by Murphy, R.
The only description I can come up with for that night would be ‘surreal.’ About thirty volunteers, few of them young, lined up in the dark on the two flights of stairs that ran along my house from lakefront to street level. With rain pouring all around, lit only by the feeble spotlights on the corners of my house and the headlights from a couple of pickup trucks parked on street level, they passed heavy bags of wet sand from the backs of the trucks down forty-seven wooden stairs and over to the lakefront level where more volunteers stacked the bags outside the cellar walls. Two hundred sandbags started pushing back the waters that had come so close to swallowing my home.
High spirits prevailed. Soaking wet, grunting from the weight of the moving sandbags, the volunteers still had fun.
“Hey, Frank,” a voice rang out of the dark, “so this is your idea of a good time, huh? Did I miss the monthly drill where we got to sit in the nice warm firehouse and review the emergency manual? Remind me to vote for a different president next election, okay?”
Frank yelled back cheerfully, “Ah, you know you love being out of the house and away from the wife, Gus! You’ll do anything if it’ll get you out for the night.”
“True, too true,” the man who must have been Gus admitted, sagging under the weight of the next sandbag thrust at him.
Occasionally a wet volunteer would take a break from the sandbag relay and come in the kitchen for a cup of coffee or a cookie, and we’d chat for a minute. Soon though, we’d hear voices calling, “Hey, Charlie, whatcha doin? Takin’ a nap in there? We need you, boy. Get your butt out here.”
Several times I went out to thank people and to look at the pile of sandbags that accumulated on the lakefront. If I’d worked full days for months, I doubt I could have accomplished as much as this rowdy group achieved in two hours. When the last sandbag had been shoved into place, the last soda drunk and snack eaten, they vanished into the dark, wet night as quickly as they’d come. Another bead of grace on the rosary of blessings that I’d accumulated in my life, a bead that I would count repeatedly over years to come when life became too tough.
David left last. He’d spent the evening working with the crew that positioned sandbags against the cellar wall so I, at my station in the kitchen, hadn’t seen him much. Wet through, he gulped scalding coffee and wrapped his hands around the mug to warm them.
“A good night’s work, I’d say,” he said, wriggling kinks out of his cramped shoulders. “Those sandbags should protect the house for a couple of days and by then the rain should be over. Then the lake administrators can reopen some of the sluices to drain water without flooding our neighbors. You’ll be fine, Roz.” He placed his mug on the counter, then grabbed me and pulled me in under his chin, wrapping his arms around me. “Promise me, sweetheart, no matter what, you’ll call me when you get so scared. I don’t care what things are like between us, I’ll always help you.”
I nodded mutely, afraid I’d start crying if I tried to talk. My heart was too full.
After pressing a kiss on my forehead, David turned abruptly, and left through the kitchen door. The wooden stairs outside echoed his footsteps up to his truck.
I cleaned the kitchen in slow motion, collecting soda cans for recycling and packing cookies in the freezer. I was numb. I couldn’t really absorb the fact that, after weeks of worry, my nightmare had been fixed. Maybe a temporary solution, but for one night, at least, fixed. I thought I’d be ecstatic when it happened but instead, I was just tired. Minutes later, drooping even more, I dragged myself to my bedroom and changed into my nightgown. The barest minimum sufficed for washing up and, like most of tonight’s volunteers, I bet, I practically fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Which ended all too soon.
Chapter 14
Payback is a B*%#$!
A loud car horn outside my window woke me only an hour later. It wouldn’t stop. Wha? I thought blearily, forcing my eyelids open. A nasal voice bleated in-between beeps. “Roz . . . beep . . . Roz . . . beep . . .” Over the past months, that voice had haunted my nightmares.
Terri.
My dreaded sociopath cousin. Remember Terri? She was the nutcase I’d promised myself I’d never let back in my house.
