“Poor thing. How's your cold?”
“Miserable,” Olympia admitted. “I hope I get rid of it by Saturday night.”
“Yes, so do I,” Frieda said, sounding vague. And for the first time ever, Olympia had the impression that her mother-in-law was drunk. She hadn't noticed it at first, but she was definitely slurring her words. For an instant, Olympia was afraid she'd had a stroke. She'd had a heart attack five years before, but had been fine ever since.
“Are you all right?” Olympia asked, sounding worried.
“Yes…yes…I am…” She hesitated, and her daughter-in-law could hear a tremor in her voice. “I had a little mishap this afternoon,” she said, sounding embarrassed. She loved her independence, managed well on her own, and never liked to be a burden to anyone. She rarely told anyone when she was sick, but only reported on it days or weeks later.
“What kind of mishap?” Olympia asked, blowing her nose.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Olympia was afraid she'd fallen asleep. She definitely sounded drunk.
“Frieda?” Olympia roused her, and heard her stir at the other end.
“Sorry… I'm feeling a little drowsy. I went to get some groceries before the storm got worse. I slipped on the ice. But I'm fine now.” She didn't sound it.
“What happened? Did you get hurt?”
“Nothing serious,” Frieda reassured her. “I'll be fine in a few days.”
“How fine? Did you see a doctor?”
There was another long pause before she answered. “I broke my ankle,” she said, sounding chagrined and feeling foolish. “I fell on a patch of ice on the curb. It was such a stupid thing. I should know better.”
“Oh my God, how awful. Did you go to the hospital? Why didn't you call me?”
“I know how busy you are at work. I didn't want to bother you. I called Harry, but I couldn't get through. He was in a meeting.”
“He still is,” Olympia said, obviously distressed over her mother-in-law's accident, and that she hadn't been there to help. “You should have called me, Frieda.” She hated the thought of the older woman negotiating the emergency room alone.
“They put me in an ambulance and took me to NYU.” It had been quite an adventure, and she had been there all afternoon.
“Are you in a cast?” Olympia was horrified. What had happened to Frieda was far worse than Max's chicken pox, Ginny's cough, or her cold.
“Up to my knee.”
“How did you get home?”
“I'm not.”
“You're not ? Where are you?” The story was getting worse by the minute.
“I'm still at the hospital. They didn't want me to go home alone. I'll be on crutches for a few weeks. I'm just lucky I didn't break a hip.”
“Oh my God! Frieda! I'm coming to get you. You can stay here with us.”
“I don't want to be a burden. I'll be fine tomorrow. And I'm still coming to the ball!”
“Of course you are. We'll get you a wheelchair,” Olympia said, suddenly thinking of the logistics of getting her there. Nothing in life was easy, particularly at this time of year.
“I'll walk,” Frieda said staunchly, although they had already told her that she wouldn't be able to put weight on her left foot for several weeks. She was going to have to hop around, with the crutches. But she was still determined not to be a problem for anyone. As always, she was sure she could manage on her own.
“You can stay here tonight. You've had chicken pox, right?”
“I think so. I'm not worried about that.” Olympia knew that for elderly people, exposure to chicken pox could sometimes result in shingles. But they couldn't leave her alone at home. She might fall and break something else. She had to stay with them. “I don't want to bother you and the children,” Frieda said, and as Olympia listened, she realized they must have given her something for the pain.
“You're not a bother, and there's no reason for you to stay there. Will they let you leave tonight?”
“I think so,” Frieda said vaguely.
“I'll call and ask the nurse, and call you back.” Olympia took down the details of her room number, the section of the hospital she was in, and the nurses' station that was nearest to her. Although she had obviously been sedated, she was remarkably coherent, and kept apologizing for being a pain in the neck. “You're not,” Olympia assured her, and hung up. She tried calling Harry at the office, but his private line was on voicemail, and his secretary had left. It was after eight o'clock.
