I fell into bed drained of my last ounce of energy and yet sleep refused to come. My only wish that night was to be able to sit down next to June, hand her a cigarette and a glass of vodka and have our usual laughs over a conversation about nothing. I tossed and turned with worry until the sun came up the next morning.
“Givers have to set limits, because takers rarely do.” - Irma Kurtz
Chapter Nine
Today I arrived at the apartment armed with plug in air fresheners hoping to keep my cigarette smoke headache from returning. Maybe I would be exchanging it for a perfume headache since I was highly allergic to scents too, but it couldn’t be any worse than how I felt yesterday. Every outlet in the living room now sported a fancy flower shaped plug in air freshener. I still however, resisted the urge to breath deeply until they had a chance to work their air freshening magic. June would insist her apartment smelled clean and fresh as a rose. She’d become nose blind to the smell of her cigarettes.
After scouring the Internet, I found a service to help me sell the furniture and get the apartment ready for sale, A Time to Move. Barbara was due to arrive at ten o’clock to assess the situation and estimate a price. The money again. I found myself taking over where June left off. She constantly worried about her money, saying she was a product of the Depression of the 1930’s. Now that her mind couldn’t remember anything about finances, she passed that worry on to me. I couldn’t move the antique china cabinet containing the Waterford crystal or the 1960’s Mediterranean bedroom set I remembered from their apartment in Seattle. They were both old and worn and weighed a ton. Solid wood. Dressers weren’t made that way any more.
I had to spend her money for my own sanity. Let’s just hope I could do it reasonably and leave something for her Depends. Adult diapers were another item I never in my wildest dreams thought I would have to pay attention too. They are just another check mark on the bucket list of necessary but unpleasant things that are part of growing old. The Hawthorne Residence added them to her monthly rent to the tune of an extra one hundred dollars.
Barbara arrived right on time and I gave her a tour. When we were done, which didn’t take long, she sat at the dining room table and did some figuring. She gave me what I thought was a fair price to move what was left of the furniture, donate to charity anything left and clean the place including all the appliances to have it ready for sale. I heaved a huge sigh of relief and signed the contract.
“I know a man who deals in antiques and might want to look at some of these pieces,” Barbara offered. “Whatever he wants to take to auction, you can work out the details with him. Is it alright if I call him for you?”
June always thought the antiques she inherited from her aunt were worth a fortune. I had a more down to earth view on the subject. Richard was left a houseful of his mother, Floss’ flea market finds. As a weekend trip and a way to entertain young children, she packed the kids in the car and drove to Amish country from their home outside of Philadelphia. Richard and his brother climbed under the tables, crawled through the grass and smeared the soot from antique flatirons across their faces. Every now and then Floss would snap a photograph to save their antics for posterity. She, however, was really looking for ways to inexpensively furnish a home.
When Floss died we ended up with an Amish corner cupboard with all original glass complete with bubbles and swirls and a hole where supposedly a mouse chewed his way in, a large wood desk with lots of secret compartments and a ladies writing desk with inlaid mother of pearl. Beautiful pieces, but when we tried to sell them, there were no takers. Smaller living spaces mean more efficient and multiple uses for furniture.
I hadn’t researched June’s pieces like I had Floss’ but I suspected a similar outcome. We now lived in an age of cell phones and iPads. We read books online, no need for a bookcase. We eat out far more often than we eat in. Fancy cut crystal stemware and gold-rimmed china are best seen in a museum. I was hopeful but tried not to be too optimistic about the amount of money I could raise from their sale.
June had already reached the ripe, old age of 91 before needing any additional care. The odds were against her outliving her money but I had to guard her money as if she’d live to be 110. She was after all a life long smoker and drinker who’d gotten this far with no serious health issues.
Within minutes Roger knocked on the front door. Now, I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character and Barbara seemed to be a kind, compassionate and honest person. Her business focused on helping elderly people transition from what they find familiar into a different phase of their life. That Roger showed up so swiftly made me suspicious she had him waiting in the wings, ready to pounce on an overwhelmed and unsuspecting me.
He carefully examined the china cabinet, then moved on to the dining room table and Andrew Wyeth prints hanging on the living room wall. In the kitchen, he opened every drawer and cabinet studying the stainless steel flatware with a curved handle and a tiny rose in the center or the chipped and cracked, well used blue and white Spode dinner plates. Whenever I came to visit, I ate off of them, washed them and put them back in the cupboard. I didn’t want the plates, they’d seen better days, but the picture of the girl at the well had been etched into my memory.
All of June’s possessions were old, used long after their useful life had ended. At least in my mind they had, but not June’s. That served to explain the difference in our generations. Hers held on to their toasters and refrigerators having them repaired when they broke down. I, on the other hand, belonged to the disposable generation. Repairs to my washing machine cost over $300, a new machine only $600. The choice to buy new for me was easy. Her depression era upbringing of frugality had never left her.
