“But I must ask. Because she is so proud—Oh, dear Cassy, there is no need to cry.”
She had been trying so hard not to.
“No, no,” Mrs. Goldblum murmured, reaching for her hand. “I long to be with my husband.” She looked out her living room window at the river. “I dream about him almost every night.” After a long moment, she turned back to Cassy. “I am so tired, dear, so very, very tired.” She smiled then. “So many people I love are waiting for me.”
Cassy’s daughter-in-law, Maria, had been due to give birth at any moment and so the young Cochrans had remained in California for the holidays. Jackson had gone to Georgia for Christmas and then on to Idaho to ski. Cassy had spent Christmas Eve night with Alexandra and had ended up driving her out to Connecticut the next day, where she’d sat down to dinner with Sally Harrington’s family and Alexandra’s brother, David. After dinner Alexandra, David and Sally had flown out of Hartford to make the trek to Waring Farm in Kansas.
The day after Christmas the task could be put off no longer. Cassy had been forced to sit down with Rosanne and Jason. Rosanne, she knew, was aware that Emma was failing but her first reaction was one of anger, how could Mrs. G not take the treatment that was being offered, but even while Rosanne had been saying this, the anger had left her voice and then she stopped speaking altogether and looked at Jason. “To be honest, Jason, I bet it was optional treatment. I don’t think your gran could have taken very much of it before—You know how fragile she’s gotten.”
“So she’s going to die?” Jason asked.
Rosanne nodded. “Yes. And I think Mrs. C is here because your gran wanted her to help us arrange things.” She looked at Cassy. “She wants to stay here, doesn’t she? Her husband died in the bedroom by the window.”
“Here?” Jason said, panicking. “Gran wants to die here?”
“That’s her wish,” Cassy said quietly.
“But she’s got to go to the hospital!” Jason said to his mother. “Everybody goes to the hospital to die.”
“The thing is, Jason,” Cassy said as gently as she could, “she does not want to go to the hospital anymore. She wants to be here, in the place she loves most.”
“It’s not going to happen today, sweetie,” Rosanne sighed, pulling her son’s head down to her shoulder to hold him, as though he were still a little boy.
When it comes to death, we all feel little, Cassy thought.
“I’ll petition for family leave next week,” Rosanne said.
“Rosanne.” This was the tricky part. “Emma does not want you nursing her.”
“Well, that’s her all over, isn’t it?” Rosanne said, kissing the side of Jason’s head as he pulled out of her embrace. “For Pete’s sake, Mrs. C, who could be a better nurse than me?”
“A stranger.” Cassy let her answer hang there a moment. “She wants hospice to come in. She doesn’t want you to remember her, well, less than presentable. She wants you to remember her being—” Cassy smiled against her tears “—neat and tidy, as always. So you can enjoy your time together.”
“What are you talking about?” Jason said, looking at his mother. The panic was still in his voice.
“We’ll have nurses’ aides come in. One for each twelve hours. If we’re lucky, though, and we find the right agency, maybe we could have one aide and have her stay around the clock. So your gran won’t get confused.” Rosanne looked at Cassy. “We’d make my room the nurse’s station, I guess.”
Despite all the estate planning Attorney Thatcher had done, trying to organize hospice care, or even to find the right agency, wasn’t easy. “If the president of the fifth largest TV network in the country can’t make head or tail out of these medicare and insurance forms, just who the hell can expect the elderly to deal with them?” Cassy demanded of the poor medicare worker she had on the phone.
“You can’t just get a wheelchair,” Rosanne explained to Cassy. “You gotta have the doctor write out a prescription for one or it’s not covered.”
“That agency has only been around for a year,” Rosanne explained, “I wouldn’t use them.”
“No guy. She’ll flip out,” Rosanne explained to Cassy. “It’s gotta be a woman. Ask if they have anyone from Jamaica. Those gals are always great readers and it would be great if they could read to her.”
