It's You

by Jane Porter

“Grandpa was in the navy?”

  “I’ve told you that.”

  “I didn’t remember.”

  “Your grandfather never talked about it, but then, most men came home from the war and never said a word about what they saw or did. Dad didn’t want to know how Mom got by. It was better to not ask questions. Better to not hear the details. Now my older brothers, they talked about the war. They were teenagers during the war and they both had to get jobs in addition to going to school. Johnny worked in orchards, picking fruit and strawberries, and my older brother Ed did construction work for a local company, since there was a huge housing shortage. Johnny would come home, and then Mom would leave for work. From the time I was a year old, she worked nights at the Southern California Telephone Company. Do I remember that? No. But do I remember my mother always carefully counting her change, and cutting coupons the rest of her life.”

  “That’s why Grandma always used coupons.”

  “She’d lived through the Great Depression. She’d lived with rations. She’d raised children with rations. Instead of being embarrassed that she used coupons, you should have been proud of her. Those coupons allowed her to support her family.”

  “I was young,” I say. “I didn’t know better.”

  “But Harold and Walter are right when they say your generation has different expectations. You were raised comfortably. Your mom and I took pride in being able to provide you with a certain quality of life. If we wanted to take a vacation, we took it. If you wanted to go to dance or cheer camp, we could send you. There is a comfort and affluence now that didn’t exist in the thirties and forties. Being forced to do without is unpleasant, but it won’t kill you—”

  He breaks off as Kathleen Burdick, the Estate’s activities director stops at our table.

  “How are we doing today?” she asks, smiling at Dad and me.

  “Good,” Dad answers, before introducing me.

  “We’ve met,” Kathleen replies. “And she’s actually the reason I’m here now. We’re in a bit of a bind, and I’m hoping she can fill in as our guest speaker this afternoon. The speaker we had booked, a photographer who has just returned from a trip to the Middle East, has cancelled at the last minute, and Edie suggested that perhaps Dr. McAdams would like to speak on dentistry today.”

  “Dentistry?” I repeat, wondering why Edie would suggest me, and the topic, when I know she’s not particularly fond of me.

  “We were thinking perhaps you could prepare a short program on dentistry for seniors . . . something useful, educational, that they could relate to.”

  The last thing I want to do is stand in front of a room and talk about dental hygiene for seniors, but Kathleen, the epitome of a pretty and cheerful camp counselor, is very persuasive and I can’t tell her no.

  I agree to speak for twenty to twenty-five minutes and then take questions for another fifteen to twenty minutes, or as long as there is sufficient interest.

  • • •

  I don’t have any handouts or a computer for a PowerPoint. I’ve no visuals or even dental models. Nothing to show. It’s just me, at the front of the room, with a microphone (necessary when half the room is hard of hearing) talking for the next thirty-something minutes.

  I hope no one comes. And then I can scoot out at two, if no one is here by then.

  My hopes are dashed moments later when the first ladies enter the room. There are three of them, and they take seats in the middle of the theater, reminding me how empty the room is.

  They face me expectantly, their gazes following every little thing I do from scribbling fresh notes, to organizing my index cards.

  If they are the only three, then I could invite them to come to the front row, or I could even stand in the row in front of them—

  Two ladies arrive, both with walkers. They slowly find seats on the outside aisles.

  And then a woman is pushed through the doors. She’s in a wheelchair and she has an attendant with her. The attendant parks the chair in the back row, the designated wheelchair section, and then grabs a folding chair from the back to sit down beside her. They, too, look at me, anticipating.

  Seven. There is no getting out of the dental care for seniors speech now.

  I skim my opening. I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m here to talk to you about your teeth.

  Boring. Yawn.

  I scratch out the opening and scribble a new one. Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Dr. Alison McAdams and I’m curious. When was the last time you saw your dentist?

  Another couple has come in. An older man and woman, arm in arm. I recognize them from my first day here. Dad was playing bridge with them.

  The woman—Rose?—lifts a hand, waves to me. I wave back.

