She expected Frannie to make some remark about putting up silly posters or painting the ceiling with the solar system. Instead, her mother sat down on the end of the bed and removed her red hat, turning it over and over in her hands like a lost child. “I’m grateful. Tell Dan I know this is a sacrifice.”
“It’s no sacrifice, Mother,” Carrie lied, feeling guilty because Dan had not been against Mother moving in. The naysayer was her. Yet, what choice did they have under the circumstances? Mother could no longer take care of herself; that much was obvious from the fire. “We have tons of space.”
They’d built this house in those early days when Lexi was tiny and hope remained for filling all the rooms. Over the years, they’d occasionally mention downsizing but the subject was a painful reminder of the children they’d never had, so they’d long ago stopped talking about it.
“I suppose I need a shower.”
“We both do.” But neither moved. Wanting to offer comfort, Carrie lingered, sick with sorrow and sympathy and a feeling of helplessness. “Would you like some iced tea? Or I could run down to the convenience store and get some Mountain Dew.”
“No. I’m fine.” Fran picked at the tulle on her hat. “Do you think Tux will turn up?”
Mother had thought of little else since the devastation. Not of her house or her clothes or thirty years of memories, but of the black-and-white tomcat. His disappearance seemed a poignant symbol that Fran would eventually lose everything near and dear.
“Dan and Lexi said they’d go back to the neighborhood after dinner and look for him. All the cars and fire trucks should be gone by then.”
“He likes Lexi. He’ll come out for her.”
Pained by Mother’s eternal optimism, Carrie figured there was nothing left of the gentle old cat to find.
Frannie leaned back on the pillows and let her red glittery slides fall to the floor. They’d found the lost shoe next to Frannie’s car, safe and sound, the only pair to survive this day’s events. Red hat, red shoes and a purple pantsuit. They would have to do.
“I’m tired.” Mother closed her eyes.
Carrie had never seen her this down. The reaction was probably normal for most people, but not for Francis Adler.
She lingered in the doorway for another minute, watching her mother and wondering how to help her face the days ahead. Then, heart heavy, she headed for the kitchen to fix something quick to eat.
Everything was where she’d left it a few hours ago when she’d been happy and singing and preparing homemade ice cream. Now the half bowl of peeled peaches had turned an ugly brown and fruit flies swarmed around the sticky mess.
Dan appeared beneath the archway between the living and dining rooms. “Is she all right?”
Carrie propped a palm on the edge of the counter and leaned, glad for something sturdy to hold her up. “I don’t know. She’s resting.”
“Good.”
He looked the way she felt. Lost. Uncertain. She longed for him to take her in his arms and assure her that everything would be okay. She needed to cry, long and hard, while Dan rubbed her back and uttered those unintelligible man sounds that made her feel safe and loved.
“We should call Robby.”
“He won’t come. He’ll leave everything up to us.”
“Still, we should call.”
Carrie knew Dan was right, but as experience had taught her, so was she.
“Life is so unfair,” she murmured.
“Everything will work out.”
Platitudes she did not want. Life only worked out when she fought and clawed and forced it to her will, something she couldn’t do with Alzheimer’s disease and house fires.
Frustrated, aching, despondent, she turned to dump the ruined fruit into the garbage disposal.
“Carrie?”
“What?” Tears burned behind her nose. She sniffed.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Leaning hard against the sink, Carrie nodded. From the corner of her eye she could see him standing there, uncertain and bewildered, wishing he could fix this the way he fixed a car or a leaky faucet. “I’m fine.”
He shifted, moved forward, then stopped. “I want to be what you need, honey, but I don’t know what that is.”
The torrent broke and in the next instant, Dan’s strong, workman’s arms went around her, pulling her close to his thudding heart. He said nothing, just held her while she wept.
And though it solved nothing, for now it was enough.
Chapter Nine
Fran moved through the house in a daze. It was such a big house, not like her bungalow. She stopped in the kitchen and gazed around. What was this? She should know but the word wouldn’t come. And why had she come in here?
