Club Sandwich

by Lisa Samson

“In some cases I’d recommend that. But after all she’s been through, I’d hate to take that chance right now.”

  I feel the tears pricking my eyes.

  He notices, bless him.

  “This is always hard on the family,” he says. “Believe me, I know.”

  “You’ve been through this?”

  “Yes. My own mother sure had her trials.”

  “Has she passed away?”

  “Two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand you’re the one who cares for her.” I nod.

  “You’re doing a fine job, Mrs. Schneider. She speaks very highly of you.”

  My heart swells.

  “She should be able to go home in a few days. We’ll be starting her on some heart medication, and she’ll certainly have to watch her diet, limit her cholesterol.”

  I nod again. Nod, nod, nod. Doctors must feel like they do nothing but talk to dashboard ornaments. “She’s always had a hard time eating low fat.”

  Now he nods.

  And I nod.

  And he clears his throat, and we say our adieus, and I sit back down, exhausted.

  The publisher hates my new story line, Candace Frost told me. On my cell phone, she sounded full of regret but hopeful. I told her I wanted to write a memoir. She said fine. Even if it stinks it’ll be better than writing nothing.

  “And you never know, Ivy. It may actually end up as a winner.”

  She has to say this. She’s my agent.

  “Can I keep Jane?”

  “Yeah. But they want a sexy name. And Maximilian needs to be just plain evil.”

  Oh great.

  Club Sandwich sits around my living room. We’ve all got our chosen seats now, and every week we set our fannies in the same places.

  “Can I go first?” Krystal.

  “Go for it.” Debbie.

  “Well, I’m just praisin’ the Lord this afternoon. Help is on the way!”

  I cut myself another piece of Debbie’s cinnamon cream-cheese coffee cake.

  “My Aunt Prisma is coming up from North Carolina tomorrow! God bless that woman.”

  “Great news!” Dani.

  “Tell me about it. Aunt Prisma can make a bedbug feel at home. I’ve never met a woman quite like her. So if you’ve been praying I find me some help, the answer is here.” Krystal takes another slice of cake too. “Now, Ivy girl, you been through the mill lately. How’s Dorothy?”

  “She’s sleeping in her room. I can’t believe she’s home.”

  “How’s the trek to dialysis?” Dani.

  “With Reuben and Harry around, and Rusty too, we’ve got it covered.”

  Debbie. “We can’t do it alone.”

  Krystal raises a hand. “Amen to that!”

  Debbie grabs the hand. “Thank heavens for you all. It’s good to have neighbors and friends.”

  Now this is what I call a support group!

  “How’s Mrs. Waxman these days?” Dani.

  Debbie rolls her eyes. “You know, I’m not sure why we brought her to live with us. She’s perfectly capable of caring for herself.”

  “Maybe you got to give her the boot.” Krystal laughs, ha-haahh!

  “No joke. I’m considering it.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Better believe it. I can’t subject my kids to this for no reason.”

  “You got that right.” Krystal.

  Brenda sits up straight. “You’re right, Debbie. They’re the most precious gift a woman can receive.”

  We’re silent for a moment. Reverence is deserved. For as much as we complain about being sandwiched between two generations, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Kirsten speaks up. “Give her the boot, Debbie. You really need to keep your sanity as long as possible. Because you can bet every last dime you have that she’ll be back!”

  At the end of the meeting Reuben enters the living room.

  “Wow, Dad, you look spiffy!”

  “I’m here to pick up my date.”

  “Your date?”

  Kirsten raises her hand. “I believe that would be me.”

  “No way!”

  Well, what do you know. Could anything be more fabulous?

  Rusty walks in from the kitchen. “Call us if you’re not going to be home by midnight.” He slaps Reuben on the back.

  Krystal claps, lets out a hoot, and gets her praise on. “Thank You, Jesus! Thank You, Jesus!”

