Just In Time

by Joan Lindstedt Jackson

  Dinner was ready, and they settled in the dining room, still chatting about their dad’s little secret. Nancy sat between Steve and Adam. “I guess if you really don’t want anyone to find out about your secrets, you’d better destroy the evidence,” she said.

  Steve marveled at the spread of food. He seemed comfortable and chatted easily with Nancy, which was unusual during a meal. Most often he ate by himself because he didn’t want the pressure to make conversation.

  As the plates were being filled, Nancy looked at Steve. “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

  Steve had already started eating. He nodded to Nancy, “You can tell them.”

  “Well, I know you’re all waiting to hear this,” Nancy beamed. “Steve and I decided to be roommates. I can move in next week!”

  Relief came over everyone, but mostly Sylvia. She was the designated trustee, as stated in their parent’s will. Even with Scott’s support, she’d be the one in charge of monitoring the household, and from two thousand miles away.

  “Great news,” Adam said. “I just knew you two would work it out.” He stood and clinked his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to your mom and dad who are watching over us now, smiling and happy that our families have joined together to take care of each other. And Steve, here’s a wild thought, who’d have ever imagined back in high school that someday I’d be living with your sister and you’d be living with mine?”

  2

  Nancy had just learned she’d have to move out of her friend’s guest house in two months. She’d always handled the curve balls thrown in her path, but this time she was striking out looking for a place to live. She had too much pride to sound desperate or too eager to her baby brother, who always seemed to have his life so together. With Adam, she kept her cards close to the vest, giving him the overview without the emotion. For her, this news was almost too good to be true—living rent-free with Steve. She’d told Adam she could probably move in about a week. (So much for not seeming too eager.) She didn’t have much furniture, so it shouldn’t take longer than a day. Anyway, she couldn’t afford to take off work at the grocery store for more than that, since she wouldn’t get paid. At least her thirty-year-old daughter, Lisa, and son-in-law would help her move—she could always count on them.

  Things had been looking up two years ago, when Nancy had moved in with the love of her life, an honest, generous man who took good care of her (he gave her a new car), wanted to marry her (as soon as his divorce was over), and had a professional career (he was a mechanical engineer). And then her usual luck reared its ugly head. Her man got a brain tumor and died within four months. Before his divorce was final. So his wife got everything, even the car that was still in his name, and Nancy was penniless once again, barely eking out a living with her hourly wage at the grocery store.

  Which reminded her, she needed to get cardboard boxes for packing. Today would be good; she’d meet Steve’s psychologist (Sylvia’s idea) and go to lunch on Sylvia’s tab. A glimmer of hope peeped through the tiniest crack in the wall that always got in her way, the wall she couldn’t climb over or go around, the wall that rose so high it blocked all the light. But not today. Today she actually felt like getting out of bed, even though the room was so cold she could see her breath. The damn space heater didn’t work for beans. At least I’ll have heat again, she thought.

  At the last minute, Lisa was joining her mother to meet Steve and the psychologist. No matter how good things looked on the outside, Lisa wanted reassurance that her mom’s safety wasn’t in jeopardy. Her mom had a habit of leaping and asking questions later, then wondering why her life was in turmoil. When Lisa asked her if Steve had ever been violent, Nancy didn’t know—it never crossed her mind to ask. After meeting Steve, Nancy couldn’t fathom he’d be aggressive or capable of hurting anyone. He seemed like such a gentle soul, so deeply bruised by life’s disappointments that he must’ve crawled inside and refused to come out again. Nancy could relate. She’d been feeling the same way for over a year.

