Humbly,
The Very Reverend Bobby Moore
Autographed photos of the Very Reverend Bobby Moore adorned the walls of the family room and Ethel’s office in various poses of preaching hellfire and brimstone, thoughtful concern, and smarmy smiles. Ethel had “met” the televangelist while hospitalized from her DUI. She continued to watch him when she returned home and attributed her “miraculous” recovery to his prayers for the sick. One drunken afternoon, Ethel had shared with Sarah that she felt the Reverend’s power when she laid her hands on the television. When Sarah burst out laughing, Ethel smacked her with her cane. They had never discussed the Reverend and his miracle healings again.
Well, at least she had found out why her mother hadn’t paid her bills, and why the phone had been disconnected. Over the past five years, Reverend Bobby Moore had swindled her mother out of sixty-thousand dollars. Sarah wondered if each of those eight-by-ten color photos of the televangelist represented a thousand bucks. The five-hundred dollar donation to the Florence Crittenton Services paled by comparison—and there were no photos of pregnant teens to be seen in the house.
She decided to table that item for discussion with Aunt Ida. More importantly, how could she get this con man to stop taking money out of her mother’s checking account? Anger and frustration bubbled up and defeated her breathing techniques. She clutched the letters, balled them up, and hurled them against the wall.
“The thief! How could he do this to old people and get away with it?”
She leaned on the desk, tears dripping onto the mountain of bills. Sarah whirled, throwing papers, pens, and envelopes around the room, creating a downpour of creditors’ demands. Despite Aunt Ida’s support, she felt so alone. If only Dan were here, he’d know what to do.
“Dammit, Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” She collapsed in the chair, put her head down on the desk, and sobbed.
* * * *
An hour later, eyes aching from crying, she grabbed a flashlight and headed across the yard to Aunt Ida’s house. The only illumination in the yards came from the corner streetlight and floodlights on the corners of Aunt Ida’s house. Ethel had never bothered to add more lighting, claiming it wasn’t necessary. Sarah’s mother had made no improvements to her property, unless you counted the clothesline. Aunt Ida and her husband, Jack, on the other hand, had added a garage with an elaborate workshop, a large blue swimming pool, a separate hot tub for up to six people, and an enormous fishpond.
Sarah knocked at Aunt Ida’s back door.
Ida appeared in the doorway, her widened in surprise. “Ready so soon?”
“No,” Sarah said, “I need to use your phone to call my brother and sister and let them know what’s going on.”
Sitting in Aunt Ida’s den with the door closed, she was surrounded by photographs of Aunt Ida’s deceased husband, Jack.
“When’s the funeral?” her brother, Matt, asked.
“I didn’t say she was dead. I said she fell on the ice and is in a coma. She’s broke. Gave all her money to a televangelist, hasn’t paid bills in over three months, and her Medicare supplemental insurance was terminated. I’m drowning in bills. Do you have any words of wisdom?”
“Yeah. Get a lawyer, and call me when she’s dead.”
She called her sister, Debra. After hearing her out, she spoke in her calm, non-judgmental psychiatric nurse tone of voice. “You know I haven’t talked to her in over fifteen years. Maybe now you can hear what I’m saying: You’re entitled to your own life.”
Sarah couldn’t respond. Her sister was right. Her mother had never wanted her around until no one else came when she called.
“Are you there?”
“Sorry. I drifted off. What did you say?”
“Put yourself first, for a change. I bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal, taken a shower, or washed your hair since this all happened.”
“Not true. I got a very long shower, and I shampooed my hair today,” Sarah said.
“You need to get a lawyer.”
“That’s what Matt said.”
“He’s right. Find out how you can protect yourself and your assets. Did Mom have any kind of advance directives or a living will? Did she give you power of attorney at any time?”
“Are you kidding?” Sarah guffawed. “She thought she was going to be robbed by everyone, including me.”
