As for Dana.… She should be encouraging me to reach out, Beth thought. It made her despair to think of growing into lonely and querulous old age under Dana's watchful, dutiful, exasperated eye. Dear Dana, I do love you, but we share so little common ground.
Andy's resistance was easier to understand, although it annoyed her no less.
She was a convenient combination nanny and au pair girl for his children; a reliable confidante for his wife. She was sure that Andy, bless his kind heart, would be shocked if he knew what she was thinking—What, me? Exploit my own mother?—but it was true.
What she found the most difficult to accept were the doubts her family expressed about her judgment. Why, she asked herself, this sudden fear about her falling prey to a fortune hunter?
Beth shook her head over Dana's preposterous casting of Karim Donovan in that role.
Women with silk purses have their uses. Come now, Beth scolded herself, he was talking about that overly attentive trustee of his. He was joking!
Have you priced furniture lately ? All right, so he expressed shock that a dining table could cost six hundred dollars. How long since he last bought one, twenty-five years? Beth recalled that her first car, a used Volkswagen beetle, hadn't cost much more than that. As for his saying that buying a hideaway wasn't a realistic possibility—why, that could be said of eighty, maybe ninety percent of the population!
Angry now at her family for raising doubts, at herself for feeding them, and at Karim for supplying the fodder, she slammed the light switch button with the flat of her hand, plunging both the kitchen and herself into darkness.
"Damn it," she cried, "if only—”
If only what? She couldn't expunge her family's hostility as easily as she had the light.
What had she expected from them ?
She didn't know; she hadn't really thought about it. A brief, wary circling, perhaps, but not the slamming down of the family castle's portcullis. And if she dared sneak out across the drawbridge, would she find her path barred by his daughter, avenging sword in hand?
And what about his wife? Beth wondered. Even avowed feminists had been known to exercise the so-called perennial right of a woman to change her mind. She suspected the Peabody trustees would be very unhappy if, on the heels of the Longyear scandal, their new president became involved in a contentious divorce action.
Beth flicked on the light switch at the foot of the stairs. Why am I doing this to myself, she asked herself as she trudged wearily up the carpeted steps. Judged by family and community standards, my life is a success—am I willing to risk a sure thing like that on an uncertain promise of love?
Beth paused, suddenly reminded of poem by A.A. Milne her mother had read to her and she, in turn, had read to her own children. A sad little poem, something to do with being halfway up the stairs. Not at the bottom, not at the top...it really isn't anywhere.…
She sat down on the tread and hugged her skirt around her legs. Is 'not anywhere' the same as nowhere?
She rested her chin on her knees. What am I really looking for: answers or obstacles?
Chapter Ten
Housa's long tanned arms propelled her through the pool's sparkling water with a determination Beth observed with awe.
How many laps was that? Fifteen?
"Again, Grammy, do it again!" Clara commanded.
Beth, who was entertaining the children at the shallow end, inhaled, ducked under, pushed up a big day-glo orange ball with her head, and emerged barking like a seal.
Clara squealed and clapped her hands;
Jamie, strapped in a spring-mounted contrivance at the edge of the pool, chortled and bounced. Daisy, who found her grandmother's antics embarrassing, preferred to have her own prowess admired.
"Watch, Grammy!" she screeched as she hurled herself in a variety of poses off the low diving board.
Beth wondered how it was that given a body of water—pools, ponds, water holes, maybe even moats—and a place to jump from, the actions of children invariably replicated those of the generations before them. Looking at Daisy, if she squinted she could see Andy. Thinking back, she could see herself: cannonball, crazy walk, frog jump.
That's my Bethy!
"That's my girl!" Beth called.
Housa wallowed up beside her, and pulled herself up on the edge. "Twenty-five!" she announced in a proud gasp. "Next time, thirty." She twisted the water out of her dark mane of hair and combed it off her forehead with her fingers. Hoisting herself to her feet, she trotted over to the cluster of pool chairs for her towel, her feet leaving damp steaming arcs on the hot slates. Her sleek yellow bikini left little to the imagination. As she toweled herself dry, her voluptuous body bent and twisted in a series of innocently provocative poses.