Over the years, after my father died, I tried to help her with her money. She never wanted to listen to me, that was her stubborn side. When she moved into the condo, she signed up for a very expensive appliance maintenance plan. She paid for the soup to nuts plan she insisted would buy her a new appliance if any of hers broke down and could no longer be fixed. What June never understood is the repairman would use chewing gum to fix a hose in the dishwasher if he had to, just so the company would never replace a single appliance in her kitchen.
She had blue plastic ice cube trays in the freezer because the icemaker in the refrigerator never worked and the appliance maintenance plan for some unknown reason excluded the icemaker. She convinced herself she didn’t need it fixed; she enjoyed big, homemade cubes in her vodka better. It drove me nuts every time I had to twist those hard frozen trays. I wondered how June could do it with her small, arthritic hands.
Roger spoke in a long drawn out southern drawl. “I can sell most of this at auction. I’ll take it to my warehouse in Tennessee. People love stuff like this up there. Whatever I get for it, you get half. I’ll move it all out of here for you.” He paused. “My truck’s downstairs.”
Still suspicious at the fast speed at which things were now moving, “Do you have a contract or anything for me to sign? How do I know you’ll send me the money?”
Barbara piped in. “I’ve been doing business with Roger for years. I wouldn’t recommend him if he didn’t have good character.”
“I’ll come tomorrow morning early, bring the contract and load my truck.” He extended his hand to me.
We shook on it. I couldn’t waste any more time comparing prices or waiting for another estate appraisal. If Roger sent the money, great. If he didn’t, I probably wouldn’t lose enough to make much of a difference to June’s future well being. If I made the wrong decision trusting Roger, then so be it. Lesson learned. I wanted badly to stop worrying about things I couldn’t control and start trusting the good people in this world who were willing to help me.
When Barbara and Roger left, I gathered my things and locked the door behind me. Tomorrow would come soon enough. It was time for my afternoon visit with June.
“Love does not c
onsist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Chapter Ten
The following summer Steve and I again flew out to Seattle for our three weeks of required visitation. With our suitcases loaded in the trunk of the Ford my father left behind and my mother still drove, we made the hour long drive to the Cleveland airport.
Ten minutes into our journey, Mom started on her usual lecture on how we were to behave while in the care of our father.
“Be sure to brush your teeth. Toothpaste and your toothbrushes are in the pouch in the side of your suitcase,” she started. “And wash your face before you go to bed.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said annoyed that she thought I didn’t know how to do something I did every day.
“Do what your father tells you. June too. No backtalk out of either of you,” she said.
Steve and I didn’t know how to talk back. Why Mom would even use those words to us made no sense. She knew we knew better but needed an excuse in the off chance Dad called her to tell her we were misbehaving. Our Midwest upbringing made sure that we never voiced our opinion no matter what the circumstance and especially not to a parent. In our world, adults were in charge and not to be messed with. The penalty was much worse than any pleasure gathered by a stupid childish rebuttal.
Dad and June had moved to a new apartment, in a smaller building but without a pool and a fitness room. At first glance we wondered how we would be spending our time while Dad worked during the day without the benefit of a swimming pool.
Inside the apartment were two new dogs, Maggie and Molly. Maggie was a gray miniature poodle with a curly coat and a craving for food of any kind. Molly, a toy poodle, was tiny and cuddly and gave kisses nonstop. Immediately we found two new friends in a new place. I didn’t ask what happened to Mia.
The red sofa bed waited for us in the den. We were starting to feel at home with things around us seemingly more familiar than they’d been last summer. All of June’s knickknacks, while last year seemed new and strange, now gave me a sense of belonging. The crystal slipper now sat on an end table next to the sofa, and a round, floral Limoges box had taken its place on the coffee table. The sudsy scent remained the same at the new apartment as if it came from an aerosol can.
The one thing I noticed that I hadn’t paid any attention to the last summer was that this had become Dad’s home. He was comfortable here, his cigar box just within reach of his favorite chair, newspapers waited for him to read them, crackers in the cupboard exactly where he knew to find them when he needed a snack. Dad appeared more at home than I remember him being in the rare times he spent with us in our big house in Cleveland. He left our family and our home taking nothing with him to his new life. No photos of his children, none of his books that lined the shelves of our living room, or even his piano that he loved to play belting out a popular song of the sixties, Alley Cat every time he came home. I think he liked it this way.
Our lives went on, school, girl scouts, church. Dad called every couple weeks and I had to stop whatever I was doing when the phone rang. It didn’t matter if I was doing homework or eating dinner. The conversations were short, he asked questions and I gave one or two word answers. The call ended the same way every time with Dad’s quip that I’d grown tired of long ago.
“Stay out of the pool hall, Linny.” he said.
He didn’t miss us and we had stopped missing him a long time ago.
***
We’d been in Seattle for more than a week and had settled into a routine. Dad went to work, and we watched some game shows on television. No one seemed to care what we watched, at least we hadn’t been informed of any ‘no Three Stooges’ rule but as hard as we tried we couldn’t find the illicit show on any channel.