Oh, crap. Katie had told me Terri would be staying at her lake house for a while but, with my water, tax, job loss, and house sale situations, I’d completely forgotten. Reluctantly I struggled out of my warm bed, wrapped myself in my robe, grabbed an umbrella, and lurched to the beeping car.
“You’ve got to help me, Roz,” Terri called out of the car window when I was halfway down the drive. I continued stumbling toward her, my umbrella braced against the wind and the rain.
“Well, hey, Terri,” I said in the mildest voice I could manage when I finally reached her car. “Katie said you’d be at the lake this week. What’s up?”
“It’s broken, I think. My collarbone,” she blurted without preliminaries.
That got my attention and woke me right up. “What happened?” I asked, alert in milliseconds.
“It’s this damned rain,” Terri responded. “I’d been hearing noises all night and couldn’t sleep. I went outside to check out a loud creaking sound on the deck, and my slippers must have got wet because I slid on the kitchen floor and heard this awful crack when I fell. It really hurts, Roz. You’ll have to take me to the hospital. I can’t drive that far.”
Wow. Karma really wanted her payback in a hurry for the generous deed those fire department volunteers had given me just a few hours ago. I tried to stay levelheaded and even-tempered with this woman who had been my very unwelcome house guest only a few months ago.
Some of you readers might remember Terri. She’s my Brillo-haired older cousin who scares the snot out of me, mostly because I’m convinced she’s a sociopath who has designs on my house and my life. In the months since her last visit I’d found myself, more than once, waking up in a cold sweat from a dream that featured the long weekend we’d spent together, and her observation that, of all places to live on the lake, she liked my place the best.
Remember the knife? Yup, she gave me the wickedest-looking, lethal black knife you could ever imagine for Christmas a few months ago. I still can’t bear to take it out of its box. I’d buried it somewhere deep in a pile of cartons in the cellar. I know, I know, Katie insists it’s an envelope-opener. Don’t believe her. It’s a knife. Talk about a message from the subconscious. I really do think Terri wants me dead.
Anyway, I’d managed to survive Terri’s awful Thanksgiving visit only by promising myself that I’d never invite her to my house again. What’s that saying? Man plans; God laughs. Guess who was laughing now?
Determined to be civilized, I stepped up to my Karma-debt. “Terri, do you want to come into the house for a few minutes while I get dressed? I’ll be as quick as I can, and then I’ll drive us to the ER.”
“No, no,” she moaned, “it hurts too much to move. While you’re dressing I’ll just get into the passenger seat and wait for you. But hurry.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tossed out as I scurried back into the house, into the clothes that had barely cooled from when I’d shucked them off what seemed like only minutes before. Soon I was back in the car.
Terri had left the motor running, so I slid behind the wheel and drove into the wild night.
“So you slipped, you said,” I questioned her as I drove. “I’m amazed you could drive the few miles to my place. Why didn’t you just phone me? I could have come to get you.”
“I couldn’t find your number. It wasn’t in my cell, and I didn’t want to take the time to dig around in all my papers.” Terri sat hugging her arm to her body. The sheen on her face gleamed in the passing glow of the occasional overhead light. I could tell she was in genuine pain.
Finally we made it to Avondale’s pint-sized local hospital. Bright l
ights shone even through the murky weather as I pulled into the Emergency Entrance. I ran around and opened the car door for Terri, leaving the motor running. She entered the hospital on her own and explained the situation to the attending tech while I stood around for moral support. Once they asked us to be seated, though, I ran back outside to park the car.
When I returned to the bright, sterile waiting room with its collection of budget-priced chairs and dog-eared eighteen-month-old magazines with all the recipes ripped out, Terri still sat there, pale and drawn. “They say it will only be a few more minutes,” she said. “I gave them my insurance info while you parked the car. Thanks so much for driving me, Roz. This is a nightmare.” She rocked lightly in her chair, cradling her arm against her body.