It took Cassy, Rosanne, Attorney Thatcher and Cassy’s accountant to sort everything out.
“Darlin’, just get whoever you want in there and write a check!” Jackson told her.
“That’s exactly what Emma fears and I promised her I wouldn’t. It means a great deal to her to be able to see her way on her own resources.”
“Yeah, well, this is costing like eight hundred dollars an hour of your time.”
“It’s no different than what you did for your aunt Biscuit, Jack.”
“At least I was related to her.”
“Well, at this point, I am related to Emma.”
“What about Amanda Stewart? Why isn’t she wrestling with all this paperwork?”
“Because Amanda doesn’t know yet. Rosanne and Emma said we should wait until after the holidays. The Stewarts are staying in the country this year.”
By the time Cassy returned to work in January she was exhausted. The hospice care was in place, however, and Rosanne and Emma both liked the RN in charge of Emma’s case, the nurses’ aides that were brought in, and also the social worker who served as a family therapist overseeing the process.
“So who is your designated health care proxy?” Alexandra asked, emerging from the bedroom of the East End apartment, tying the sash of her silk robe. She had come in from the studio not ten minutes before and gone straight into the shower.
Cassy had prepared one of Alexandra’s favorites, a platter of Mediterranean roasted chicken and vegetables and was just taking it out of the oven using pot holders.
“Oh, wow, that looks great,” the anchorwoman said appreciatively, sniffing over Cassy’s shoulder and then giving her a quick kiss on the neck. “So who is your proxy?”
“I’m beginning to think,” Cassy said, carrying the platter in to the dining room table, “the rule against talking about work here should extend to issues of health care.” She had taken all the leaves out of the table to make it a small round one, spread a white linen tablecloth over it, and set it with silver, cloth napkins and candles, the real deal because they had not seen one another privately since Christmas and she wanted to make an effort.
“So it’s Jackson,” Alexandra surmised, turning the chandelier lights off as she came in to sit down. “Cassy, this is just beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Alexandra started to put her napkin in her lap but then got up again and came around the table to kiss her. “I mean it, thank you.” Her eyes were large and luminous in the candlelight.
“You’re welcome, darling,” Cassy murmured, reaching for the carving utensils.
“I find that I’m missing you more rather than less as time goes on,” she said, returning to her side of the table with a swish of silk.
Cassy started carving the chicken. “You were expecting to care for me less?”
“You’re the one who always says, ‘Familiarity breeds contempt.’”
“That must have been another lover,” Cassy said, laughing, putting white meat on Alexandra’s plate. “What I’ve always said is, ‘Surely there will come a time you won’t find me sexually attractive anymore.’”
“How many times in the past have I wished that to be true,” Alexandra sighed, watching her.
Cassy added roasted Bermuda onion, new potatoes, tomatoes and olives to the plate and handed it to Alexandra. Cassy smiled to herself when she recognized Alexandra’s expression. She was thinking about sex. As tired as she was, the mere thought of Alexandra thinking about it did something to Cassy. Was this normal? To be aroused so often at her age?
Certainly it was a credit to Alexandra’s proficiency in matters so intimately phy
sical. She smiled to herself as she served herself.
“Would you be my health care proxy?” Alexandra asked.
Cassy raised an eyebrow, putting the serving utensils down on the side of the platter. “If you would like me to be.”
“I assume you’re Jackson’s,” Alexandra said, sipping water from her crystal glass, “because those kids would kill him the first chance they got.”
“Yes, I am Jackson’s,” Cassy said, picking up her fork, “but he is not mine.”
“No? Who is?”
“Henry.” She ate some of the food. It was, if she did say so herself, excellent.
“Was Jackson ever it?”
She swallowed, nodding. “When we were first married.”
“And then you changed it?”
Cassy sighed and put her fork down. “Yes. I changed it.”
“Do you think I will ever be it?” Alexandra asked her.
“Must we talk about this now?”