  They’re the first to come sit in the front row. That’s nine.

  I feel a wave of anxiety. I don’t understand why I’m nervous. What do I think is going to happen? This is a no-brainer. I’m talking about basic dental hygiene. Brushing, flossing, scheduling regular checkups.

  I fold the notecard and write a new opening. Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Dr. Alison McAdams. I’m a dentist in Scottsdale, Arizona, and the daughter of Bill McAdams—

  I lift my pen, reread the words, unsure of myself all over again.

  Voices echo from the doorway. A group of women have just arrived, talking loudly. And behind the group comes three more: two ladies and a young man.

  The ladies hold each other up, tiny and tall, dark and fair, one so frail and delicate, the other thin and slightly hunchbacked.

  Ruth and Edie, accompanied by Craig.

  I exhale with a sharp rush.

  I wish he weren’t here.

  He’s handsome. He is. The kind of face and frame that reality TV loves. I’m not surprised the Food Network made a show centered around the Hallahan brothers, but I’m already nervous about speaking this afternoon and I’m even more unsettled now with Craig Hallahan in the audience.

  I try to focus on my notecards but the words blur.

  I don’t see words. I see Scottsdale. Dr. Morris. Andrew.

  Andrew wasn’t classically handsome. He was tall and lean, with a lean face and laughing eyes. His eyes were hazel green and they crinkled at the corners when he looked at me. I remember seeing him for the first time in dental school, his mask on, hiding his mouth and smile but his eyes were so alive in his face, so bright and full of good humor.

  Everyone that met him wanted to know him. They wanted to be part of his circle. His friend. So did I.

  And now, with him gone, I don’t know what it means.

  Does it take away from who he was? Does it negate everything he thought, felt, dreamed, believed?

  Sometimes at night I lie on my side and hold the pillow against my chest and I pretend Andrew’s behind me, holding me, and I talk to him about my day—not out loud, of course—but in my head, I tell him about the patients I saw, the work I did. I tell him about going to his parents for dinner and how different it is without him. His parents have his sisters but his sisters can’t fill the hole he left.

  I want him to know that we’re not able to move on, not with the way things were left.

  Not without understanding.

  He should have talked to us. Had a conversation. That would have been the right thing to do, the fair thing, because you don’t come into the world without help. You don’t just belong to yourself. You have others. You have ties. Family. Community—

  “Dr. McAdams.”

  I jerk my head up. It takes me a moment to focus. It’s Craig Hallahan. “Hi. Hello.”

  “My aunt asked me to bring you a water. She thought you might need it during your presentation.” He hands me a plastic tumbler of water. “There’s a table with pitchers at the back.”

  “Thank you.”

  He exhales slowly, and it sounds suspiciously like a sigh.

  I look up at him, frowning faintly. He’s not my type. He’s far too handsome. He’s almost ten years older than me, as well as wealthy and ado
red by women everywhere.

  Not my type.

  No, my type is quirky and creative, like my Andrew.

  “My aunt requests the pleasure of your company,” Craig says with a hint of amusement, and maybe even pain, in his voice. “But not for her. For Ruth. It seems that Ruth thinks you are her . . . granddaughter.”

  “Her granddaughter?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Did someone tell her I’m not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she still thinks I am?”

  “Yes.”

  I glance over to Edie and Ruth where they sit in the folding chairs, and Edie is staring at me intently. It’s not a friendly look. She has a piercing stare. “Draconian” might be the word.

  “So what am I to do?” I ask Craig. “Go tell Ruth I’m not her granddaughter?”

  He grimaces. “I’m not sure. My aunt sent me to you. I wasn’t in the mood to argue.”

  I understand. Seniors have spent their lives perfecting tenacity. Which is just one reason why I don’t want to go over. And then there’s the fact that I’m nervous about speaking and would really like to review my notes.

  But she’s still staring at me. She fully expects to be obeyed. Dammit.