Is that why Andy is so reluctant to see her go out into the workaday world? Maybe he should get her one of those head-to-toe cover-ups Muslim women wear. Beth couldn't think of the name. Karim would know.
Her exercise regimen completed, Housa lifted Jamie from his chrome and plastic prison and carried him to a long deck chair where she reapplied sun block to his tender skin. That done, she lay back against the webbing, her baby snugged against her like a sleepy puppy, and closed her eyes.
"Lunch, Housa?"
"Is it that time already?" Housa's dark fan of lashes lifted. She squinted up into the cloudless blue as if expecting to find a clock-face emblazoned there. "It's so bright." Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked at Beth. "I don't often do this, you know."
Apologetic. As if it were a sin against motherhood to spend a summer morning indulging in the simple physical pleasure of swimming followed by a doze in the sun.
"It's just coming up on noon, dear. I've had more than enough sun for one day, and I'm due at the clinic at two. Tell you what—I'll bring a tray of fixings out and we can all fend for ourselves. Is Jamie still eating that disgusting organic mush?"
"It's soybeans and carrots, Beth. It's very good for him, full of protein."
"He likes it, Grammy," Daisy said, arriving in time to hear this last exchange. She gave her grandmother a squinched-eye, there's-no-accounting-for-babies look.
"Better him than me," Beth muttered. "Come along, then, Daisy. I can use your help."
"Me, too?" Clara asked, afraid of missing something.
"Clara dear, I think maybe—" Beth looked at Housa. Her eyes had drifted shut again. Her breath, exhaled gently through her parted lips, stirred the damp ringlets on Jamie's head. "You, too, sweetie. Do you think you can fetch the bag with Jamie's food from your mommy's car?"
Clara, wearing a solemn look of importance, could and did. Fifteen minutes later Beth was back with a large tray of assorted foodstuffs. The disgust expressed by Clara and Daisy at the sight and smell of the roquefort cheese, half-sour dill pickles and salami she and Housa favored persuaded her to add peanut butter and jelly. They were popular commercial brands, but as far as Beth could tell from a careful reading of the labels they contained none of the additives on Housa's current list of horrors.
Beth crunched a spear of pickle.
"I'm afraid I have to abandon you, my dears—it's time for me to get dressed. I don't want to be late for my job at your daddy's clinic."
"How come Mommy doesn't have a job?" Daisy asked.
"She does, dear. She takes care of you and Clara and Jamie."
"So do you, Grammy."
"But only sometimes, Daisy. Your mommy's full-time."
Satisfied, Daisy turned away to engage Clara in a pretend game in which she was king and Clara was slave, a role Clara had doubts about. Ignoring their bickering, Beth began loading the tray with the leavings from lunch.
"Beth?"
"Yes, Housa?"
"Your counseling job at the clinic—do you enjoy it? I mean, it's not just something you're doing for Andy?"
Beth rested the edge of the tray on the table; she cocked her head, considering. "Well, I'm glad it helps Andy, but I do it because I want to, and yes, I do enjoy it
. Why do you ask?"
"Sometimes I—" Housa paused; she placed an absent-minded kiss on Jamie's flushed cheek. "I like mothering, Beth."
"I know you do, Housa, and you're very good at it."
"That's what Andy says. He says there's no need for me to do anything else." Her huge brown eyes pleaded for Beth's approval.
"There isn't, not in the way he means, but—" She sat down on the edge of the chair and lightly circled Housa's racehorse-fine ankle with her fingers. "Parenting isn't a lifetime occupation, Housa. In twenty years Daisy will be well-launched on a career or married or both; Jamie will be a junior in college."
"Twenty years is a long time!"
"Not when you're my age. It's hard to believe how fast it goes," she added softly, as if to herself. “And then you find you still have twenty or more years of active life ahead of you. Look at Murry: she's just beginning to slow down, and she's eighty-one."
