes. It wasn’t the physical work, exhausting as that was, or the relentless worry. It was the pain of watching the slow moldering away of humanity that was unbearable.
The scent of roses cut through her musing, and she noticed a vase of fragrant blossoms on the corner of her desk, the special Damask roses that were her mother’s favorite.
“Christine?” she called.
Christine poked her head out of the dining room. “Here. What do you need?”
“Did you put the flowers on my desk?”
“Oh, yes. Your mother asked me to. I got her to go out in the garden for a few minutes this morning, and she noticed that they were blooming. She asked me to pick some for you.”
Sarah sat at the desk and ran a finger across one of the soft, pink-edged petals.
Oh, Mama.
****
Beth gave a push that set the old porch swing moving gently. “Love these late summer evenings. Love the smell of fresh-cut grass. Hard to believe winter’s coming.”
Winter’s coming. More like hard times coming. Sarah shivered in spite of the heat.
After a minute, Beth said, “But boy, things sure have changed around here. Do you miss your old life a lot?”
“No.” The word popped out without thought. Sarah realized with surprise that it was true. “No, I don’t.”
“But you never do anything anymore. And you never see anyone except old people.”
“And you.”
“And me. But only when I come over here.”
True. “I know. I’m sorry, Beth. I really value the times I get to visit with you.”
“It’s okay. Friends have to know when to give each other room.”
Sarah smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “You’re a good friend. And I see Christine. S
he’s not old. And Rob.” Yes indeed, Rob. He had become the anchor and foundation of her life. “And the more time I spend with Mama, the more I see how really sweet she is. It’s something that transcends mental competence.” She leaned forward and refilled Beth’s glass.
“You’re really lucky. I guess. I couldn’t do what you’re doing. I’d rather die.”
Sarah looked at Beth. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Why don’t you try to make it up with your mother?”
Beth set her glass down so hard Sarah glanced to see if it had cracked the table. “I don’t believe there’s anyone within the town limits who doesn’t think I should make up with my mother,” Beth said. “But you all don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want anything to do with her, and that’s that. Live with it and get off my back.” She retrieved the glass and gulped the contents.
Sarah refilled it. “Sorry,” she said.
“So what do you get out of all this catering to your mother?” Beth demanded.
Whoa. Beth was really angry. Sarah tried to find an answer that would soften the moment. “Grief. Love. Satisfaction. I’ll never know if Mama knows how much I love and appreciate her, and that grieves me. I know the end is inevitable. But oh, Beth, you have no idea how precious this time is.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wanted to take them back. Of course Beth had no idea. She hated her mother so vehemently she probably couldn’t imagine giving up so much as a used tissue to help the woman. Poor Beth. But the words had poured fuel on the fire of Beth’s anger.
“Satisfaction. Sure. It’s been really obvious for the last year that you get more satisfaction,” Beth drawled the word with what sounded like real malice, “from being at her beck and call than from your friends.”
Why, Beth was jealous. “I thought you liked my mother.”
“I do.”
“Then you can’t want me to abandon her when she needs me.”
“Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am? I just don’t think you should give up your whole life.”
“I haven’t done that.”
“Of course you have. How long has it been since you called me to go to a movie or for a hike or...or anything.”
“Well, yes. But we see each other. We talk. It’s not like I never took time for myself.”
“It is like you never take time to do anything with me. Think about it. We used to have lunch at work.”
“Before I got fired.” Sarah couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Beth plowed on as though she hadn’t spoken. “We had lunch and you talked about your mother. I helped you fix up the house for your mother and you didn’t talk about anything except her health. I helped you distribute fliers when you went into business and you talked about your mother some more.”
“Well, I’m sorry I was so boring,” Sarah exclaimed, stung by the truth of Beth’s words. “But I went dancing with you.”
“That wasn’t your idea. I practically had to put you in handcuffs and drag you out there. And you’ve never let me forget what a disaster the evening was.”
If she were honest with herself Sarah would have to admit she’d been unforgiving about that evening, mainly because she felt so guilty about not wanting to spend all her free time dealing with and worrying about her mother’s problems. “True. I apologize.”
“And we haven’t done anything social since then.”
“What happened to ‘friends have to know when to give each other room?’”
“For a whole year? It’s all been about your mother, or Rob’s mother, or Miranda, or Christine. There’s never anything left for me.”
Why should there be? Beth was a big girl. She ought to understand. “I think you’re being a little out of line here, Beth. Calm down, hey?”
“Why?” Beth slammed her glass down again and straightened in her chair, leaning toward Sarah. “Why should I be calm when I’m angry as hell? Why is it okay for you to do and say exactly what you want without thinking about me, but I can’t say a single word? Or need anything.”
Sarah felt as though the chair had dropped out from under her. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”
“That’s because you haven’t been paying attention. You’re busy hovering over your mother and you’ve got Rob here and you don’t need me, so I never see you unless I come over.”
Sarah’s shoulders sagged and she just wanted to put her head down and sleep. Or cry. Beth was right, but there was a limit to what any one person could do.
