by Sarah Willis
He looks at me like he’s listening to what I say, might just understand what I’m trying to understand myself.
“I stayed in San Francisco because no one there knew the truth. Everything I did was to get away from being hurt, starting when my father died. I moved away from pain in the wrong direction, one step at a time until I was so far away I never knew how I got there. I spent years trying to figure out what it was I wanted to believe about my mother. Would it be easier to forgive her if she were drunk, or not? Did I hate her more for being straight that night?
“All along I wanted redemption, forgiveness, and for her to say she was sorry, too. Here I am now, asking this old woman who’s too sick to remember. . . . I have to forgive myself, and her, for both of us. Then I’ve got to move on.”
Todd nods thoughtfully, but he’s not jumping in with any words of wisdom. I lean my head back against the cool window. There are a few stray stars in the sky. The heater makes a constant shushing noise. I want to curl up and go to sleep. It would be nice if he held me. I wonder if my mother came back that night, just a few minutes after I walked off. I never got to ask her. I’ll believe she did. That’s what I will tell myself.
“I want to be a family, Todd, it just took me a long time to figure out how.”
“I was thinking of moving to Montana,” he says.
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
“In the Kesslers’ attic yesterday. I had to open the windows because of the wood dust. It’s one of those big houses, you know, along Lake Erie.”
I nod.
“I leaned out the window and stared at the lake a long time. It’s big. You know what? I’ve never gone swimming in it. Not once. What the hell’s wrong with me?” He stops, shrugs. “I had this thought. Montana sounded nice. See my friend Lou Levin. Build a log cabin.”
“Without me?” I ask. I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.
“I didn’t think you’d come, Jen. Did I ever tell you what that psychiatrist said?”
“No.” I know he had to see a psychiatrist, after he burned the mattress.
“The psychiatrist said . . .” He stops, laughs to himself. “He said, ‘Your wife treated you like shit, but you’re okay, just get on with being you.’ I didn’t know if he really thought she treated me like shit, or if he was just saying that to be nice. I took his advice. Bought the bike, then the house, started fixing it up. In the Kesslers’ attic, looking at the lake, I just started thinking about what he said. Montana sounded pretty damn good.”
“And now?”
“It still sounds good. But that doesn’t mean I’m going.” He puts the truck in gear. Looks at me. “You want to be a family? It’s not that hard. You just got to let it happen. And your story? I can see how that could happen, and it could fuck you up. It’s sad and kind of pitiful, but it doesn’t excuse you for lying to me. About loving me or not.”
“I didn’t lie,” I say. That was the whole problem. Telling him that I fell in love with him three years after I married him—that was the problem.
He backs the truck up, turns it around. I was here once before, I think, but I’m never coming back.
I put my hand over his on the wheel. Somebody’s got to touch somebody before we pull out of here. It’s going to be me.
“I want us to work,” I say. “I want to have fun again. Go dancing.”
“We never went dancing before,” he says.
“So we should, right?”
He smiles. It’s not a great smile, but it’s there, on his lips like a kiss.
He drives us home, and we turn down our street. Our house is the fifth on the left. The light in Jazz’s window is still on. My mother isn’t here, but it’s my home. I’ve been trying to return home now for thirty years, and now Todd wants to move to Montana.
“Let’s both go to Montana, for a visit,” I say.
He turns off the truck. “Look, Jen, I’m still confused why you made up that story, but—”
“Hey,” I say. “I really don’t want to go over it all again. I just need to forget it. Let’s just think about the future now, okay? We’ll never mention it again.”
“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”
I do. I open the truck’s door, get out. “Peter and Betsy are coming,” I say as we walk to the house. “Did I tell you? They’re going to help us move her into Kethley. I’d really like to have a good time, as sick as that sounds. I’d like to have a party, for my mother. Is that nuts?”
“No more than anything else.”
We go inside. Jazz is waiting up. I tell her my mother was doing fine when we left, but it’s time to put her in a home. Jazz glares at me like I’m going to put my mother into prison and torture her. Good. I hope she still feels that way when I get old.
Todd and I sit at the kitchen table and drink tea with honey, discussing the next couple of days. We’re both trying to hard to be kind to each other. Maybe that will last a while.
Chapter Twenty-one
My mother comes home the next day with a whole new set of pills. She’s not talking much, and she thinks she’s just come back from her first stroke, and that Todd is Peter. Her chest hurts from the bruised rib and she moves so slowly it hurts me to watch. I called the nursing home and they still have a room for her. The broken wrist won’t be a problem. They say Friday will be fine. Two days from now.
I call my office and tell Shelly that I’ll be back next Monday, a few days later than what I promised them last time. She says don’t worry, they’re just glad I’m coming back.
On Thursday night I tell my mother about the nursing home.
“Tomorrow we’re moving you into a place where they can take very good care of you,” I say. “It’s just lovely. So many plants! Do you remember it? The place with the ice-cream shop? Peter and Betsy are coming. They want to see you and the pretty place we’re moving you to. It’ll be fun. Really.” She nods. Still, I pack her stuff while she sleeps.