“I know it’s tough right now, but everything’s going to be fine, Terri. You’ll be fine. I’ve heard the doctors here are just great,” I said reassuringly, even though I’d never heard any such thing. Thank goodness I’d never had a reason to explore the local hospital’s capabilities before. But this wasn’t the time to be that candid about our rural expertise with Terri.
Just then a nurse dressed in purple scrubs called Terri’s name, and she vanished into the bowels of the hospital. I sat back, relieved, and studied the waiting room. Being with Terri forced my innards into pitched battles between ‘duty and family’ and ‘self-preservation.’ I’d been raised to treat family, and guests, to the best that I could offer them. To open my home, set out my finest china, and exert my diligent efforts for their comfort. But in turn, they brought me their best as well―their best manners, their thoughtfulness. I’m not sure Terri ever learned the second half of that equation, so being with her always threw me off-balance. I never knew when she’d broadside me, or when a careless remark would sink me. So I’d decided the optimal solution would be to avoid her entirely. Oh well, we could all see how that resolution had played out.
About an hour later, a solid, comfortable-looking doctor in light-blue scrubs accompanied the nurse pushing Terri in a wheelchair. Using the arm without a splint, Terri pointed toward me, and I joined the little group.
“You’re Mrs. Cosgrove’s cousin, right?” Dr. Otis asked.
I hadn’t seen pouches like that underneath anyone’s eyes since a long-ago April 14th when I’d worked at an accounting firm.
“I am. Roz Murphy.” I looked at Terri. She had better color and seemed much more cheerful. I suspected a painkiller or two floated in the picture now, and that delighted me. She’d be much easier to handle this way.
“Fortunately Mrs. Cosgrove didn’t break anything,” Dr. Otis continued, “but she’s dislocated her shoulder. She’ll be spending the next few days with you, right?”
I opened my mouth, gulping like a fish.
“No, no, I’m here on vacation,” Terri protested. “I want to go back to Katie’s cabin.”
Oh, I loved that idea. Two minds with but a single thought.
“As I explained before, Mrs. Cosgrove,” the doctor said in a difficult-patient, no-nonsense tone, “you need to be with someone for the next few days while you’re on the strong painkillers I’ve given you. Once you’ve graduated to over-the-counter meds you can do as you like, as long as you take it easy. But you’ll need someone to give you a hand for the next few days and I don’t want you staying by yourself.”
(Damn, damn, damn. Payback really is a bitch!)
“I understand, doctor.” I sighed, but only mentally. “Of course Terri can stay at my place. I’ll keep an eye on her for a few days.”
Looking pathetic, Terri whined, “But I wanted to do so much on this visit. I planned to go to the farmers’ market and the bulk store.”
“If you don’t overdo it, you can do whatever you want as long as your cousin drives and helps you,” the doctor said, gazing at me with an expectant expression.
I wanted to pull the medics to one side and say, “You don’t understand. I don’t like this woman!” Instead, I muttered, “Yeah, I’ll help.” Then I turned to Terri. “Don’t worry, Terri. We’ll do whatever you want if you’re feeling well enough for it.” I gave another gusty internal sigh.
Terri perked right up. Now she had all the permission she needed to wreak havoc in my life. This was going to be just miserable.
I’ll never forget the look of horror on Bob’s face when I walked through the door at two a.m. with Terri in my wake. It looked like nothing so much as that painting, The Scream, by Munch, if you added a martini flying through the air. I carried all her pharmacy bags plus the overnight bag she insisted I pack at Katie’s cottage. I looked like a tip-seeking bellhop juggling bags while Bob screamed, soundlessly, his martini soaking into my carpet.
“You promised,” he hissed. “You promised she’d never come back here.”
I shrugged, laden to the gills, and trudged into the guest bedroom where I dumped Terri’s various containers on the bed.
“You know, Roz,” came that cloying whine, “I never got a chance to have any dinner. I’m awfully hungry. Do you think you could rustle up a little something?”