  I shoot Craig a dark look and head towards her, walking briskly, summoning authority as I form my thoughts. I will be professional, polite, brief—

  Ruth’s hand darts out, wraps around my wrist. “Sit down,” she says, tugging me towards her. “Come sit down with Grandma Ruthie.”

  I stiffen and pull back. “Ruth, I’m Alison. Alison McAdams—”

  “Come sit, and tell me about your day. How was your day?” She gives another tug on my wrist, drawing me even closer.

  Her fingers are wrapped tightly around my wrist and she has a surprisingly firm grip. I could break free but I don’t want to hurt her. There’s no reason to hurt her. “Ruth, it’s Alison. Alison McAdams. I’m the daughter of Bill McAdams who lives here, and I’m a dentist—”

  “Why don’t you sit down? I want you to sit down.”

  “There’s nowhere to sit.”

  “Sit on my lap. Come on. There’s a good girl.”

  “Ruth—” I break off as she jerks me onto her lap. I practically crash into her, and I cringe, feeling huge and heavy, but her arms are around me, hugging me, holding me. “My pretty girl,” she croons, rocking me. “I’ve missed you. Your parents don’t bring you to see me enough.”

  And suddenly the fight leaves me.

  My tension and resistance deflate and I feel foolish and exposed, but I give Ruth a hug. I hug her carefully, gently. She’s tiny. She feels lost in my arms but I feel her relax. She sighs, happy.

  My eyes burn and I’m able to extricate myself so that I’m now standing.

  Edie looks at me, one of her brows lifting.

  I don’t know what the look means. I just know that I feel raw and tender on the inside.

  Bereft.

  None of us are immortal, and only those that die young, stay young.

  • • •

  Back at the podium, I end up going with my first introduction, the one I’d scribbled while still at the breakfast table, and then ad lib, mentioning my father and how he’s been here about a year now and what a wonderful place Napa Estates is.

  From there it’s an easy segue into discussing dental care. “Brushing and flossing daily is essential. You want to keep your own teeth, especially if you’ve kept them this long.” I look up, smile brightly, the confident professional smile bestowed on my patients in the office. “And the best way to do that is by using a fluoride based toothpaste. Kids aren’t the only ones who need fluoride. Seniors do, too. The brushing and flossing will help fight plaque, which if left untreated, leads to tooth decay and gum disease.”

  The plaintive voice from the audience drowns me out. I am pretty sure it is Ruth. “What is she saying? Why is she talking?”

  Someone—I think it’s Edie—hushes her.

  “But when is the movie going to start?”

  I glance up from my notes, forehead furrowing, distracted, but also sympathetic. Poor Ruth.

  I don’t want to develop dementia.

  I don’t want Alzheimer’s.

  I don’t want to lose my memory, or my mind. I love my brain. It’s a good brain. It’s served me well so far. I was always good in school. Always academic. And I knew early that I wanted to go into some field of medicine. But it wasn’t until I was thirteen that I realized dentistry was the direction I should go. My parents have no idea that I chose dentistry because of my orthodontist, Dr. Clevenger.

  I had such a crush on him.

  He was young, early thirties, and single. He drove the coolest red convertible. I still don’t know what year the car was, or if it was a Fiat or a Triumph, but it had cream leather seats and a cream dash and with his dark glossy curls and aviator glasses he looked like the ultimate of cool and sexy as he drove into work. I know, because I always had an early-morning appointment before school and I was the first patient he saw those days and Mom inevitably had me there before Dr. Clevenger arrived.

  I loved him. (He didn’t know it.) I loved his style, his confidence, his success, his personality. He had energy. And he had his own office.

  He was the man who had everything and I was going to marry him.

  My best friend, Kelly, set me straight, helping me with the math.

  “You’re thirteen, Ali, and he’s thirty-two. By the time you’re out of college, you’ll be twenty or twenty-one, and he’s going to be . . . oh God, ancient.”

  I didn’t mind ancient. Not if he had dimples and blue eyes. And drove me around in his gleaming red convertible.