“No, we don’t,” Alexandra said.
They continued eating in silence for a while. Then Alexandra started telling her stories about how Sally Harrington got on with her future in-laws in Kansas. Evidently they had all had an interesting time of it. “Do you suppose you’ll ever come with me? To Kansas?”
“As what?” Cassy asked, sipping her water.
“Well, how about the love of my life?”
Cassy looked at her. “I think your parents would drop dead of shock.” She cocked her head slightly. “What’s going on with you?”
Alexandra shrugged, finishing the last piece of chicken and onion on her plate and put her fork down. “I was just wondering—” she patted her mouth with her napkin “—if I were dying, Cassy, would you leave Jackson then? If I asked you to?”
Cassy’s heart jumped into her throat.
“No!” Alexandra said quickly, “I’m fine. I’m healthy as a horse.”
“Thank God,” Cassy said, slumping back against her chair. She threw her napkin on the table. “For a second—”
“Actually,” Alexandra said, putting her elbows down on the table and resting her head in her hands, “if I were dying, I wouldn’t ask you to live with me. Because it would be too sad. To finally have you where I’ve always wanted you, since the night I first met you, but knowing I had to die to get you there.”
It was Emma’s situation that was stirring this up. Cassy wasn’t immune, either. She had been thinking a lot about the things she might want to do before the end of her life and at this point she couldn’t pretend Alexandra didn’t figure heavily into it.
Cassy pushed her chair back to stand up and left her napkin on the chair. She circled the table and knelt by Alexandra’s chair. She took her right hand, pressed it to her mouth and then lowered it. “I do want to get there,” she said quietly. Then she dropped her forehead to rest on Alexandra’s thigh. It amazed her to think Alexandra did not seem to know all that she meant to her. Which had, very quickly, it seemed, come close to everything. She raised her head. “Darling, if I move in with you, it will be because I intend to spend the rest of my life with you. And nothing less.”
Alexandra slid out of her chair to her knees. She touched Cassy’s hair, her eyes thoughtful. “Could it be that we’re really getting somewhere?” She smiled, meeting Cassy’s eyes. “Do you think?”
“I’m not really sure,” Cassy said truthfully, “but it feels like it.”
Over the course of the night it became clearer to Cassy that, yes, they seemed to really be getting somewhere.
23
Jason Tells His Mother
“HELLO?” ROSANNE SAID into the phone as she pulled sheets out of the washer and put them in the dryer.
“Mrs. DiSantos?”
“Yes.”
“This is Celia Cavanaugh calling from Captain Cook’s.”
“Jason’s not here, Celia.” She considered explaining that he was staying in the Cochrans’ old apartment because Mrs. G’s illness and the nurse’s aide were upsetting him to the point he couldn’t sleep, but decided it was none of her business. “I can take a message, though.”
“I wanted to let him know a good job’s opened up at Park West Café. I’ve already talked to them about him. And I think if he’d just go over tonight and see a guy named Rich he’ll get the job. It’s bussing, but I think it’ll turn into waiting tables in June.”
Rosanne made a face, straightening up. “He’s got to work tonight.”
There was decided hesitation on the other end.
“Don’t you work tonight, too, Celia? I thought you worked Tuesday nights,” Rosanne said, tearing off a sheet of fabric softener and tossing it into the dryer. She closed the door, set the timer and turned it on.
“I just wanted to make sure he heard about this job, Mrs. DiSantos.”
“Uh-huh,” Rosanne said, stepping out of the laundry area and closing the louver doors. The nurse’s aide was in the kitchen getting more ice water. She was trying to get Mrs. G to drink more water. Why she thought Mrs. G would drink more water now when she disliked drinking it even when she was in the pink of health Rosanne had no idea, but then, everyone kept telling her that Virginia was in charge of Mrs. G, not her.
“I’ll see he gets the message, Celia,” she promised before hanging up. “Virginia, I’m going out for a little while. Can I pick up anything? I thought we’d have sole tonight. Mrs. G said she thought it sounded good to her.”
