George Hartmann Box Set

by Kelly Utt

  We arrive back home just in time for the boys to get a quick nap in before our New York City family arrives and we head to Yellow Cob for dinner. John Wendell parks himself on the living room sofa with today’s newspaper then doses off and snores lightly while Lady lays dutifully on the floor near his feet. She knows it’s her job to protect the whole gang. When Mom sees that John Wendell is sleeping, she gently slides the newspaper out of his hands and covers him up with another cable knit blanket Ali has right where it’s needed. This one is a soft turquoise blue. We bought it a couple of months ago at a Nordstrom store located in the same mall where Ali and I first met. We picked up quite a few items in preparation for the move so we’d have things for the new house that came from our special places in D.C. John Wendell balls the blanket up tight under his chin and snuggles in like a sleepy child. It’s nice to see Mom taking such good care of him.

  “You’re a good caretaker, Mom,” I say, patting her on the back as she settles down on the loveseat beside me and pulls her legs up to cross them Indian style underneath her. “Your kind help is allowing John Wendell to stay out of those depressing senior living facilities so many of his friends have moved into.”

  “Yeah, a number of his friends moved into a facility across town and right on out of this world because they were so miserable there,” she adds, absentmindedly smoothing her shoulder-length red hair to one side around the back of her head.

  “Oh, I know it, Linette,” Ali says, joining the conversation. “Over the years, John Wendell has told us about several of his friends going downhill once they opted for that route. It’s really sad. He tells us his friends Val and Horton even had to separate when Val needed skilled nursing care because they weren’t married and Val’s kids moved her out of state.”

  “Terrible,” I say.

  “It is downright heartbreaking,” Mom says. “I see it more often than I’d like with not only John Wendell’s friends, but with my own patients in the hospital. Aging is not necessarily graceful or gentle. A myriad of circumstances can present themselves which decrease a senior’s quality of life in a big way. I just want to mitigate those things as much as possible for my dad. I’m doing the best I can for him, and for now, we’re okay.”

  “It sounds like you’re both doing pretty well,” I add. “Is John Wendell still managing alright alone while you’re at work?”

  “For the time being, yes,” Mom answers. “He’s frustrated about not being able to drive anymore though. He keeps telling me how careful and diligent he is, and how he even knows how to fly a plane. I think in his mind, he just needs to convince the powers that be he’s qualified. He doesn’t always seem to realize that I’m the one who made the decision, with his best interests in mind, of course. And he doesn’t seem to realize the extent of the danger he poses on the road.”

  “I completely understand his position,” Ali says. “He’s probably the most careful and diligent man I know.”

  “I agree, dear,” Mom says. “He’s the best.”

  We sit for a moment in silence, watching John Wendell nap and contemplating the fragility that is his health and life at age ninety-five. Anything could happen at any time, to anyone. But we all know the odds start to stack up against a person when they’re as old as our John Wendell.

  “I see seniors at the hospital, many who are years younger than him,” Mom says, in a quieter voice now. “And sometimes, they are taken down quickly. A bad case of the flu turns into pneumonia, a fall causes a broken bone. Even an accident resulting from something like leaving a stove on at home can be devastating, and potentially deadly. One day they’re functioning well and are seemingly healthy, and then life takes them by surprise and it’s a quick decline.”

  “I’m hoping John Wendell will join the centenarian club, Mom,” I say, probably sounding somewhat in denial. “He’s going pretty strong. I’m thinking he could make it to one-hundred-five even, or one-hundred-ten. People do it. You’ve seen them on the Smucker’s jars during Willard Scott’s TODAY Show segment, right?”

  “George, honey, we’ll see,” she answers. “He might. But there’s a reality here that you’ll become more and more aware of now that you’re living nearby. He musters all of his energy when people visit and he seems really good during those times, but then he crashes and ends up exhausted for days afterward. You guys will be around for that part now. Did you know for the past year or so, when he first wakes up he has no idea where he is, what time of day it is, or what’s happening? It’s a jolt for him every single time.”

  Ali and I both shake our heads to indicate we had no idea. We’re too busy trying to process that information to say any words.

  “I think it’s important for John Wendell to know we all accept him just as he is,” Mom continues. “He can’t help that his body will fail him any more than little Will will be able to help that his body isn’t developed enough to walk or talk when he first arrives. It’s the inescapable nature of being human. We all go through it. It’s sad, but it’s also beautiful.”

  “Linette, you’re an inspiration,” Ali says, placing her hand over her heart like she does when she’s deeply moved. “You have such a way with people, and with the most vulnerable parts of life. You’re an amazing nurse.”

  “I like to think I am,” Mom replies. “It comes naturally to me. I appreciate the compliment.” And then after a long pause, “I have thought about retiring.”