  It was almost noon, and Steve was still asleep upstairs. Sometimes he slept all day. Sylvia was making one of his favorite desserts, instant chocolate pudding, while she waited for Nancy and Lisa to arrive. Should she wake him up so Nancy’s daughter could meet him? He was usually grumpy and non-communicative for the first hour, so she thought better of it. Maybe after lunch. She suddenly thought of his meds and wondered if he’d taken his morning dose. The pill tray sat on the dining room table, surrounded by a dozen pill vials that was like a maze she’d have to navigate—she needed to write down what they were, the proper dosages, and how often he took them. She walked to the table and looked at the plastic tray divided into seven rows with each day of the week printed at the bottom. Each row had several small square slots with hinged flaps containing the day’s doses. Steve took his pills twice a day. She and Scott joked that ‘flaps up’ was a good sign, because Steve never closed the lid after he took his meds. She saw that the flap for the morning dose was closed; the pills were still there. She’d have to wake him up before leaving.

  Nancy’s singsong voice called out. “Yoo-hoo, anybody home?”

  “Come on in, I’m almost done here,” Sylvia said.

  Sylvia suggested that Nancy show Lisa the backyard and let Sammy run around.

  “He probably has to do his business anyway.” Nancy was all smiles, the gap between her two front teeth on prominent display. She set him on the floor, cooing in a baby talk voice as they headed outside, “C’mon, does Sammy want to see his new home?”

  Sylvia took the opportunity to run upstairs with the pill tray. “Steve?” She stood at the side of his bed. “Steve? It’s time to get up.”

  Steve groaned. “I’m too tired.”

  “You haven’t taken your meds today.” She stood by his bed with the tray in hand. “Here.”

  “What are you, my nurse? I can’t take them without something to drink.” He usually took his meds with a couple of swigs of milk straight from the carton.

  Sylvia hesitated.

  He rolled on his other side away from her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”

  “I made chocolate pudding for you. It’s in the fridge.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Nancy and her daughter are here.”

  He groaned again. “What for? Is she moving in today?”

  “No, not yet. Remember I told you that we’re going to meet with Dr. Rita? And then we’re going to lunch.”

  “Do I have to go?” he asked.

  “No.” Sylvia waited a moment. “Take the tray back where it belongs. I’ll take them when you leave,” he said.

  Since he slept in most mornings, the recommended twelve-hour span between doses was haphazard. Sylvia worried he’d fall back asleep, but what could she do? She went downstairs and put the tray back on the dining room table then she joined Nancy and Lisa in the backyard.

  “What a great yard. I bet you guys had fun growing up here,” Lisa said with a slight Ohio twang.

  “Oh, we did.” Sylvia told them how it used to be a gathering place for the neighborhood kids, how summer afternoons meant wiffle ball games, badminton, red rover, or hide-and-seek. “We used to erect tents with sheets draped over the clothesline and sit on the ground in our own private hideout and eat bologna sandwiches.”

  “Wonder Bread, I bet,” Nancy said.

  “With Miracle Whip,” Sylvia laughed. “And potato chips and cherry Kool-Aid.” She told them how in winter, with the snow piled several feet deep, they’d rush excitedly outside and flop on their backs to make angels, roll giant balls for snowmen, or pull each other on sleds down the snow-covered street.

  “How was Steve when he was little?” Nancy asked.

  “Normal,” Sylvia said. “He was the family funny guy, easy going, and very popular in grade school and high school.”

  Nancy shook her head in disbelief. “It’s so sad.”

  “Pretty scary,” Lisa said. She had two young children. “Just when
everything seems normal, you get slammed.”

  Sylvia suggested that they go back inside to show Lisa her parents’ bedroom, where Nancy would sleep. They went through the family room, up three steps to the small kitchen (room for no more than three or four), and the doorway that opened directly into the dining room, which joined the living room at one end. It was a small house, a bungalow, and just a few steps to two bedrooms that were separated by a short hallway, with a bathroom in between. Sylvia couldn’t imagine how her parents raised three children with one bathroom so tiny that only one person could fit at a time.

  “Is there a cable TV connection?” Lisa asked chuckling. “Mom loves her soaps and Perry Mason reruns, plus a hundred other cable stations.”

  “I need to get it installed,” Sylvia said. “Dad was still using rabbit ears.”

  “That would be great,” Nancy said. “I’m deciding how to arrange my bedroom furniture. Do you mind if I take the pictures off the walls?”