“I love filet of sole,” the aide said. “That would be very nice.”
She had given Virginia her bedroom to use as a sitting room so she could hear if Mrs. G needed her. Rosanne in the meantime was bunking in Jason’s room and Jason was over in Mrs. C’s old place. He came to visit Mrs. G every day. He just couldn’t sleep here, he was so nervous about her dying. The social worker said it had to do with how his father had died when he was young.
The reality hadn’t fully dawned on her yet, Rosanne knew.
“Why aren’t you getting ready for work?” Rosanne asked Jason, closing the apartment door of Mrs. C’s old apartment and following him into the kitchen.
His school books were all over the breakfast bar. His shirttail was hanging out over his jeans and he was walking around in his socks, which is what Rosanne had asked him to do so he wouldn’t mess up Mrs. C’s floors. He took his place at his books, picked up a pencil and twiddled it next to his ear.
“Jason?”
“I had this paper to do,” he began.
“You just took two weeks off and now you’re taking tonight off?”
He sighed heavily, eyes on the book in front of him. “It’s sorta complicated, Mom.”
“Well uncomplicate it,” she told him, taking off her coat. “September’s going to be here before you know it and you’ll be grateful for every single penny you save. Or at least I will.” She tossed the coat on one of the stools. “So what’s this paper?”
“It’s like a calculus thing.”
“Not my favorite thing,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “Before I forget, Celia called. She sounded a little vague on the subject of you working tonight, too.”
Her son’s reaction was almost visceral. Now he looked at her as though she had plunged a knife in his back. “Celia Cavanaugh?”
“She said there was a job bussing tables at Park West Café that would probably turn into waiting tables in June. She said if you’re interested you should go there tonight and ask for Rich. She said she already talked to him about you and says if you go over tonight you’ll probably get the job.”
He had turned away from her and the back of his ears had turned very red.
“Jason, did you get fired?”
He shook his head, his back to her still.
Rosanne shifted her weight onto her left foot, plunking her right hand on her hip. “What’s going on, Jason?”
He hung his head a little. “I quit.”
“I thought you loved working there.”
“Not anymore,” he mumbled.
“Just before Christmas.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was gonna.” He shrugged. “Then Gran got sick and everything.” He looked up at the clock and started to slide off the stool. “I guess I should go over to Park West Café.”
Rosanne pushed him back down on the stool. “What happened at Captain Cook’s?”
He tried to meet her eyes but failed. “I was tired of it.”
She put her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me the truth.”
“I just didn’t want to be there anymore.” His ears were still burning red.
“Jason,” she said warningly.
He twisted away from her and got up off the stool. “It’s not something you talk to your mother about.”
The only things boys did not talk to their mothers about were sex and drugs. And maybe violence. Since she knew two were not presently at issue she assumed it was the first. “There’s a girl there?”
Bingo. The flush spreading across his face told her she was right.
“She’s not a girl,” he mumbled, jamming his hand into his pocket and tracing the kitchen door jam with the toe of his sock.
What did that mean? “How old is she?”
“Twenty-four.”
Twenty-four! It had to be a crush, then, right? He was in high school. “Celia Cavanaugh?” she guessed.
After a moment he nodded, eyes still on the doorjamb. “She doesn’t like me the way I like her.”
“She’s a lot older than you are, Jason.”
His head kicked up and she could see anger in his face. “That’s not it, Mom. I wasn’t too young for her. She just doesn’t want a boyfriend, she doesn’t want a relationship.”
Rosanne felt the tiniest sliver of fear. “Just how far did this relationship between you go?”
“It was just—you know,” he said, sliding his hands into his back pockets. There was the slightest touch of pride in his voice and Rosanne started to feel light-headed. She swallowed, trying to see her son in the same way strangers might: tall, nice-looking, the new need to shave regularly, his sweet nature.
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