I hated the way this was heading. Waiting on Terri hand and foot over the next few days would be a nightmare. “Let me see what I have.” I thought for a few seconds. “How would a toasted English muffin sound? Maybe with some cheese for protein to carry you over until the morning?”
“Artisanal cheese?” she asked, perking up.
“Nope. Regular yellow American slices. Nothing fancy,” I responded.
Terri wilted again. “Well,” she admitted begrudgingly, “I guess that would be okay for now. We should probably pick up a few things tomorrow at the grocery store, though, if I’m going to be here for a while. A few nice things,” she emphasized, to make sure I got the point. “I’ll start a list.”
“Good idea,” I said, pondering the demands of payback.
“Maybe you could bring me my toasted muffin on a tray,” Terri’s voice followed me down the staircase, “I’m feeling too tired to go up and down the stairs. After I get changed I’ll just get into bed.” Her voice drifted off feebly.
Nuts! The linens. “Wait, Terri,” I yelled, “I have to make up the bed.”
“Okay,” the voice floated down the staircase, “you can do that while I’m getting washed. Tomorrow you’ll have to help me take a bath.”
I ground my teeth while I stretched clean linens onto the guest bed. Then ran downstairs so I could make up a tray for my unwanted guest, who burbled in the bathroom, laughing at some of her own jokes, I suspected. Those must be darn good painkillers, I thought enviously.
After a few minutes, Terri yelled, “I’m getting into bed, Roz. You can bring up my tray whenever it’s ready. Could you bring a carafe of water, too? I’ll need to take another pill soon.”
“I didn’t know you had carafes here,” Bob whispered behind me. “Pretty high end for life at a lake cottage.”
“The woman’s going to get a glass of water, and she’ll be damned glad she’s getting a glass of water. Carafes, my ass,” I muttered as I slammed English muffins, cheese, butter, marmalade, and a glass of water onto the tray. I didn’t even like this woman, and now I’d be her handmaiden for the next couple of days. Oh, was I ever going to give Katie a piece of my mind about her invited, and now my uninvited, guest.
After setting the tray on the bed’s edge, I nibbled at a dry piece of muffin to calm my upset stomach while Terri drowned hers in butter and about half a cup of marmalade. My guts looped the loop just looking at it. “Maybe tomorrow we can have tea if we have English muffins again,” Terri murmured drowsily. “Tea would probably make me feel so much better,” she said in her plaintive voice. She shoveled the last morsel of English muffin into her mouth and looked greedily at the second half of mine sitting lonely on the plate.
I saw her eying it and said, “Go for it. I’m not very hu
ngry.”
“It would be a shame to let it go to waste,” she said, grabbing the muffin and slathering butter and jam all over it. “I probably need to put more food in my stomach, too, if I’m going to be taking these painkillers.” She crunched away cheerfully for a minute, and then took a pill with a big drink of water. “Oh, by the way, could we have shirred eggs in the morning? I always made shirred eggs for the boys when they were sick and it would be such a comfort to me now if we could have them.”
I grunted in a noncommittal tone as I lifted the tray off the bed and she nestled into her fresh sheets.
“Please, Roz?” she asked sleepily.
“I’ve never made shirred eggs,” I responded, juggling the tray as I turned off the lights.
“They’re so tasty and soothing for sick people. My sons loved them. I’m sure you have a recipe somewhere in all those cookbooks of yours,” she murmured as she drifted off.
Ooooohhhhhhh, I am so going to rip Katie a new one for putting me through this, I thought as I trudged down the stairs.
“Did she survive without a carafe?” Bob asked from his customary chair at the kitchen table.
“It was tough, but she pulled through. Obviously, though, she’s looking for a more upscale recuperation than I can offer. These next few days are going to be awful.”
As if cued by an outside prompter, Bob and I mutually gave huge, gusty sighs of regret, and shook our heads. “I think it’s time I got out and explored the neighborhood a bit,” Bob said. “That’ll get me out of range for the next few days.”