She stood in the center of the room and closed her eyes. “Father, I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing. Don’t tell Carrie. She freaks out.”
She waited, listening to the quiet sounds of an empty house. Dan and Carrie were at work. Lexi had gone swimming with friends.
A moment ago her heart had been racing but now she began to calm. The Lord was here. His sweet, sweet spirit eased over her like a warm massage.
She opened her eyes, relieved to have the fog lifting. That was the awful thing about this forgetting disease. She knew the episode was happening, but she was helpless to stop it.
“Coffee!” She threw her hands into the air. “Thank you, Jesus.” She’d come in here to make coffee.
After she’d filled the pot and set it to brew, the doorbell chimed. Drying her hands with one of Carrie’s fancy dish towels, she went to answer it.
A familiar form stood beneath the covered entry, green John Deere cap and something else in hand. Her heart thudded once with a hope too foolish to acknowledge.
“Ken.” How she’d missed that handsome face.
Without preamble, he said, “I made a mistake, Frannie.”
The ember of hope flared up again. “You did?”
“Biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time, and I’ve made some doozies. Can I come in and talk to you? I’ll understand if you give me the boot. I deserve it.”
“Oh, silly, get in here.” She plucked his sleeve and pulled, more glad to see him than he could ever know. “I guess you heard about my house.”
“I did. Sure sorry about that.”
“Burned it down myself. The Alzheimer’s, they tell me. I left a pan on the stove.”
“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
“Sit, Ken.” She motioned him toward the long, rolled-arm sofa. “Would you like some of Carrie’s tea?”
“No, no. Nothing for me, thanks.”
He moved past her, and as he did, Frannie caught a whiff of shower soap and English Leather. Her farmer had cleaned up to come calling.
“You sure you’re all right?” he asked. He looked so concerned that she was nearly overcome with emotion.
“I’m very thankful. The Lord protected me from my silly self.” She tried to make light of the tragedy, but even she could hear the ache in her voice.
Ken’s indrawn breath was ragged. “When I heard your house burned…” He shook his head, jaw tight. “The news shook me up, got me thinking. What if you’d been inside?” He glanced up and then down again, voice low and regretful. “What if I’d lost you forever?”
Fran didn’t say the obvious—that he would lose her anyway.
His grip tightened on the cap he held. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“All the color went out of my life without you, Frannie. The whole world turned gray, like it was after Ellen died.” His eyes sought hers again and held on as though afraid to glance away lest she disappear. The notion filled her with poignant joy. “I missed you. Missed you more than I can ever explain. I’m sorry for being a scared old fool. Will you forgive me?”
Frannie settled next to him on Carrie’s beige sofa, needing to touch him. “No forgiveness needed. I understood.”
He made a sad, self-disparaging face. “I
’d feel a lot better if you’d rake me over the coals a little, make me pay.”
“Life’s too short for that, Ken Markovich.” She squeezed his biceps, the muscle firm and strong beneath her touch. “I’m just happy to see you again.”
What an understatement. Though aware she was selfish to let him back into her life when the future was so terribly bleak, Fran couldn’t bear to send him away.
“What are your plans?” he asked. “I mean, now that your house is gone? You’re going to need a place to live.”
“I have a place here with Dan and Carrie until I get on my feet again.” She knew that would never happen, but admitting as much would be like surrendering to the disease. Francis Adler might be taken captive, but she would never surrender.
“I have a house. A big place that you’ve always liked.” Ken turned the green cap over, bending the bill into a vee. “Why not move in with me?”
Fran gave him a playful swat on the arm. Intentionally misunderstanding because she knew where he was leading, she fanned her face and laughed. “Why, Ken Markovich, I am not that kind of woman.”
Ken wouldn’t be put off by her foolishness. He tossed the cap aside and took her hand, his calloused fingers gentle. “Marry me, Frannie. Let me look after you.”