“As an adult child, you’re her de facto Surrogate Decision Maker. A lawyer should be able to tell you if there’s some way to stop those donations. I can’t believe she gave away all that money. Remember what she did to people who approached her with those ‘I am deaf, please help me’ cards?”
“Vividly.” Sarah remembered the other letter. “Have you ever heard of the Florence Crittenton Services of Greater Washington?”
“No. What’s that have to do with Mom?”
“She gave them money, too, but only five-hundred dollars. It was a one-time donation.” She recounted the details of the letter to Debra. “Do you recall her mentioning anything about that place?”
“No, none at all. What would she have to do with unwed mothers? She was married and divorced. She must have really been losing it.”
Sarah agreed.
“I have to get ready for work. Take care of yourself. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Sarah hung up the phone and looked at the clock. It was seven in the evening, Eastern Standard Time, six in Chicago, Dan Rosen Time, as she liked to think of it. She picked up the phone, pressed three-one-two, thought better of it, and hung up. She needed words of reassurance, support. She didn’t need to hear him say, “I told you so.”
Instead of calling Dan, she called the hospital to check in on her mother. Since her condition remained unchanged, the ICU charge nurse suggested that Sarah visit the next day, rather than this late in the evening.
Brahms “Requiem” played while she was transferred to Patient Financial Services. How appropriate, Sarah thought. A financial services representative interrupted the funereal music.
After providing her mother’s Medicare information, Sarah gave her a brief overview of her mother’s financial mess. “Since she allowed her supplemental insurance to lapse, I’m concerned I’m going to be responsible for the balance of her bill.”
“If Medi-gap insurance isn’t available, then the family is responsible for the remaining twenty percent. We take credit cards, if that’s any help.”
Sarah’s laugh sounded like a sob when it came out. “No, not really. Do you have some kind of payment plan?”
“You’ll have to call Patient Accounting tomorrow. When you return, be sure to bring her Medicare card.”
Sarah hung up, reeling from the conversation. Conscious, Ethel had run up bills she’d be scrambling to pay just to keep the lights on. Unconscious and in a coma, she managed to create even more bills.
Sarah pulled up a stool in the kitchen while Aunt Ida made a pot of tea. “I’m not going to the hospital tonight. I spoke with Patient Financial Services. Talk about depressing.” She told her about the mountain of unpaid bills, the monthly thousand dollar donations to Reverend Bobby Moore, and the conversation with the Patient Financial Services representative.
Aunt Ida pursed her lips and put her hand over Sarah’s. “Sarahlei, I have some money put away and no family. I’d like to help.”
“Aunt Ida, that’s very generous, but I have no idea what this will cost. Mom could be in a coma for a very long time. I can’t let you take this on.”
In a firm, strong voice Aunt Ida said, “I have lived a long, and at times, very difficult life. I was extremely fortunate to meet and marry Jack.”
Sarah knew the story. Jack had been a self-made man. When he and Ida met, he had only twenty-five dollars in his pocket. Full of dreams and willing to work, he grew a home building company, learned about real estate, and amassed a large fortune. At one time, he owned most of the land in Pikesville.
“My Jack worked himself to death and died of a heart attack before he c
ould enjoy his wealth. The only leisure time he took was when I talked him into going to Florida on vacations. Even then, he turned the visits into real estate deals. We bought land and built a house in Punta Gorda when it was a sleepy little town. Now, it’s one of the top one-hundred places to retire in the United States. He had the Midas touch with money.”
“My mother has the reverse. She touches money, it turns to shit. She’s so deep in debt I have no idea of how I’m going to dig out and take care of it all. I appreciate your offer, Aunt Ida, but it isn’t right for me to take your money. I do need a couple of things from you, though, before you go.”
“Anything.” She removed her hand from Sarah’s and poured two mugs of tea.
“I need a good lawyer to help me sort things out.”
“Sol Weinstein is my lawyer. His specialty is Family Law and Estate Planning. He’d be perfect for this. I’ll give you his number. What else?” She held a bottle of Amaretto and poured a generous amount into Sarah’s mug.