  “Of course not,” Sylvia said. “You need to make this your home now. Hang whatever you want.”

  Loud barking could be heard from outside. “Oh my God, I did it again.” Nancy ran out of the room laughing, “I left Sammy outside!”

  Lisa rolled her eyes at her mother. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.”

  Sylvia told them they’d better leave for the appointment. “What will you do with Sammy?”

  “If I put his bed in the bedroom and shut the door, could he stay here while we’re gone?” Nancy asked.

  Oh brother, Sylvia thought. If the dog started barking, Steve would freak out. The house was small enough that anything could be heard from practically anywhere on the main level. There was no way the dog could stay there without Nancy. “Actually, Steve will need to get to know Sammy while you’re with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Where is Steve?” Lisa asked. “I was hoping to meet him today.”

  Sylvia explained that he was still asleep upstairs.

  Nancy said leaving Sammy in the car was no big deal, that she wasn’t thinking when she brought him along. They left for Dr. Rita’s, who had her practice in her home only five minutes away.

  3

  Sylvia took the scenic route by the lake, which was a quarter of a mile down the street from their house. “It’s not cold enough for ice yet, but by January the whole lake is usually frozen over.”

  “Can you ice skate on it?” Lisa asked.

  “If it stays cold long enough, you can. We used to ice skate every winter. They open the boathouse and have a fire going to warm up. I’ve heard the garden club provides cocoa and cookies now.”

  “Would we be allowed to use it?” Nancy asked.

  “As long as you’re a resident, which you’ll be soon enough,” Sylvia said. “And you can swim and take row boats out in the summer. Just sign in at the boathouse—Lot 44.”

  Lisa remarked on the quaintness of the winding, tree-lined streets and the large historic homes surrounding the lake. “I never knew this place existed.”

  “Lots of people don’t,” Sylvia said. “And it hasn’t changed since I was a kid. Silver Lake still has only about two thousand residents.”

  “No wonder Steve doesn’t want to leave home,” Nancy said.

  Sylvia pulled into the driveway of Dr. Rita’s two-story house. Dr. Rita greeted them warmly at the back door. White-haired, barely five feet tall, and shaped like a fireplug, she sort of waddled as she guided them into her comfortably furnished office. Sylvia introduced Nancy and Lisa, and they took seats on the couch across from Dr. Rita.

  “I’m happy that Steve will have someone within the family to live with him.” Dr. Rita smiled at Nancy and handed out three business cards. “Steve has become quite special to me. We’ve been working together for almost nine years. Please call me any time if you have questions or concerns.” She looked at Sylvia. “Your parents were the exception to most I’ve known who’ve had to cope with the sudden onset of schizophrenia in late adolescence. They gave your brother the consistent, loving care and attention a person with this illness so desperately needs.”

  “I appreciate your saying that,” Sylvia said. “I used to think they catered to him too much.”

  “Many think ‘tough love’ is the way to go and push them out the door—the exact opposite of what should be done. Your parents never did that or listened to anyone who might suggest they should.”

  Sylvia cleared her throat. “How do you think he’s dealing with them both gone?”

  “That’s a good question. It’s a little soon to tell, but people who suffer from this illness are emotionally flatter and unable to empathize the way many of us do. They often don’t experience grief at the same level we would, but I’m sure he’ll miss them greatly in the coming weeks and months as the reality sinks in. He adjusted rather well to the loss of your mother because he still had your father at home with him. In a way, he became a comfort to his father.”

  Sylvia still worried that Steve had gone through too much too soon—both parents dying essentially in front of him within eighteen months. She wanted Dr. Rita’s assurance that Nancy would be the right influence for him, but she didn’t know how to address that here. “How do you think he’ll deal with Nancy moving into their bedroom?”

  “Do you want me to move into the other room instead?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh no. He understands where you’ll be,” Sylvia said.