  “Really?” Ali and I both ask in unison, eyebrows raised. I wasn’t expecting that. Mom has always said she wanted to continue to work as long as she possibly could. She’s still in good shape physically, and her mind is good aside from her inherent craziness. Ali’s right that Mom has a knack for working with people who are staring down life’s hardest times. She remains calm and steady as if she’s the eye of a hurricane while things are swirling out of control around her. Ironically, when things aren’t swirling out of control around her, she often dreams up an imagined crisis and her anxiety gets out of whack. It’s almost like she needs to handle emergencies and difficult situations for her own mental health. Her patients are the lucky beneficiaries of that need to be useful. It works, but hopefully she can find something else that works during retirement.

  “Mom, retiring would be great!” I say. “You could be more available to John Wendell, and you could spend more time with us and the boys. If you want to, that is.” I for one would be really happy to have more time with my mom. It’s one of the reasons I moved home to Ithaca. Mom and Ali get along well so I bet they’d have a lot of fun together, especially with Ali being a stay-at-home parent for awhile. I know the boys would absolutely love having their grandma around as much as possible. Maybe she’d sew Halloween costumes for them like she did for me. And take them to the library and swimming in the summer. We could have a round two for all the fun things Mom and I did when I was little, this time with John Wendell in tow as a nice bonus. When I was a kid in Brooklyn he and Grandma lived here in Ithaca, which is several hours away by car. They came to visit us in the City and we made regular trips Upstate to see them, but it wasn’t like living right in the same city together would have been.

  “Georgie, don’t forget to include time for Linette to enjoy herself. I’m sure she’d like some lazy afternoons. Or spa days. Or maybe she’s ready to start dating again,” Ali adds. I didn’t mention any of those things because I know my mom. She doesn’t do things for herself, really. I literally cannot imagine her at a spa. And I certainly can’t imagine her dating. It’s been more than twenty years since Dad died, and Mom hasn’t really dated since, save for a few early crash and burn romances kindled in AOL chat rooms. Ali knows these things about Mom, too. I wonder why she said what she did. I give my wife a puzzled look. She sees me out of the corner of her eye but isn’t going to make eye contact and acknowledge me.

  “Goodness, Ali, dear,” Mom says, blushing a little. “I don’t know about any of that. Being more available to John Wendell would definitely be good though. And I’d lo
ve to spend as much time as possible with you two and the boys. This cavernous house needs to be filled with lots of activity in order to make proper use of it.” And there it is. That’s the kind of dig Mom throws in when she thinks you aren’t expecting it. Calling the house cavernous is her not-so-subtle way of expressing discomfort with our luxury home. Ali and I ignore the comment and carry on.

  “Well, I know you like to feel useful, Mom,” I say. “Maybe you could volunteer part time to keep your skills sharp and put your training to good use in a more relaxed setting.”

  “Oh, very good idea, Georgie,” Ali adds. “That makes the transition easier. I might do some volunteering myself up until I open my law practice. When you’re used to working and being needed, it’s unsettling to stop it all of a sudden.”

  “That might not be a bad plan,” Mom says, and then takes a long deep breath. “I’d need to look at my budget. Right now, I get social security retirement from your dad on top of my own income. I’d be giving up a lot each month if my income went away. And I donate regularly to nonprofits that count on my payment every month. They’d come up short.” Ali and I glance at each other, but neither of us says anything in response. Dad left Mom millions that she has tucked away in mutual funds. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten the impression that she doesn’t touch that money at all. It’s like she doesn’t want to admit that she even has it. I’m not sure what’s going on with that. It’s strange, for sure. I mean, why is she okay with using Dad’s retirement benefit paid through social security, but not the money he left her? He worked hard for both. And besides, John Wendell has a nice nest egg saved up as well. If money were needed for his care, or for Mom to make herself available for his care, John Wendell wouldn’t hesitate to use it. He wouldn’t feel the least bit bad about using it either. When he dies, it will be passed down to Mom. I swear, something must have happened to her that I don’t know about. Her issues surrounding money are bizarre.

  “I guess we’re all going through pretty significant life changes right now,” Ali says, successfully steering the conversation back to a more sane one without making Mom feel bad or like she can’t be open with us.

  “I know I’m facing a big change,” I offer. “I’m sure my new job at Cornell will be great. It’s going to be different though. I keep feeling like I’m just on leave and should be reporting back to my squadron soon.”

  “And every time the phone rings, I think for a split second it’s my office calling to ask about a case I’ve worked on, or to tell me what’s coming up,” Ali says. “Like Georgie said, I’m sure our lives here in Ithaca will be great, but it’s going to be so strange being home with the boys and not working.”

  “I wondered about that, Ali,” Mom says. “How long do you think you’ll take off?”

  “I’m not really sure, Linette,” Ali replies. “I know I need a slower pace so I can spend more time with the boys, especially since little Will is on the way. I’ve been lucky enough to have worked quite a bit from home since Ethan was born, but it was still a lot to keep up with given the way Georgie and I choose to raise our boys. We don’t want them in daycare if we can help it. In D.C., we juggled between the two of us and a couple of dear friends who could stay with them at our house during daytime hours. It was better than daycare, but I decided I wanted to take the leap and devote myself to our little guys completely. After all, it will be a relatively short period of time that they’re this little and need us this much. I don’t want to miss a thing. When I’m ready, I’ll open up my own immigration law practice here in Ithaca.”