She called the hospital, and they assured her that Mrs. Rubinstein was doing fine, they had only kept her there for the night so she wouldn't be alone at home. They had given her Vicodin for the considerable pain she was in, but there was no medical reason why she couldn't leave. For a woman her age, she was in remarkably good health, and had been fully coherent when she came in. The nurse on duty said she was a dear. Olympia agreed, and then called the sitter and asked her if she could come back for an hour. Fortunately, she lived nearby, and twenty minutes later she was back. Olympia had told her what had happened, and while she waited for the sitter, she turned the den on the main floor into a bedroom for Frieda. It had a bathroom, TV, and a pull-out bed, as they occasionally used it as a guest room. For as long as was necessary, Frieda could stay with them. She was sure it would be what Harry wanted, too. By eight-thirty, she was out the door, and an hour later they were back. Harry was still out.
She settled Frieda comfortably in the den-turned-guest-room, brought her something to eat, turned on the TV, fluffed up her pillows, took her to the bathroom, supporting most of her weight as she navigated the crutches, and settled her into bed. By ten o'clock, Olympia was upstairs in her own room, when Harry came home. He walked into their bedroom, looking exhausted. He had had an incredibly difficult day, with a case that had attracted national press, a headache he and the other judges involved didn't need.
“Who's in the den?” He assumed it was one of Charlie's friends. They used the room for overflow when all the kids were home. It was the only guest room they had.
“Your mother,” Olympia said, blowing her nose for the thousandth time. After negotiating the blizzard again, her cold had gotten markedly worse.
“My mother? What's she doing here?” He looked confused.
“She broke her ankle. They took her to NYU in an ambulance, and she didn't even call me. I just picked her up half an hour ago.”
“Are you serious?” He looked stunned.
“I am.” She blew her nose yet again. “She can't stay at her place alone. She's in a cast and on crutches. I think she should stay here for a while.”
Harry smiled lovingly at his wife. Olympia never let him down. “Is she awake?”
“She was a few minutes ago, but she's pretty looped on the stuff they gave her for the pain. Poor thing, it must have hurt like hell. I told her to call us on the intercom if she needs to, and not to try and go to the bathroom by herself. You know her. She'll be cooking us all breakfast in the morning. We're going to have to tie her to the bed.”
“I'll go down and check on her,” he said, looking concerned, and then turned to look at Olympia again as he headed out the door. “I love you. Thank you for being so good to her.”
Olympia smiled back at him. “She's the only mom we've got.”
“You're the best wife in the world.”
He was back ten minutes later, impressed by the size of his mother's cast, and the crutches lying next to her bed. She had already been sound asleep. “I turned off the TV, and left a light on for her. She's dead to the world. That's some cast.”
“They said it was a nasty break. She's right. She's lucky it wasn't her hip. If you can call this luck. How was your day?”
“Only slightly better than hers. The press are driving us nuts on this case. You sound like shit. How do you feel?”
“Like I sound. I hope Charlie gets home in this weather. I'm really going to need his help this week.”
Harry looked instantly a
pologetic. “I'm so sorry I can't take a day off. I just can't right now.”
“I know,” she said mournfully. “Me too. I'm up to my ass in alligators at the office. Margaret took the week off. Her mother had a mastectomy.”
“Jesus, is anyone around here still on their feet?”
“Thank God you are.” They had chicken pox, broken ankles, colds. She just hoped Veronica stayed healthy, and Ginny got healthy, for the ball on Saturday. “If you want to sleep in Charlie's room tonight, it's okay. I don't want you to catch this cold or flu, or whatever it is. It's miserable.”
“Don't be silly. I'm not afraid of you. I never get sick.”
“Shhh!” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “Don't say that!” He laughed at her, took a shower, and was in bed with her half an hour later. She was still blowing and coughing, and had just checked on Max. He was sound asleep.
“It looks like you're going to be running an infirmary here this week,” Harry said as he snuggled up next to her, and put his arms around her. She had her back to him, so she didn't breathe on him, and it was comforting feeling him next to her.