After lunch when only soap operas were on, Steve and I went swimming. Yes, swimming. The apartment building was built on pilings over water. I’m not sure what water but some finger or inlet of Puget Sound. Along side the building, ran a wooden dock. Steve and I raced out to the end and jumped off. The water so deep we never touched the bottom. Waves from the wake of a passing boat let us bobble up and down in the water with little effort. This was even better than the heated indoor swimming pool we inhabited last summer. Steve and I would paddle and putz around in the water until we ran out of energy. Then we’d sun ourselves on the dock until June came down with the dogs in tow to get us for dinner.
One morning Dad came to the breakfast table in his casual clothes, a pair of sans a belt trousers and loose fitting cotton shirt. Something would be different today but I had no idea why.
“I’m taking June to the dentist today. She has to have some teeth pulled,” he said. “No swimming while we’re gone.”
“Okay. How long will you be gone?” We’d never been left alone in this apartment before even though we were almost teenagers.
“We should be home by lunchtime. I’ll call if it’s later. June made sandwiches if you get hungry,” he said.
A nervous June and my just as nervous but attentive father walked out the door hand in hand. Steve and I parked ourselves on the red sofa; each with a dog tucked under an arm and watched some mindless daytime television show. It would be a long day without some swimming to fill the time.
“Have you ever noticed anything weird about her teeth before?” I asked Steve.
“No. Have you? She doesn’t have bad breath but I never got close enough to smell it,” he answered.
“They must be gross if she’s having all of them pulled out,” I said.
“They must really be yucky.” Steve scrunched up his nose.
“Why would she make an appointment to have them pulled while we’re here anyway? We’re going home in less than a week,” I wondered.
“Maybe Dad didn’t tell her we were coming.” Steve remarked. “Take door number two,” he shouted at Monty Hall and a contestant dressed as a devil with a pitchfork on Let’s Make A Deal.
With not much to occupy our time except the television, we ate the sandwiches well before noon. Dad guided June through the front door around 2 p.m., holding her elbow, the same way he led her out this morning. But this time, he took her straight into their bedroom and shut the door. When he finally came out, I peeked through the crack in the door. The room was dark and all the curtains were drawn.
“Don’t bother Junie,” he said to us. He sat in his chair in the living room and read the Women’s Wear Daily.
By this time we were glued to the afternoon soap operas. Around five o’clock, Dad stuck his head into the den.
“Hungry?” he asked. “Junie’s sleeping so don’t make any noise.”
Steve and I both nodded in agreement. We put on our shoes, turned off the TV and tiptoed to the front door. We followed Dad through the hallways, into the elevator and down to the parking garage to his Cadillac.
“Chinese food sound good?” Dad asked.
Whether it did or not, we answered yes. Chinese was his favorite and that’s what we were having. McDonald’s was on the tip of my tongue but I didn’t dare say it. I doubt Mickey D’s was on Dad’s list of acceptable eateries. Steve would have preferred a milkshake and a hamburger too, but we knew the Chinese restaurant menu by heart and what to order before we even got there. Dad never questioned what we ordered. Shrimp in lobster sauce with some fried rice and egg roll on the side. Fortune cookies for dessert.
We didn’t bring home any of the leftovers for June and we didn’t see or hear a peep from her for the rest of the night. In fact June remained holed up in the bedroom for the next few days. Dad didn’t need help finding restaurants to take us out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He had a favorite diner we frequented often and of course the Chinese restaurant, always capped off with a trip to the ice cream store.
June finally reappeared to make us Dad’s favorite pot roast the night before we were to go back home. We b
oth would have preferred to have Chinese again rather than the detested pot roast.
“It’s your going away dinner,” she announced. June looked the same to me. I didn’t notice anything different about her new teeth but I guess the old ones had been swapped out for a new set.
We ate while trying to look like we enjoyed it. At least we both knew we wouldn’t get pot roast at home. Mom stopped making it once Dad left. We also wouldn’t get the trip to the ice cream parlor that followed the pot roast either. There were trade offs no matter which parent had control of us.
Steve grew three inches during those three weeks, able to look straight into Dad’s eyes by the time we left but Dad never noticed. Mom complained how fat we both were when she picked us up at the airport. Dad had not a clue that he had overfed his children either. It was simply the summer of June’s teeth or her new dentures, whatever way I wanted to look at it.
Dad and June were a single unit, a team of their own, and they didn’t want anyone else to join in order to be happy. We certainly weren’t neglected as children but our parents focused on their own needs, not on ours. Steve and I were given what they thought we needed without asking what we were actually interested in. So when June had to schedule the appointment for her new teeth, Dad never said, “Can you wait until the kids go home?” His world revolved around only June and she came first in his life.
“Every day may not be good,
But there is something good in every day.”
Chapter Eleven
“Susan. The nurse from Hawthorne called me five times about her shoes,” I said.
A roar of laughter pummeled through the phone into my ear. I moved the phone away until it stopped. Standing in Wal-Mart staring at a wall of footwear, I decided to call Susan for advice. Apparently I wasn’t going to get the kind of sibling support I was searching for.
A Bittersweet Goodnight Page 6