In the morning Jazz says goodbye to my mother, then gives me a dirty look as she goes off to school. Todd stays home. He wants to help, even though there will be almost more people than boxes. He’s just as nervous about seeing my brother and sister as I am. They’re both so successful it radiates off them like bright sunshine.
I bring my mother downstairs to the family room. Her wrist is in a cast and her arm in a sling. I turn on the TV, and the three of us watch a special about meerkats. They’re so goofy, and I laugh out loud as they stand on their hind feet and turn their little heads back and forth in unison. I wonder what other strange combinations of people are sitting around on a Friday morning watching meerkats? God, I need my job back.
Betsy has arranged it so that she and Peter land at the airport within a half hour of each other. I would have picked them up, but she insisted they rent a car. The last time we were all together was at my wedding, three years ago.
As I open the door, everyone says hello all at once so that our voices become a big muddle of noise. Todd’s standing right behind me, and with his hand on my arm, he pulls me backward, so they can come in the house.
Betsy’s much taller than I am, with dark brown hair cut close-cropped to her head. She’s wearing a pantsuit of silky black material, the kind I’ve never worn, and shoes that have thick, square heels. Next to her, I look like an idiot in my blue jean overalls.
Peter’s graying at the temples and extremely tan, with wrinkles etched around the corners of his eyes as if he’s constantly squinting into a windy day. He’s exudes such good health that just looking at him makes me want to join a health club. I show them into the family room.
“Mother, how are you?” Betsy says, and sits on the couch, giving Mother a gentle hug. She stiffens, and I wonder if it’s from the pain in her ribs or being hugged by a stranger.
As Peter walks over to Mother, I speak up. “Watch her ribs.”
He leans down and gives her a kiss. “You’re looking good, Mother. Emily and Dylan say hello. They’ll come
visit after you get settled in.”
“So, how’s your wrist?” Betsy asks. My mother looks down at her bandaged wrist, touching it with her right hand as if she’s not sure what it is. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes. When I . . .” She puts a hand to her chest and breathes, then winces from the pain.
“Her ribs hurt when she coughs,” I say.
Betsy puts a hand to her own chest. “Oh, right.”
“Can I get anyone anything?” Todd asks. “Coffee? Something to eat? Jen’s got lunch meats, and potato salad, and some fruit . . .”
“No, no,” Peter says. “We’re all ready to help out. Get her moved in. We’d better get going. It could take a while.”
“Not really,” I say. “There’s not much to take. The place is furnished. I thought we’d take her bedside table, the one that used to be in her room on Canterbury. It should make her feel a little more at home. Other than that, there’s about six boxes.”
“I’d like a . . .” my mother says, stretching out her right hand as if she were holding a glass. I always think of her as my mother, even when Peter and Betsy are around.
“A soda? Would you like a soda, Rose?” Todd sounds thrilled to have something to do, to get out of this room. We’re are all strangers—my mother isn’t the only one who thinks so.
“Please,” my mother says.
“Anyone else?” Todd asks. They all shake their heads.
“Excuse me just a minute,” I say, and follow Todd into the kitchen. As soon as I get there, we hug. A wordless hug that says help, and thanks, and everything will be okay soon.
In the kitchen is a picnic basket with a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne, crackers, and the tiny triangular packs of cow cheese my mother loves. There’s also a canvas bag with plastic champagne glasses and presents, for a party at the home. Then we’re all to go out to dinner, with Jazz, but not my mother, at a Mexican restaurant.
“You okay?” Todd asks.
“Yeah. You?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll get her soda,” Todd says.
I go back into the family room. Betsy’s telling Mother that her sons love high school.
When Todd hands my mother the soda in a plastic cup, Peter and Betsy stop talking to watch her lift the cup to her mouth, waiting to rush to her side when she spills it. She doesn’t spill a drop. Who do they think they are, worrying if she’s going to spill her soda?
“Hey, Todd,” Peter says. “Should I carry some boxes to the car?”
“Sure, lets do that.”
Then it’s just Betsy, my mother, and me.
Betsy and I are sitting on each side of my mother. She can’t see us both at once, and I think this must make her nervous. I should move over to another chair, but I’m unwilling to give up this place next to my mother. She’s nervous around strangers, and I need to protect her from Betsy.
“You really do look good, Mother,” Betsy says. “I like your haircut.”
I’ve gotten my mother dressed up nicely in her plaid wool skirt and her favorite white blouse that has tiny mother-of pearl buttons. I have even gotten stockings on her, and some stylish, but flat, shoes. I know she will want to look nice when she goes to the nursing home. At least she would, if she understood what she was doing. She doesn’t answer Betsy. She doesn’t even say thanks to a compliment.
“She does look nice,” I say. “You really do, Mother. And Betsy, I like your pantsuit. What’s that material?”
“Acrylic,” Betsy says. “It doesn’t wrinkle. It’s good for traveling.”
My mother turns her head to look at Betsy.
“I’m going to get dressed up later,” I say, pulling at the material on my blue jean overalls. “I just thought I’d wear these for now.”