  28

  Summer arrived dressed up in cool breezes and gray skies. Mom went to dialysis three days a week, lay exhausted from dialysis the other three, and so each Sunday proved to be the good day. We loved it, churching it together, family dinner afterward, Dani dragging Brian along, Brett joining the gaggle. She ended up going to a small church filled with hippie people that meets on Friday nights and shares communion as an actual meal and feeds the homeless and takes in prostitutes. Sometimes you just can’t hazard a real guess, can you?

  I’m thinking about going there myself!

  I suppose I always imagined something big had to happen to mature my brother, but it wasn’t that way at all. It was a little exercise trainer and her daughter.

  We buried Dani’s mother in July. A suicide. Overdose. Dani cried, and Brian became strong because somebody finally needed him to.

  Dani turned back to God, and her daughter Rosa loves going to Sunday school. She and Trixie became little buddies, playing with Lyra’s old Barbies and dress-ups. I swear, a revolving front door would have been a good investment here on Allegheny Avenue. But I loved it. Rusty did too. When Reuben’s condo was finished, we all tried to persuade him to stay, but living with Harry? Well, what old man wants to live with another old man longer than necessary? He and Kirsten are planning a Christmas wedding, so the condo’s up for sale, and he’ll move into the big house in Lutherville afterward. Kirsten farmed out most of the family antiques to cousins she barely knew. Rusty and I are the honor attendants! I can’t imagine being a matron of honor at my age, but Kirsten didn’t keep in touch with her schoolmates. We’ve had so much fun planning this wedding, Lou and Brenda in on it, Lyra volunteering to make the favors, Brian taking on the catering. And Krystal’s officiating after Debbie sings a solo. That woman can sing like an angel. Not that I’ve ever heard one, but I can’t imagine anything sounding prettier.

  Brett’s still crossing her fingers that Marcus will lose in the primary. Even the girls don’t appreciate their stepdad’s newfound obsession, which does give me hope for them. Actually, Ashley’s thinking about majoring in special education. Brett’s thrilled. She said, “That sounds like something Lyra would do!” Which thrilled me. Ashley loves their new church, or “gathering” as they call it.

  Autumn wheeled around the corner a few weeks ago. Skidded, more like it. I felt like summer had just begun.

  The family left for school a few minutes ago. Rusty took the job at the school in Bel Air, and so he totes Persy and Trixie along. Harry’s off to Wal-Mart, lunch pail in tote, working in their optometry office there now. I’ve been doing the newsletter for almost a year now, and Mitch is more pleased with each issue. Somehow our friendship has been able to pick up where we left it before that locker-room kiss all those years ago. Funny how one small moment can grow into something so momentous years on down the road. I have to give him credit for hanging in there anyway. If I were him, I’d have moved away. But Mitch stays, working on cars, finding people jobs, and traveling his life away. I’m praying God will send him a good woman.

  Maybe Krystal?

  Now that would be a trip! I’ll have to make a mental note.

  Trixie hasn’t pooped her pants in two months, Persy stopped burping out on the athletic field, and I actually redeemed my day at the spa before it expired. Some victories are small.

  In my darkest hour, I didn’t realize it could be this good. But somehow God manages to redeem even the most wounded of families.

  I don’t know how He does it, only that
He does.

  I sit down at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of tea. Mom’s still asleep. Thankfully she’s on the afternoon shift at the dialysis clinic. The early morning time slots were torture.

  I pull up the file for my novel. Almost done. I’m entering the edits I’ve made on hard copy, and boy is this the most tedious task imaginable. Having no idea how the publishing house will like it, I pray hard but still imagine copious rewriting. All part of the job, Candace assures me. Jane—excuse me, Lauren—and her baby ride off into the sunset, just the two of them, with fifty mil of Maximilian’s money. Maximilian meets his fate when he collides with a live wire, a stainless steel sink, fifty gallons of water, and a rare porterhouse. The steak had nothing to do with his death. It was a bit of symbolism I used throughout the book.

  They’ve tided it Busting Heads.

  I’ve taken a pen name.

  Man, this tea sure tastes good this morning.

  Okay, time to get started. Enter changes on manuscript, write column, finish article for newsletter. There are plenty of great women in our world for those savvy enough to recognize them. Fact is, we’re too busy comparing ourselves to one another to appreciate our sisters’ accomplishments. But hey, when one of us succeeds, we are all lifted up. I guess you can say that about humanity in general as well.