"I dunno.… I'll think about it."
"Good." Beth stood up.
"By the way, I'm sorry about the funding. I hope it doesn't affect you too much."
"Funding?"
"Yeah, at the clinic. Didn't Andy tell you? About the state cracking down on staff qualifications?"
Beth stared down at her. "No, he didn't. Horace Williams said something about him wanting to see me, but that was days ago. He didn't mention anything about funding problems on Saturday."
Color rose in Housa's cheeks. Her eyes moved away from Beth's. "Well, Saturday, things got a little...you know."
"Tense."
"Yeah, and I guess I didn't help much."
"You helped me."
"Then I guess I'm glad," Housa said, "but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure why."
That was so typically Housa Beth had to laugh. "I'm off. Be sure and lock up after you and—"
"Put the key back under the frog." The frog was a large stone one, chosen as key-minder after Housa lost the third Beth had made for her. "Say goodbye to Grammy, kids."
"Bye, Grammy," they chorused. "Thank you for the nice time."
They're good children, Beth thought as she drove to the clinic, and Housa's a good mother. Why should it matter to me what she makes of her life? Andy's already asked me to back off.
Andy. What was this about the funding for the clinic?
Her hands tightening on the steering wheel, Beth resolved to track him down at the clinic. But when she saw Horace Williams frantically hailing her from the clinic's entrance, she knew she'd soon have more urgent matters to worry about than her son's failure in communication.
"It's Mrs. Balkin," Horace said, skipping the usual greetings. "She went on a rampage. Screaming and cursing, calling her daughter the whore of Babylon and me, Beelzebub. I was wheeling Alvin Flexner down to the rest room and she comes roaring around the corner, kicks me in both shins, grabs the chair and sends poor Alvin whirling down the hall to save him from my hellfire and damnation. I was just taking him to the urinal! He got so upset he wet himself and he hates that. Robs him of what little dignity he's got left. We got to do something about that woman, Beth."
"Where is she now?"
"In the nurses' lounge. Dr. Springer gave her a shot. He was here getting information about nursing services available for an elderly patient of his, and she damn near ran him down. She's peaceful now, but when that tranquilizer starts wearing off, look out world."
"And Nina?"
"Waiting for you in Conference Room 3 with the others in your group. Crying her poor eyes out, last I saw."
Beth found Nina slumped in a chair kneading a sodden handkerchief, nose red, eyes swollen from tears.
"Can you tell me about it, Nina?" Beth asked. "Do you know what started her off?"
Nina gulped. "I—I think so. I tried talking to her about giving me a power of attorney, like you said." Beth nodded. "Well, at first she seemed to understand. I used a hypothetical medical emergency to explain why it was important—like what would happen if she fell down the stairs and had to be hospitalized?
"Mother started brooding about it, the way she does. Decided I was planning to push her down the stairs, throw her out on the street and bring in that 'dirty, dirty man' as my...as my..."
"Lover," Theresa Miller supplied. "It was Horace Williams she was talking about, of course—can you imagine?"
The tears started rolling down Nina's pale cheeks. "The things she said, Beth. Poor Mr. Williams! I don't know where she heard those words. I don't even know what some of them mean."
Beth handed her a clean tissue. "I guess there's no point in pursuing a power of attorney."
"That's what the lawyer said when I called to cancel our appointment. He said he could hear her carrying on in the background."
"I'll get an application for a conservatorship from the probate court this afternoon, Nina. Horace Williams will act as a witness; so will I, of course, and if a medical opinion is required, I'm sure Dr. Springer will supply one."
Beth thought privately that the earnest, anxious expression on Nina Balkin's drawn face, not to mention her shapeless dress and sensible oxfords, would be enough to convince the court of her mother's paranoia. Whore of Babylon, indeed. Beth fought back a smile.
"The next thing we have to do is find her a place."
Nina began to cry again. "Mother only comes here with me because she's afraid to let me out of her sight. She thinks I'm conspiring against her, and...and.…" Her mouth rounded in a trembling circle of despair. "Oh, Beth, if I do what you're suggesting, don't you see? I am!"