Mother turns back to look at me. She looks so confused, and I can understand. This is just about the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had. I want to scream and shout at Betsy. If you lived nearby, we could do this together, keep her out of a nursing home. It’s not my fault, I just can’t do it by myself! We can’t afford my not having a job. I can’t watch her all the time. She got out once and Todd found her, and she hit him! She hit my husband. I just can’t do this. I’m sorry.
“Overalls are a good idea for today,” Betsy says. “Good choice.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Two of them,” my mother says with a roll of her eyes.
“What?” both Betsy and I say at the same time. This really confuses my mother, and she turns her head back and forth a few times.
“Two,” she says firmly.
We wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t.
“Two people?” Betsy asks.
“Two sisters?” I say.
“Never mind,” my mother says.
“But we’d like to hear what you think, Mother,” Betsy says. “Two what?”
My mother faces forward, puts her free hand in her lap and purses her lips. She looks so prim and proper. She’s not going to bother talking with these two fools. And then I get it. She thinks us two fools. I know her so well.
Todd and Peter come back. I’ve never been so glad to see Todd in my whole life.
We take Todd’s truck. My mother rides with Betsy and Peter in their rented car, and I’m glad. When Solar got hit by a car and I had to take her to the vet to put her sleep, I laid her on the seat next to me on a towel. She couldn’t move, so I knew she wouldn’t get up and wander around the car. She just lay there, looking at me. For years I saw her there every time I got in my car.
When we pull into the parking lot at the nursing home, I stall before I get out of the truck. Let Betsy and Peter drag her out of the car. I’ll just wait here. But when Peter opens her door, she gets right out.
Todd carries the picnic basket, and I carry the canvas bag.
“Are you okay?” Peter asks me.
I get teary, that he asked. “Fine,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Everyone in the nursing home is kind, friendly, and knows exactly what they’re doing. They offer us tea, they smile, they chat in a calm, reassuring way that doesn’t seem to overpower my mother. They give us a plant for her room with a pink bow. My mother sits in the high-backed chair in the corner near her bed while we arrange her room. It takes less than half an hour.
“Party time,” I say, and pull out the plastic wineglasses. I put the food on her small table, the one we brought, and fill the glasses with the sparkling grape juice. My mother eats at least ten crackers with cow cheese. I’ll have to remember to bring some each visit.
“Oh, and there’s presents!” I say. All of us have this light cheerful voice thing going here, the way my mother always talked to cats. I hand her the presents, each wrapped carefully with layers of tissue because they’re fragile, and because it will take up more time to open them. I really don’t want to be standing around in this room with nothing to do.
The presents are photos framed in thin black frames, pictures of Peter, Betsy, and me as kids, Jazz’s school pictures, Todd and me at our wedding, Betsy’s boys and Peter’s son Dylan, all scavenged from my albums, and my mother’s albums, which I didn’t bring to the nursing home. I guess they’re mine now.
Finally one of the friendly people who work here taps on the door. “May I talk to you for a moment?” she says to me. I go out in the hallway. “I think it would be wise not to wear her out on the first day. We’d like her rested before she comes into the community room for dinner. We eat early, at four-thirty. One of you is welcome back for dinner, if you like. Will this cause a problem?”
“Ahhh . . . we have reservations for dinner at six,” I say. “But I could come back here first. . . .”
“Please,” the nurse says. “Go out to your dinner. Come back tomorrow, one or two at a time. We’ll take very good care of her. I promise. You have my word.”
I swallow back the tears that rise into my throat. “Okay,” I say, so glad to have her to tell me what to do. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
&nb
sp; “You’re welcome.”
Back in my mother’s room I explain that we should be going, let Mother rest. Betsy and I straighten up the place in about two minutes, and then we all say goodbye to my mother. When we start to leave, she stands up and follows us.
“No, Mother,” Peter says. “You have to stay here. It’s your room now. We’ll all be back tomorrow.”
She just stands there.
“Do you understand?” Betsy asks, and I want to scream, Of course she doesn’t understand.
“Yes,” my mother says.
We say goodbye again. As we walk into the hallway, she follows us out. She has been so good at following us today; how can I get mad at her now? But the sweet nurse is ready for this. She takes my mother’s hand.
“Oh, are those pictures in your room, Mrs. Morgan? Will you show them to me, please?” She moves my mother back into her room. “Your family’s leaving now, but they’ll be back. I’ll stay with you now.” She turns to us. “Goodbye. We’ll see you tomorrow. Everything will be fine.” She motions us to leave, and we do.
I decided we should eat out, and chose Mi Pueblo for the cheerful colors; the walls have bright murals of Mexico and striped sombreros hang from the ceiling like painted clouds. We sit at a round table, Jazz between Betsy and Peter, Todd next to me, Betsy on my left. Jazz and I have ginger ale, everyone else orders margaritas. I’ve never gotten used to being around people who drink. I’ve seen Todd drunk only twice. He didn’t do anything but slur a few words, but I felt as if I was standing at the edge of a cliff. My mother and I are both afraid of heights.
Peter tells Jazz about his mountain climbing, and Jazz tells him she’s decided to become a stunt double. She asks him how you train to be a stunt double, and he laughs loudly. I wish I could laugh, but the idea of Jazz as a stunt double just doesn’t do it for me.