  He got married when I was a freshman. I was so glad when my braces came off at the end of the year. I vowed then to never become an orthodontist. I’d be a dentist instead.

  I’m suddenly aware of the faces in front of me. Everyone is waiting for my next words of wisdom. I stand taller and force myself to concentrate. “Be sure to continue seeing your dental professional once a year—”

  “When is she going to stop talking?” Ruth’s voice is even louder now. “I want to see the movie.”

  Edie is trying hard to quiet her, but Ruth doesn’t want to be shushed.

  “This is the movie theater.” Ruth jabs her finger at the rows of empty chairs. “We’re supposed to be watching a movie.”

  I pause, and wait. There is no point going on. No one can hear me, not at the moment anyway.

  “Not today, Ruthie. Today we have a program. A guest speaker.”

  “What is she talking about?”

  “Teeth,” Edie says, patiently.

  “But why teeth? She doesn’t know anything about teeth.”

  “She’s a dentist.”

  “My granddaughter is a dentist?”

  Edie gives up. “Yes.”

  Ruth looks at me, puzzled, and then disappointed. “Ew.”

  Ew.

  I go cold all over. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that about my calling, and I know it won’t be the last, but I freeze as my gaze drops to my notes, and the list of issues seniors face—tooth loss, thrush, root decay, stomatitis, darkened teeth, gum disease . . .

  Do they want to know that their dry mouth is caused by reduced saliva flow, which is normal with aging, but that it could also be a side effect from cancer treatments?

  Do I need to explain that their darkened teeth are due to natural changes in dentin, the tissue beneath one’s tooth enamel?

  That stomatitis is usually caused from bad oral hygiene, bad fitting dentures, or the buildup of candida?

  Ew, is right.

  For a moment I want to be anybody but Dr. Alison McAdams, but then I look up and out, and my gaze meets Edie’s and she gives me a quick nod, as if to say, Continue.

  And then I see Craig Hallahan next to her and he’s smiling. At least his eyes are smiling and I feel some of the ice inside my chest ease.

  I gulp a breath, and exhale.


  It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

  I give my cards a little tap, and with another breath, I dive back in.

  “There will be questions about the date of the last exam and why the patient is being seen now. The dentist will ask if you’ve noticed any recent changes, like sensitive teeth, loose teeth, or pain anywhere. The dentist will want to know if the patient is experiencing difficulty chewing, tasting, or swallowing.”

  Ruth continues to talk throughout the rest of my presentation but it no longer rattles me. Of course she doesn’t understand why there is no movie. This is the movie theater, after all, and no, she doesn’t understand why I’m talking about teeth. I am, in her mind, her granddaughter so that’s how things stand.

  Fortunately, the interruptions don’t seem to surprise anyone. Everyone in the audience but Craig is a senior and they all know Ruth, and if they don’t know Ruth, they’ve encountered memory issues before now.

  I finish my speech and take questions. There are lots of questions. Well, comments and conversation. Everyone seems to have a story to share. The abscessed tooth. Adventures with dentures. Problematic bridges.

  But I’m amused, and enjoying myself. And it’s not because Craig Hallahan is in the audience, smiling that faint, warm, somewhat crooked smile at me.

  But I suppose that faint, warm, somewhat crooked smile doesn’t hurt.

  EIGHT

  Edie

  After Alison’s presentation, a nurse’s aide helps Ruth into a wheelchair so she can swiftly push Ruth back to Memory Care.

  Ruth looks so small as she’s wheeled away.

  I hate it when they take her, but I can’t keep her with me. I know my limits. I’m exhausted as it is. After the weekends I am always tired and spend most of Mondays in my room, recuperating.

  Craig offers me his arm. I take it gratefully.

  “You have an hour before dinner in the dining room,” he says. “Would you like me to walk you to your room so you can rest?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We slowly make our way down the corridor to the elevators. I’m on the second floor, in the middle of the hall. It’s not that far, but suddenly I’m not sure I have the energy.

  Craig squeezes my hand. “You doing okay, Aunt Edie?”