“Have you ever heard of the Florence Crittenton Services of Greater Washington?”
The bottle slid out of Aunt Ida’s hand, struck the granite counter, and exploded. Shards of glass and amber liquid shot in every direction. Sarah grabbed a roll of paper towels, and noticed blood on her wrist.
“Oy, what a mess!” Aunt Ida held her hands up and a crimson thread trickled down one arm.
“You’re hurt. Let me take a look at that.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” She waved Sarah away, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to the cut.
Sarah picked up shattered glass until she could no longer see glittering shards, then mopped up the sticky fluid. She put a paper towel on the cut on her own wrist until it subsided, then tossed it in the trashcan along with the rest of the mess. They tried for another cup of tea and switched to Ouzo, with Sarah pouring this time.
“So, have you heard of the Florence Crittenton Services of Greater Washington?”
Aunt Ida’s face reddened. “Why do you ask?”
“Mom donated five-hundred dollars to them. I think they have services for unwed mothers. She was married and divorced, not an unwed mother. I can’t figure out why she’d give money to them.”
“I had no idea she was giving money to that con artist, Reverend Bobby Moore. Why should I know about this charity?”
“You guys were close. I thought she might have mentioned it to you. I wasn’t trying to upset you, Aunt Ida. I have a pile of bills, a sick mother, and more bills on the way. I’d just like to know why she did it.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. We’re both upset.” There was a long pause in the conversation. At last, Aunt Ida shrugged, nodded her head, and broke the silence. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Sarahlei. Sometimes we can’t bear to share our secrets, even with those we love.
“She’s not good at showing it, but your mother loves you—and your sister and brother. She stayed with your father because she loved him and kept thinking the next day would be better. When he began beating your brother, she packed you up and put you on that plane to Connecticut. She was terrified your father would kill you. It took tremendous courage for her to leave him.”
There was a long silence, punctuated by sniffles and nose-blowing. Sarah stomach felt as if it was in free fall. Her mother didn’t send her away out of hate. She’d done it out of love, to save her youngest child’s life, doing the best thing she could at the time. Tongue-tied for once in her life, at last her mouth worked and she was able to speak. “Thank you for this gift, Aunt Ida.”
“That reminds me. I have something for you for your birthday. I know it’s early, but I want you to have it now.”
“With everything that’s going on, how could you remember?”
“How could I not? You’re the daughter I never had. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you open it.” She went into the dining room and returned with a gaily-wrapped package. “I hope you like it.”
Tearing the paper, Sarah smiled when she saw the photograph on the box of a cell phone, perfect for pocket or purse. “Aunt Ida, this is wonderful. I really appreciate it, but I can’t afford the monthly fees.”
“Ha! That’s the best part.” She whipped out an identical phone from her pocket. “I bought one for me, too, and it’s on the same account, so you can’t turn it down. I got us the nationwide plan and unlimited evenings and weekends. I can call you every night on the road and from Florida.”
“You’re too much.” Sarah laughed and hugged her. “Pretty tech savvy for a little old lady, aren’t you?”
“Not quite. I need you to figure out how to set up the voice mail and program important phone numbers for me. The instructions are in such small print, I can’t read them.”
Over the next hour, Sarah waded through the instructions and programmed numbers into the phone. “What access code do you want, Aunt Ida? It has to be four numbers that are easy for you to remember, but other people won’t guess.”
“That’s easy. Use 1-1-2-7. It’s a very special date to me. I won’t ever forget it.” As her eyes brimmed with tears, she blew her nose. “Oh, what a silly old lady I’ve become.”
“You picked my birthday.” Sarah stood up and hugged her, tears brimming in her eyes as well. “You’re not silly. You’re sweet, kind, and generous. Thank you for telling me that my mother loves me and sent me away to save my life. That’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”
Aunt Ida dabbed at her eyes and gave the younger woman a sly smile. “So, Sarahlei. Now that you have a new phone, don’t you think it’s time you called Dan?”