  The back door rattles beneath a knock. Debbie.

  “Come on in!”

  “Hey Ive.”

  “So, is the deed done?”

  “Movers came this morning.”

  Wow, she looks horrible. Face blotchy. Old forest green sweatpants. Ratty flip-flops and a tattered Ron Jon’s T-shirt.

  “I’ll fix you a cup of tea. How do you feel?”

  “You got scotch?”

  “That bad?”

  She plops down on a kitchen chair. “Why does it have to be like this?”

  I pull down a mug. “Some people just give us no choice.”

  “She cussed me up one side and down the other.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Was I right to do this?”

  “Definitely. She’ll be fine at the retirement village. It’s nice there. Maybe she’ll even make a few friends.”

  “My mother?” Deep sigh. “I feel just awful doing that to her.”

  I drape a teabag over the edge of a cup and hold it under the hot tap. “Debbie, she did it to herself.”

  “My head knows that. But my heart …”

  I hand her the cup, which she white-knuckles. “Your kids should always come first. It would be one thing if she couldn’t take care of herself. Now just close your eyes and sit. You don’t have to talk or do anything.”

  “I liked your book, Ivy. I even liked the chase scenes.”

  “Thanks, Debbie. Now just sit and be.”

  One side of her mouth lifts slightly. “I can do that here, you know. I think it’s the only place I can.”

  How cool.

  After many postponements, Brian, at the urging of his lawyer, finally pled guilty to the DUIs. They suspended his license for two years, put him under supervised probation for the same amount of time, and laid a hundred hours of community service on his shoulders. He’s teaching cooking to underprivileged high-schoolers in a community center downtown.

  They say folks never change. But if that were true, we’d be a whole lot worse off. Some folks never change. That’s true. Most folks never change might even be correct. But maybe those around them don’t let them, or even encourage them to try. I find myself feeling more and more responsible to be like God, that is, to look for places in need of redemption and do what I can. It may not be much, but sometimes a little help is all that’s needed. And then God, who made all that supper out of a few loaves and fishes, does the same thing with my pitiful offerings. I think if we had to do it all, we’d just call it quits before we started.

  I call Brian on his cell. “Hey bro. Can you bring Dani and Rosa over for dinner? Mom’s hankering for your crab cakes. I’ve got all the ingredients.”

  “Should she be eating crab meat?”

  “No. But I can’t say no. She’s been so good lately.”

  “I’ll see if Dani can, then call you back. I’ll come by myself if she can’t. Can somebody pick me up?”

  “Absolutely. I will.”

  It’s like this: I’m standing by a switch that will turn off the electricity he’s frying in. If I don’t move a muscle, I share in the responsibility. Oh, a lot of people will tell you differently. Let each man be responsible for himself and all. But I don’t believe that anymore. God put us on this earth to help each other out. I’ve been reaching for that switch more and more. Rusty convinced me it was the right thing to do.

  “Man, those were good, Bri.” Brett wipes her mouth. She heard rumors of crab cakes, and there she was!

  Rusty took the kids for ice cream a few minutes ago. It’s just me, Dad, Mom, Brett, and Brian. I don’t think anyone realizes the significance of this gathering. And I’m scared to point it out or someone might leave.

  Dad’s made amends. Oh, Mom doesn’t trust him any more than Elizabeth Taylor’s next groom will trust his new bride, but she’s decided to forgive. She told me yesterday, “I can’t die in that state.”

  Which scared me to death.

  I place a bouquet of cutlery in the sink. “Let’s just let the dishes soak. I’m up for a good game of Boggle. Anybody else?”

  “I’d love to play!” Mom’s hands flutter.

  That seals the deal.

  I gather paper and mismatched writing instruments and pull the game down from the living-room cabinet, and soon the letter cubes are clacking with vigor, and pages of the dictionary are flying. Of course, I ended up with a crayon! But at least it’s a pink one.