"I'm afraid you no longer have a choice." Beth's voice was deliberately stern. "You have to work; she can't be left alone, and you said you couldn't find anyone willing to stay with her. The way she's been lately— It's not safe, Nina, not for her, not for you, or for your neighbors."
Nina's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of the neighbors," she said in a small voice.
"Look what she did to my dad," Gladys Flexner said.
"And Mr. Williams," Theresa chimed in.
"Since the house you share is in your mother's name,” Beth said, “you'll probably have to sell it and turn the proceeds over to the state. Will that cause a problem for you?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure. One of the women I work with has a room to rent. She's been looking for a quiet, single person who doesn't drink or smoke. Lord knows I qualify," she added with a rare flash of wry humor. "I wouldn't have as much space as I have now, of course, but..." A tentative smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
Beth saw the other women exchange knowing glances. They knew what that sheepish smile meant. For the first time in her life, Nina would have privacy and quiet, the blessings that all of them, at one time or another, yearned for.
Beth drove to the court to pick up an application. The judge, who was about to leave for the day, agreed to follow Beth to the clinic. A brief talk with Horace Williams and Nina, and one look at Mrs. Balkin, who was rapidly regaining her fighting trim—she called the dignified auburn-haired judge a Jezebel—convinced her to grant Nina's petition. By five, Nina's mother was on her way to a nursing home and Nina had begun a brand new life.
Beth knew it wouldn't be easy for her. Guilt would keep her tossing at night; doubts would beset her. With her mother gone, she would recall the few good times they had enjoyed together and wonder if it was her fault there hadn't been more.
But the other women would help see her through it, Beth was convinced of that.
"Mom? Anything wrong?" Andy strode into his office where Beth was waiting.
"Quite the contrary, Andy," Beth said, filling him in on the day's events. "Of course, Nina might have done it on her own, eventually."
"Which might have been too late to give her a chance at a life of her own. Don't underrate yourself. Mom. You do a first rate job."
"Thank you, dear."
She looked at him expectantly. He seemed, not uncomfortable exactly, but.…
"I understand you have something to tell me? Something about funding, Housa sai
d."
He frowned. "Housa?"
"She brought the children over for a swim this morning."
"She shouldn't have said—"
"She thought I already knew. Doris mentioned your wanting to see me days ago."
He raked his straight brown hair off his forehead with his fingers. He always did have trouble keeping it combed down. He pinched the bridge of his long nose, slightly angled from a long-ago break in a pick-up game of ice hockey on a neighbor's pond.
"You know how bureaucratic the state is, Mom." She nodded. "Well, it seems you lack the qualifications the state requires for funding the services we give your group."
"Surely they must have been aware of that before now."
"Yes, but the fiscal pinch wasn't as great before. They're looking to cut everywhere they can."
"But I volunteer my time! I don't see why—”
"What you or I see isn't the point, Mom. I'm sorry. We'll have to assign your group to someone else."
"It's not fair, Andy! I've gained their confidence. It takes time to do that! If someone new comes in now, a few are bound to drift away...probably those that need the group's support the most." Like Nina. She took a deep breath. "What would I have to do to qualify?"
Andy looked mournful. "You'd need a master's in social work, an MSW degree to begin with, and six additional credits each year of service to keep you current with developments in the field. You only have two years of college credits, Mom!"
"Two and a half. I took courses on and off during the years you and Dana were in high school."
"I'd forgotten that," he admitted. "At the time I couldn't understand why anyone would go to school if they didn't have to."
"I was trying to keep up with you two. Especially Dana. She was so bright—not that you weren't," she added hastily. "It's just that your sister made me feel dumber than you did. Anyway, I spaced the courses out so your father wouldn't get restive." She gave a little laugh. "I learned soon enough not to talk about what I was reading in political science at the dinner table."
"All that 'liberal nonsense', you mean."
"You said it, not I."
And Be My Love Page 13