  “I admire your dedication,” Mom says. “You know, I was home with George before he went to school. I don’t regret a single minute of it. It was time very well spent.” I smile at Mom, and she reaches up to give the hair on the back of my head a quick tussle. “When you’re ready to go back to work, you’ll know,” she continues, giving Ali a look of knowing approval. “Trust yourself, dear.” The three of us are on the same page when it comes to what we believe about rearing young children. Ali puts her hand over her heart again and smiles broadly at Mom and me. My people are so good.

  We spend what feels like a nice, long time talking more while John Wendell and the little guys snooze. Ali and Mom tell me about the arrangements they made with our interior designer and I make mental note of all the interesting things we plan to do together in the coming months. Then in a synchronicity that’s almost comical, John Wendell begins to stir at the exact moment we hear Ethan and Leo open their bedroom door and scoot out. Less than a minute after that, we see Marjorie and Roddy’s Land Rover turn slowly into our driveway. Marjorie is driving, and Roddy is waving wildly from the passenger seat. They look excited.

  “Mama Marjorie and Papa Roddy are here,” I say cheerfully, getting up from my seat to greet the boys and usher them towards the front door. John Wendell takes a minute to orient himself, then sits up and continues reading the newspaper as if he wasn’t sleeping. Mom moves over next to him to make room on the loveseat for our newest arrivals.

  “Hey, hey, hey, Mom and Dad,” Ali yells as she throws open the front door and rushes toward her parents. She’s in a thin cotton shirt without a coat and it’s cold, but she isn’t going to let that slow her down. Marjorie jerks the vehicle into park and jumps out to hug her daughter. Roddy leaps out the other side without bothering to put his coat on either and runs around to join in. The three of them hop up and down as they embrace and squeal like school girls. Mom and I are close in a subdued way, but the Dyer-Davies family is next level. I know the boys feel the excitement and want to get out there, too, so I bundle them up in their coats and hats and carry them out into the front courtyard. No need for shoes. I hold them, one on each hip. I run a little so we can get to Marjorie and Roddy faster, and Leo giggles as he’s jostled up and down. He’s a giggler, that boy.

  “Hello, babies,” Marjorie says as she puts an arm around each boy in front of me, bracelets clanking, and kisses their cheeks. They squeal, too, and they bounce up and down. They can barely contain themselves. “You’ve grown since I saw you at Christmas, big guys. That was only a few weeks ago. How are you growing so fast? Are Mommy and Daddy feeding you special grow-up-fast food?”

  “Noooooo,” Ethan replies with a laugh. “We’re growing regular because we’re strong and healthy. You know it, Mama Marjorie. We’re strong boys.” Ethan pops up one of his biceps and makes a muscle as Leo shakes his head emphatically in agreement.

  “Ah, yes, I do know that. You’re very strong, and very healthy,” Marjorie says as she stands on her toes to reach around the boys and kiss me on the cheek. I smile and lean in hard against her forehead, then she steps back and gives me a happy wink. “But I think you’re going to be tall like your Daddy and your uncles and your grandpas. We have many tall, handsome men in this family.” Marjorie is dressed beautifully, as usual, and her long red hair is perfectly positioned under her charcoal gray winter hat. Her style could be described as elegant hippie if there is such a thing. It’s distinctive, and it suits her.

  Roddy walks around from behind us and the boys nearly fly out of my arms to get to him. They know they can be somewhat rough with him like they can with me. Roddy’s a strong man who is in fantastic shape. He has naturally broad shoulders and a muscular build, and he keeps his physique up by boxing. He and Marjorie are younger than Mom, roughly the same age as Uncle Liam, and the same as Dad would be if he were still around. Mom’s in good shape, too, but the combination of the few extra years she has on the rest of them and her more serious demeanor makes the younger crowd seem a lot more lively.

  “Let me at these boys, George. I want to hold them right away,” Roddy says in his deep, gravelly voice as he grins from ear to ear and his eyes beam with pride. Maybe that’s why Ali likes my big grin. Her dad certainly has a big grin of his own. Mine is admittedly goofier.

  “Papa Roddy!” Ethan says, as he slings his arms around Roddy’s neck then pats both of his cheeks gleefully. Roddy shimmies Eth
an around to one side to make room for Leo, too.

  “Here are my grandsons,” Roddy says as he tilts downward and pulls their little heads in towards his face. “Mama Marjorie, how did we get so lucky to have the best grandsons in the whole wide world?” he asks, looking at the boys with what seems like an even bigger smile if that’s possible. “It doesn’t get any better than these guys right here. Of course, little Will will be one of the best, too,” he adds, nodding towards Ali’s pregnant belly.

  I’m about to suggest we get inside the warm house when we see Nicky and Luis’ silver Tesla sedan pulling into the driveway. Sara has her window down and is pretending one of her dolls is waving to us from the backseat.

  “Look, it’s Nicky and Luis and Sara! Perfect timing,” Ali says as Ethan and Leo begin to cheer and clap. “Did you guys travel together along the way?” she asks her parents.