Chapter Four
Elizabeth Woods lay awake in her bed in her nursing home room and stared, unseeing, into the dark. She wondered when Bernice was bringing Mitzi for a visit. It had been at least a week, maybe longer since they had come in. She missed her daughter and her sister-in-law. No matter that Elizabeth was a nearly blind old crone now, waiting for death, no one could ever take away the memory of Mitzi’s birth. As the noises of the nursing home slowed down into the whispers of the midnight shift, she heard her roommate stir.
“Clarice, are you awake?”
A grunt, her usual response, came back. A stroke victim, Clarice could see and hear, but not talk. A diabetic, Elizabeth could hear and speak, but not see. Elizabeth whispered all her memories to Clarice, glad to be able to speak them aloud to someone who always listened, never judged, and kept secrets.
“Did I ever tell you about my daughter’s birth? It was a close call. We almost lost her.” Elizabeth said. “It was different then. We didn’t really know how to save babies in distress. The doctor ordered me to put her back in the bassinette, to focus on saving the mother. I did what I was told.”
Clarice grunted twice. Elizabeth took that as a sign to go on.
“The mother, just a child really, could hardly speak. She said ‘Don’t take Mitzi away from me.’ and then they put her under and took out her uterus—just like they did to me.”
She sighed and a little trickle of hot tears ran down the side of her face. She reached for a tissue to wipe her nose.
Another grunt that sounded like a question came from the other bed. Clarice was eager to hear more. Elizabeth could tell.
“Oh, it was a mess in that room. Shouting—Cursing. Blood everywhere. But we saved the mother. Pale as the sheets.” She paused. “The doctor told me I did a good job. I was so proud, I cried. He ran out the door with the mother and the anesthesiologist, leaving Mitzi for dead, and me to clean up.”
She paused recalling the next moments with exquisite clarity. Her voice quavered with emotion. “I was all alone. The whole reason we were there lay in the bassinette. I said, ‘Poor little Mitzi. You never had a chance.’ I reached for the baby to take her to the morgue. She moved. I was so startled, I jumped back.”
More grunting, a faster pace. Clarice was hanging on her every word. Elizabeth continued, eager to share, to get her secret off her chest, at last.
<
br /> “I put her in the crook of my arm and she rooted at my breast. Mitzi was alive and hungry. Tiny girl. So helpless. Needy. That little twelve-year-old girl, just a child herself—Near death. But the baby, the beautiful, sweet baby girl was alive.”
Elizabeth’s voice cracked. She grabbed more tissues to wipe her eyes. Clarice was awful quiet. Did she disapprove? She thought they were friends.
“You must understand. Let me explain. I was an adult, twenty-one years old, a trained nurse. Married to a physician with more than enough money to care for an infant. An empty house. My husband, off at war. I was so lonely.” Bitter memories surfaced, bringing the taste of bile to her mouth. “He was the reason I couldn’t have children. I had a miscarriage. I had a bicornate vagina, cervix, and uterus—two of everything a woman needed to make a baby. You’d think I’d get twins. But, no. The specialist told us that if I became pregnant again, I could hemorrhage to death. John forced me to have surgery.”
Clarice grunted loudly.
“Shocking, isn’t it? Then a miracle. An answer to my prayers.” She smiled in the darkness, joy swelling her chest. “As far as the hospital was concerned, the baby was dead. So, I wrapped her up, took the blank birth certificate and walked out of the delivery room, toward the morgue. And I kept walking, right out the back door.”
Her roommate was making strange sounds.
“Clarice? Are you okay?” No response. Elizabeth pressed the call bell, and yelled for a nurse.
* * * *
Barking invaded Sarah’s sleep. She opened one eye. “Okay, okay, I’m getting up. Give me a minute.”
She staggered to the kitchen, let Winston out, and made a pot of coffee. The taupe colored dog ran around the yard while she watched him through the kitchen window.
“You’re not a greyhound, Winston.”
Some Other Child Page 4