Fran ached with regret as she slipped her hand from his and reached up to cradle his beloved face. “My dear, dear Ken. Because I love you, I will never marry you.”
Pain shifted through the most sincere brown eyes she’d ever seen. “Alzheimer’s disease makes no difference to me. You’re still the light of my life.”
She hated hurting him this way, but better now than for months and years to come. “You’ve already lost one wife to an ugly, unforgiving disease. I won’t do that to you again.”
“I want to.”
Shaking her head, Fran dropped her hands to the smooth fabric of the couch, gripping the cushion for support. She glanced away from those searching eyes, struggling to do the right thing when she longed to fall into Ken’s arms and say yes.
With sadness throbbing in her words, she murmured, “They tell me a time will come when I won’t even know you. Oh, my darling, Ken. I won’t even know you.”
With farm-worn fingers, both rough and tender, Ken touched her cheek and brought her gaze back to his. Gently, he said, “But I’ll know you, Frannie. I’ll know you.”
“I don’t want to forget.” The admission slipped out before she could think better of it. “I have so many wonderful memories. I don’t want to forget.”
Ken swallowed. His nostrils flared. “I’ve never been good at coming up with the right words, Fran. But there’s things I want to say to you, things you need to hear. I found someone who said it all, exactly how I feel.” He picked up a CD he’d placed on the coffee table and carried the disc to Carrie’s stereo. “If I can figure out how this thing works.”
He fiddled for a minute while Fran’s heart beat against her ribs like a canary about to break loose from a cage. “What is it?”
“Be patient.” His smile was self-conscious. “I’ll get there.”
She watched his thick fingers work, heard the click and whirr of the CD player. Ken turned, held her eyes with his.
“This is for you, Frannie.” He touched his heart. “From me.”
The gentle swell of orchestra music began and the honeyed tones of Nat King Cole singing “Unforgettable” filled the room with song.
Ken moved toward her, his lips mouthing the words.
After just a few bars, tears flowed down Fran’s face and Ken was quick to cross the room, kneeling at her side. She cupped his dear, dear cheek with one hand and smiled as the song ended. Ken’s weatherworn fingertips wiped away her tears and then gathered her into his embrace.
With a bittersweet ache for what could never be, Fran rested against him, saying nothing, for indeed, there was nothing left to say.
Chapter Ten
If Carrie thought the situation with Mother would improve in the days following the fire, she was wrong. So wrong that she began to dread waking up in the mornings. Her part-time work at the library was her only reprieve, although she worried about Frannie every moment. Mother had always been unpredictable and spontaneous. That hadn’t changed. The difference was in her ability to comprehend her own behavior. She had hours of perfect lucidity and then in an instant, she would change into a stranger with a blank stare. It was terrifying and heartrending.
One night, long after Mother had beat them all at a game of Scrabble and called it a night Carrie took solace in the soothing task of folding freshly washed laundry. Cleaning always calmed her, made her feel in control again whether she was or not. And Heaven knew, she was not in control.
Carrying a load of Downy-scented towels to Mother’s bathroom, she heard voices coming through the bedroom door. She paused to listen. Was Mother on the phone? Or praying perhaps? It wouldn’t be the first time Carrie had heard her mother talking aloud to God as if He were in the room. Not wanting to disturb her, Carrie quietly leaned her ear against the door.
“Your mother is under a lot of stress, rosebud,” she heard Frannie say. “We have to keep praying for her.”
Carrie pressed the towels closer, her pulse jump-started to be the topic of conversation between her daughter and her mother.
“But you’re the one losing your memory,” Lexi’s light, youthful voice said.
“She’s the one having to deal with forgetful old me. It’s hard to be in her shoes. And I think she’s still angry with the church.”
Mother had that right.
“Do you think Mom is mad at God, too?”
Carrie stiffened, awaiting her mother’s reply. If this wasn’t her daughter talking, she’d barge in there and let them have it for gossiping behind her back.