“I'm sorry about your mom. That was rotten luck for her.”
“She's lucky to have you, Ollie…so am I… don't think I don't appreciate all you do for her. You're an amazing woman.”
“Thank you,” she said, as she drifted off to sleep in his arms. “You're not so bad yourself.”
“I'll try and come home early tomorrow,” he promised. She nodded, and within seconds, was fast asleep.
Chapter 6
Olympia got up at six the next morning to check on Frieda. Her cold was no better, but at least it wasn't worse. Her mother-in-law was still sound asleep, and there was no sign that she had gotten up during the night. She looked as though she hadn't moved an inch since Olympia had tucked her into bed the night before. Olympia had given her one of her own nightgowns, a big loose flannel one she'd worn when she was pregnant with Max. It was short on Frieda, and the sleeves were short, which she knew her mother-in-law didn't like. Her arms lay on top of the sheets, and Olympia could see the tattoo she always tried to hide. Seeing it, the rare times she did, never failed to make Olympia sad. It was impossible for her to imagine what those years must have been like for her. Knowing she had survived that always touched Olympia's heart. She tiptoed out of the room, and went back upstairs to take a shower. Harry was already nearly dressed. He had to be in the office for a press conference early that morning. And at seven, just as Olympia was combing her hair, Max woke up. He said he felt better, though he had as many spots as he'd had the night before, if not more.
“How are all your patients?” Harry asked as he put on his jacket and straightened his tie.
“Max says he feels better, and your mom is still asleep.”
“Can you manage?” he asked, looking worried but also rushed.
Olympia laughed. “Do I have a choice?”
“I guess not,” he said, looking apologetic. At least, he knew, now his mother going to the ball wouldn't be an issue. He had the excuse of staying home to take care of her, which he felt sure would get him off the hook, and make him look like less of a louse for not going. He had been feeling guilty about not going for weeks, but no matter how guilty he felt, he absolutely refused to go. And now his mother couldn't go, either. She could hardly go to a ball on crutches, unable to put any weight on one foot. He said nothing about it to his wife, but he was nonetheless relieved, although sorry about his mother's accident and the burden it would put on his wife. It seemed providential in some ways, for him.
“Don't worry,” Olympia reassured him. “The sitter will be here in half an hour. She can take care of both of them. And Charlie will be home tonight. He can give us a hand till the girls come home. Then we can all take turns.” He nodded, not entirely convinced that her optimism about her daughters was well founded. Ginny was not exactly famous for being helpful around the house. He knew Charlie would be a godsend, and if she was in the right mood and didn't have other plans, Veronica might lend a hand. Maybe. If there was no protest she felt she had to participate in, no one to picket, and no abused child or homeless person somewhere in the city whom she felt needed her help. Helping the family was low on her list of priorities, and as they all did, she counted on her mother to take care of everything. Somehow Olympia always did. Harry felt guilty about that, too. Five minutes later, with a quick kiss to his wife, and a promise to be home as early as humanly possible, he left for work.
Olympia made Mickey Mouse pancakes for Max, put on a video for him, and checked on Frieda in the den again. She was still asleep when the sitter arrived. Olympia was grateful to see her, explained about the condition of both their patients, picked up her briefcase, and literally ran out the door. There was a foot of fresh snow on the ground, but it had finally stopped falling. And as usual, in weather like that, it took her half an hour to find a cab. Margaret called her in the office that afternoon, and asked how things were going. All Olympia could do was laugh.
“Well, let's see, Max has chicken pox, Frieda broke her ankle yesterday and is staying in our den. I have the cold of the century. Ginny is sick at school. And Charlie's coming home tonight, thank God.”
“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the performance?”
“Yeah. Right. When it rains, it pours. I just hope the girls stay in one piece till Saturday. After that, we can all fall apart.”
“What's Harry doing to help?”
“Nothing at the moment. He's dealing with a crisis at the court of appeals.”