“And what about Rob? He’s pretty much in your pocket. What does he get out of this whole thing? Are you rewarding him somehow?” She raised an eloquent eyebrow at Sarah.
“No. Don’t be offensive.” Fatigue and defeat swept over Sarah.
Apparently Beth misinterpreted what must be her stunned and guilty expression, because she shot to her feet. “I’m sick of this, Sarah. You don’t need a friend, you need someone to trot in your footsteps and lick your boots. Well, it ain’t me, babe.” She stamped down the stairs and across the lawn to her car without looking back.
“Goodness, what was that all about?” Violet tiptoed out onto the porch. “I could hear shouting all the way up in my room.”
“The girl is envious.” Miranda was right behind Violet, taking charge in her usual I-know-everything manner. “She’s always wished for a mother like Hilda.”
“She’s angry because I haven’t been much of a friend this last year.”
“Young people are selfish,” Miranda stated firmly. “Look at the way she refuses to see her own mother.”
“She’ll get over it,” Sarah said. “Or she won’t. I just don’t have the energy to fix it right now.”
“Fix what?” Rob joined what was beginning to seem like a crowd on the porch.
“Oh, Beth was yelling at Sarah and went stamping off in a temper,” Violet told him. “It was very exciting.”
“She’s upset because I haven’t spent much time with her,” Sarah explained. “And she’s right. I haven’t been much of a friend this past year.”
“She’s jealous,” Rob stated flatly. “Jealous of you because you’re both friend and surrogate mother, and envious of your relationship with your mother. A real friend would stand by you, and for more than a year.”
He looked so certain, so strong, so dependable, that Sarah wanted to let everything go and just lean on him. Even just for a few minutes. How wonderful it would feel to let go and mourn, mourn for present and future losses. She tamped the sorrow of losing a friend into a dark corner of her mind and resisted the urge to put her head on Rob’s shoulder and cry. It wouldn’t be fair to turn into a clinging vine at this point. She could get through this without asking for more.
She could.
****
“Don’t want to get up.”
“All right. Mama. Shall I bring you supper in bed?” Sarah tried to keep fear out of her voice. It had been almost a week since her mother had been willing to get out of bed.
“Mm-hmm.” Hilda snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, Rob was at her side. “What’s wrong?”
“She won’t get up. Again.”
He grimaced. “I’ll referee down here if you want to eat upstairs with her. Again.”
“Thanks.” If he’d been openly sympathetic, she would have ended up crying all over him.
She carried dinner upstairs, coaxed Hilda to sit propped up on pillows, and pulled a chair to the bedside so she could feed her.
“What’s that?”
“Mashed potatoes. Beef stew. And custard. I made it the way you like it, Grandma’s recipe with brown sugar on the bottom,” Sarah said loudly.
“Nice.” But after only a few bites, Hilda turned her head away and refused more.
“Oh, Mama, you aren’t eating enough,” Sarah wailed, gripped by the helpless feeling that being with her mother seemed to cause all the time now. If only she c
ould do more. But force feeding wasn’t on the agenda.
“So tired.” It was a barely audible mumble. “Tired.”
“All right.” Sarah removed the tray and settled her for the night.
“Thank you, dear.” Hilda folded her hands across her stomach and closed her eyes.
Sarah suppressed a gasp. She looked so dead that it was painful to see. “Good night. Mama,” she said, and bent to kiss her cheek. Something didn’t look right about her arms, so Sarah twitched the sheet away. “Oh.”
Both of her mother’s upper arms were swollen. No, not swollen. They looked more like great bags of fluid, all wobbly and sloshy.
Stay calm. But she wasn’t calm. Not an emergency. No immediate danger. Just another problem. One more hurdle she could manage. She was shaking like an aspen in a wind storm. Time to stop kidding herself and call the doctor.
Rob was in the kitchen when she skidded down the stairs and grabbed the phone.
“What is it?”
“Urgent, not emergency.” She tried to punch in the numbers, but her hands shook too badly.
Rob took the phone. “Dr. Burgess?”
“Uh-huh. “
He dialed and handed it back to her.
“If he says this is ‘only to be expected with geriatric patients,’ the way he did last time. I’m going to do something violent.” She stopped to talk to the answering service.
Rob gestured toward the stairs, but she shook her head.
She wanted, no, needed, his comforting presence right here.
A few minutes later, she put the phone down and turned to him. “An ambulance is on the way. I’ll be upstairs. You let them in?”
He nodded, and she went up the back stairs to hold vigil by her mother’s bedside. Unnatural, frozen calm settled over her. It felt like being encased in a thin film of ice, like the packaged chicken breasts she had bought that afternoon.
Hilda woke when she came back into the room. “Sarah. Is something wrong?”
How to explain this without scaring her? “I just talked to the doctor. He’d like you in the hospital for a bit. Just for observation.”
Hilda struggled fruitlessly to sit, and Sarah raised her to put an extra pillow behind her. “But why?”
“Your arms.”
Wallpaper with Roses Page 24