“I hope not, darling. Without the Lord, none of us will get through this in one piece. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a burden on my kids.”
“You could never be a burden, Grannie Frannie.” The bed groaned as if someone had sat down. “You’re as much fun as ever. Even Mr. Markovich must think so. He sure comes over a lot.”
Mother’s warm chuckle filtered beneath the door. “He’s a good man. When I get too crazy to remember my name, you treat him nicely, okay? He’s going to be pretty sad.”
“I’ll be sad, too, Gran. Real sad.”
“But oh, my precious, we have some fine memories, don’t we? Lots and lots of fine memories. And we’re going to make lots more before I check out of here for good. You think on those instead of being sad.” A soft, patting sound. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Lexi’s voice was muffled as though she’d leaned into her grandmother’s fleshy arms. “I was thinking about doing a research paper on AD. Is that all right with you?”
“A splendid idea, rosebud. I’ll be your guinea pig. I’ve been doing some research myself. It’s not pretty.”
“I know. I don’t want you to lose your memory, Gran.”
“Me, either, but you and I both know that God will take care of us. Right?”
“Right.”
“You’re a smart little chickie, you know that?”
“I take after my gran.”
The statement sent a spear through Carrie. What if her precious only child carried the Alzheimer’s gene? How unfair would that be?
The anger beneath the surface bubbled up again. She turned from the closed door and walked away.
A week after the fire, Carrie, Lexi, and Frannie spent the day shopping. Afterward, Frannie had sprung for banana splits at the ice-cream shop where Lexi’s new boyfriend worked. The trio sat talking about Frannie’s new but equally gaudy wardrobe, Lexi’s sports banquet they’d attended on Saturday night, and the upcoming music festival at church.
When Carrie’s cell phone rang inside her purse, Lexi dived for it. “It’s for me.”
“Probably.” Carrie smiled around a mouthful of butterpecan ice cream. She was beginning to see the wisdom of getting Lexi her own phone. Ni
ne calls out of ten were for her anyway.
Turning slightly to one side, an action Carrie found amusing considering she and Frannie could hear every word, Lexi spoke into the tiny mouthpiece. A second later, she turned back and caught her mother’s gaze. Carrie put down her spoon.
“What?” she mouthed.
Lexi shook her head and held up one finger. “That’s awesome. Thanks for calling.” She snapped the device closed. “Good news. Someone spotted a black-and-white cat sniffing around the ashes of Grannie’s house.”
Frannie clasped both hands to her chest. “Oh, praise the Lord. Let’s go.”
She was already moving out of the booth. Carrie grabbed her purse and followed, hoping her mother wasn’t going to be disappointed again.
The short drive to the old neighborhood was filled with anticipatory tension and speculation between Lexi and Fran about where Tux had been hiding out all this time. Carrie kept her mouth shut, the pessimist in her already trying to think of ways to soothe the hurt when Tux was nowhere to be seen.
As they pulled into the driveway, Fran’s chipper countenance quieted. Seeing the burned-out home always affected her.
They parked at the edge of the drive and got out.
“Here kitty, kitty.” Lexi immediately started to walk around the perimeter.
“Stay away from all that junk, Lexi,” Carrie admonished, reminding herself to call the insurance company and find out when they were going to have the lot cleaned off. “There could be snakes in there.”
Snakes maybe, but no sign of the cat.
“Tux, come on Tuxedo. Tux!” Frannie moved in the opposite direction, calling and making smoochie sounds with her mouth.
The ever-present knot in Carrie’s shoulder tightened. Where was that stupid cat? Dan had spent hours combing through the ashes and wreckage but found no remains. He considered that a good sign. Carrie figured the cat was cremated along with so many of her mother’s other belongings.
“Mom! Grannie!” Lexi’s excited voice came from behind a dilapidated shed. Carrie’s nerves jumped. Her first thought was, a snake. “He’s out here. I found him.”
Mothers and Daughters: An Anthology Page 17