  “Sylvia’s right. Steve is capable of adjusting to the change,” Rita said. “He might seem a little anxious at first or reclusive, mostly because he’ll worry about saying or doing something inappropriate.”

  “What do you mean, ‘inappropriate’?” Lisa asked.

  Rita laughed. “Steve’s sort of a gentleman—prim and proper, if you will—so nothing of a vulgar nature, I assure you. He can be ill at ease when speaking and may use words that are too blunt then he senses he said the wrong thing and apologizes.”

  Sylvia turned to Nancy, “For instance, he told me I looked like I’d gained weight then quickly said, ‘That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?’”

  “He’ll be fine,” Rita said reassuringly. “The change will probably mean he’ll want to sleep more, but it has nothing to do with you personally, Nancy. Overstimulation wears him out also. His father wasn’t much of a talker, and they led a fairly quiet life, so it’s important that the noise level, like phone chatter and frequency of visitors, is kept to a minimum.”

  Lisa looked at her mom. “Mom’s a talker. So what happens if he’s over-stimulated? Does he ever get violent?”

  Nancy sat up straighter. “I’ll be at work five days a week, so he won’t have to worry about me!”

  “Steve hasn’t had a history of violence, but those with severe paranoia who aren’t on medication can be so delusional they might become violent,” Rita said. “Their sense of reality is distorted, and they may see others as a threat.”

  “How can I be sure he’s taking his medication?” Nancy asked.

  Sylvia explained the pill tray (flaps up) and the importance of checking that it’s filled, as well as reminding him twice a day to take his pills. She said that Steve keeps track of what he needs with the pharmacy and takes pride in monitoring this himself. Sylvia didn’t mention how recently he’d started taking on this responsibility—just within the past year after their mom died.

  Rita asked Nancy if she had a consistent work schedule so Steve would know what to expect with her comings and goings. Unfortunately, her schedule changed weekly, but she said she’d do her best to request more routine daytime hours and would write it down on a calendar so he’d know ahead of time. Sylvia brought up his poor eating habits since their mother had died. Their dad didn’t cook anything but pancakes, and he brought leftovers home for Steve from restaurants. She asked that Nancy prepare balanced dinners and make sure there was food in the house. Lisa joked that her mom’s specialty was Hamburger Helper.

  Nancy put her hands on her hips.
“I make a pretty mean pot roast, young lady.”

  “But what will you do with Sammy when you’re at work?” Sylvia turned to Dr. Rita, “Sammy is Nancy’s Pekinese.”

  “How wonderful. He’ll have a dog to keep him company.”

  Sylvia would have to trust Dr. Rita on this one.

  “I fill his food and water bowls and take him outside to go before I leave for work. He’s used to it, so he’ll do fine.” Nancy’s tone was typical of Midwestern good cheer and eagerness to please. “And Sammy loves people.”

  Rita suggested a follow-up appointment for Steve and Nancy after Nancy got settled. When the session ended, Sylvia had the feeling there was a lot more to discuss but figured there’d never be enough time for her to feel completely at ease before flying home. She could always call Dr. Rita to ask her impressions. At the moment, she just hoped Steve was up and had taken his meds. They decided to stop for fast food and eat at home since Sammy was with them. When she pulled into the driveway and hit the garage door opener, she saw that his car was gone. “I guess we missed Steve.”

  4

  They pulled into the garage and got out of the car. Sammy bolted toward the driveway with Nancy running after him. “You crazy dog. If you don’t behave, I just might let you keep going!” He barked and ran in circles like he wanted to play, and Nancy went along, teasing him, darting in different directions, giggling like a school girl. Her fun nature and silly antics made Sylvia think of her own mom: playful, a little ditzy even, but she was good-natured and had common sense when she wasn’t feeling overwhelmed. Sylvia didn’t have much to go on yet, but Nancy’s immediate regard for what Steve thought about her moving in was a positive sign that her heart was in the right place. Maybe Steve would feel right at home with her.

  “This could go on for a while,” Lisa said. “That dog has her wrapped.”