  “Unbox?” says Brian to Harry. “Dad, I’ve never heard of that word.”

  “Me either.” Me.

  “Well, if you can box something, you can unbox it.”

  Brett. “Dad, people just say, ‘I’ll take it out of the box.’ I’ve never heard anybody say, ‘Hey Joe, will you unbox those widgets?’ ”

  “Oh, let’s give it to him.” Mom. “Life’s too short. I should know.”

  Well, nobody can argue with her on that.

  Harry waves a hand. “Forget it. Your mother’s right. Life’s too short. I’ve never heard anybody use the word unbox either.”

  I make us tea. We drink together.

  We even laugh.

  “Whew! I feel winded!” Mom stops walking halfway across the church parking lot.

  “You okay, dear?” I hold her arm more tightly.

  “Just give me a second. Oh, look at the trees, Ivy. Aren’t the leaves gorgeous right now?”

  “I think they’re at their peak.”

  “I’m glad I got to see this again.”

  Autumn in Maryland can be breathtaking, especially after a dry summer. Our skies may not be huge, but their blue resembles a deep aquamarine gemstone that sits behind the mosaic of warm leaves: ruby maples, garnet oak, and many colors of topaz. I’m seeing life through Dorothy’s eyes lately, and the fleeting perspective affords me a breathtaking view, bird’s-eye, pregnant with urgency.

  “Oh, I’ll bet you’ll be around to see it next year too.”

  She only smiles.

  “Mom, do you want to die?” I can’t even believe I asked it.

  Rusty comes up. “You okay?”

  “Mom just needs a little rest. Go ahead and get the kids settled in their classrooms. And you get to go with Trixie today. I went last week.”

  Well, not everything can be perfect! Poor Trixie. Life as the family thorn must get a little sorrowful at times.

  “I do want to go on home,” Mom says. “I’ve been thinking about signing a Do Not Resuscitate order, Ivy.”

  I feel my heart sink. “Oh, Mom. Really?”

  “Yep. I know it sounds drastic. And after all my years in Right to Life.”

  “Well, it’s your decision. And certainly it’s not someth
ing I’d be comfortable deciding for you.”

  “I’d like to make that decision while I still can.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you talk to our lawyer?”

  “Sure, Mom. I’ll do that.”

  I cry for two hours in Rusty’s arms. From eleven to one. He cried with me part of the time but stayed awake. Finally, I arose and kissed his cheek. “Go to sleep. The fall concert’s coming up soon. You need your rest.”

  I bundle myself up in a sweat suit, grab two sleeping bags, and lay outside on the hammock. The aroma from the evening’s fires in the fireplaces around the neighborhood swaddle me. Autumn’s stripped the trees halfway to bare, and I stare up at the glimmering stars in between the dying leaves as they fall from their branches, kiss my face, caress my hands like a mother’s fingers, and recline softly upon my covers.

  Brian and Brett meet me at Starbucks.

  “I know you’ve got bad news, Ivy.” Brett. “I can see it on your face.”

  “Well, it’s not bad in the sense that Mom’s got something else wrong with her.”

  Brian sits back in relief.

  I pull the DNR out of my knapsack. “Mom’s going to sign this. She asked me to have the lawyer draw it up.”

  “What is it?” Brian sits forward and takes a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. When did he get those?

  I tell them.

  Brett nods, and so does Brian, but I see him begin to breathe in shallow bursts. I lay a hand on his hand. “It’s okay, Bri.”

  He closes his eyes.

  “Just breathe slowly, sweetie. Deep breaths.” Brett.

  We let him collect himself, and Brett’s eyes look into mine, and we gather strength from each other.

  The barista calls out our order. Brett jumps up. “I’ll get those.”

  Brian looks up after a minute of silence. “I don’t know how you do it, Ivy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Here we go!” Brett distributes the drinks, then sits back down. I fix my tea.

  Brett stirs Sweet’n Low into her skim latte. She has dropped a few pounds.

  Brian drinks an espresso straight. I sure wish I could do that.

  I fiddle with the plastic lid. “The question is, guys, do you want to come home with me while she signs it?”