“I know. I saw his press conference this morning. Just when I'd decided I hate the guy for not going to the ball with you, I fell in love with him all over again for the positions he takes. The guy is really a mensch, even though I think he's an asshole for not going with you on Saturday.”
“You can't have everything, I guess,” Olympia said with a sigh. “I love him, too. He stands for the right stuff, and is willing to fight for it to the death. Unfortunately, that includes his ideologies about the ball. I guess you can't have it both ways. He stands for what he believes. At least Chauncey is being decent. He must be sick.”
“If he gives you a hard time on Saturday, I'll kick him in the shins.”
“How's your mom doing?”
“Better than I thought she would. There is something about that generation of women. You've got to hand it to them. They're tough, and have a lot of guts. I'd be a mess. She's happy to be alive.”
“Frieda's like that, too. All she could do last night was apologize for being a burden on us. Once Max feels better and is no longer contagious, at least they can keep each other company. I think he's almost there now. I have to check. I don't want him giving her shingles.”
“That's all you need.” Margaret was impressed by all Olympia was handling. She always did. Kids, work, husband, crises. She somehow managed to juggle it all. It seemed to be the lot of working women. They had to be geniuses in the office, and tireless dynamos at home. As far as Margaret was concerned, it was too many hats to wear at once, which was why she had opted not to have kids. She could handle work and a husband, but four kids like Olympia's, or even one, would have been way more than she could cope with. As she pointed out regularly, she didn't even have pets or plants. Work was more than enough for her. And her husband was a dream. He took care of the house, organized their social life, and cooked for her when she got home. “Let me know if I can do anything to help,” Margaret offered, but Olympia knew she had her hands full with her mother. She was just happy she'd be there Saturday night. With the girls nervous and wound up, Charlie and the other escort to keep track of, Frieda on crutches or in a wheelchair, and a potentially hostile ex-husband to deal with, Olympia was going to be crazed.
In spite of a new case that landed on her at four o'clock, Olympia left her office early, and managed to be home by five. Max was sitting on the couch in the den next to Frieda. She had her leg propped up on a chair, and Charlie was sitting
with them, drinking tea, when Olympia walked in.
“Well, this looks like a cozy group. Hi, sweetheart,” she said as she gave her son a big hug to welcome him home. She was visibly happy to have him back, and he looked equally pleased to see her. Max was still covered with calamine, but the doctor had assured them he was no longer contagious, so Frieda was enjoying his company, and had been all afternoon. Charlie had just gotten home, a few hours earlier than planned. “How's everybody feeling?” Olympia asked her patients.
“Better,” Max said with a grin.
“Terrific,” Frieda announced, looking at both her grandsons. “I was going to try and cook dinner for all of you, but Charlie won't let me.” His mother looked at him with thanks and approval.
“I should hope not. We'll order Chinese. It's more fun.” They sat chatting in the den for a while, and an hour later Harry came home. The day had gone well for him, and he was happy to see Charlie, too. The two went out to the kitchen to have a beer, while Olympia went upstairs to change into jeans. Max was happy where he was, with his grandma, watching TV. She was still apologizing for bothering them, but she was obviously enjoying being there with them.
Dinner was festive that night, and afterward everyone went to their own rooms, except Charlie, who hung out with his mother for a while. He looked like he had something on his mind, but when his mother asked him if that was the case, he insisted that he didn't. He just said he was happy to be home with them. He promised to keep Max and his grandmother company the next day, and a little while later he went out with friends. The weather had warmed up slightly that day, and what was left of the snow was turning to slush, and ice at night. Olympia warned him to be careful and remember what had happened to Frieda. Charlie looked at her and smiled, and then left. Sometimes his mother still treated him like he was five.
Between running downstairs to check on Frieda, and putting Max to bed, cleaning up the kitchen, talking to Charlie, and taking a bath finally, Olympia didn't have time to talk to Harry alone until they were in bed that night.
Coming Out Page 9
