Dying Wishes (20 page)

“It’s
what Sister Marguerite would call a sin of omission,” I said, warming to the
theme. “It’s not a big deal even to the Church. It’s more like a little white
lie to save their feelings.”

“Uh
huh,” said
Strutter
, unconvinced.

Margo
was smiling full out now. “I like it. We settle the kid’s hash and shut up the
rumor-mongers at the same time.
Then what?”

“If
we’re lucky, we get Tommy his job back,” I told her.

Fifteen

Before
I tackled the grocery shopping on Saturday morning, I made a quick stop at the
party store to pick up a couple of masks for Margo and me. I selected a black
cat, complete with beautiful, sparkly whiskers, for Margo and a vampire number
with fangs for me. Next, I picked up a few DVDs at the video store. I concealed
everything under a folded tarpaulin I kept in my trunk and proceeded to the
Stop & Shop, the picture of suburban domesticity.

Armando
and I passed the afternoon peacefully, he doing his overdue laundry and I
slogging dutifully through the questionnaires Gerald
MacRae
had asked me to complete before seeing him again. One had to do with my living will.
It could be considered only a request to my doctor, not a legal order, but it
allowed me to make my wishes about not being kept alive on a respirator and not
extending my life through other artificial means clear.
 
It also addressed things like pain management,
organ donation and disposal of my remains. The second questionnaire was
preparatory to creating a durable power of attorney for health care, which
would assign someone else the authority to make decisions for me if I was
unable to. Again, it concerned only the cessation of treatment, such as the use
of feeding tubes, but it was legally enforceable and would prevent my ending up
like poor Terri
Schiavo
. Since Armando, Emma and Joey
were well aware of my feelings on that subject, I had no hesitation in
volunteering them for that task.

As
I worked I thought long and hard about the people I had known who had not died
well, thanks to their well-meaning but misguided loved ones who believed that
life should be extended by every available means, regardless of the
individual’s preferences. Their definition of “life” clearly was not mine, and
I refused to allow myself to be at the mercy, at the end, of people whose
beliefs are not mine.

Certainly,
I trusted my doctor, my husband and my children to respect my wishes, but who
knew if any of them would be available at the time I needed their support?
Strangers might be the ones who had to make the tough decisions. My wishes in
writing, signed and notarized, would help them do that.

I
researched such things as hospice care, voluntary refusal of food and fluid,
and yes, even euthanasia. Instead of feeling depressed I found myself strangely
empowered by knowing the options that are available. The knowledge of them doesn’t
compel me to make a choice right at the moment. It simply equips me to make the
best possible choice for myself when the time comes.

My
task was completed by dusk. I showered quickly and changed into a black
turtleneck, slacks and flat shoes suitable for the various activities my
evening would include.

When
John and Margo arrived, I was amused to see her similarly dressed. John looked
from one to the other of us. “You two look like cat burglars ready to head out
for an evening prowl. Should I be concerned here?” His tone was bantering, but
he looked closely at Margo.

She
tittered nervously while I fidgeted, uncomfortable under John’s scrutiny.
Fortunately, Armando chose that moment to join us. He carried an enormous bag
of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa.

“Do
you think that will tide you over until we bring back the pizza?” I asked,
smirking at Margo. “We need to pick up some DVDs, so we’ll be a little while.”

“We
will be fine,
Cara
. Do not worry
about us. The U.S. soccer team is playing the Argentines on ESPN.”

John’s
eyes lit up, and he hustled into the family room after Armando. “See you
later,” he threw over his shoulder.

Margo
and I bumped knuckles in the hall and made our escape through the kitchen and
into the garage. “What did I tell you?” I exulted.

“Yes,
but how are we going to pick out DVDs, order pizza and pick it up, and still
fit in our visit to Vista View before they miss us?”

“Are
you kidding?” Those games go on forever. They won’t even know we’re gone.
Besides, I already have the DVDs, and the pizza is ordered for pick-up at
eight-fifteen,” I retorted as I rummaged in the car trunk for my earlier
purchases. “Let’s do this.”

The
visitors’ parking lot at Vista View was overflowing with guest cars. We had to
leave the
Jetta
on one of the side streets and walk
back to Building One. Margo was enchanted with her sexy cat mask, and I was
pleased with my vampire get-up, as well. It was fun to have a reason to dress
up and be bad girls headed for a showdown with our arch nemesis.

As
Bert had predicted, the party was in full swing in the elaborately decorated
dining room. The tables now rimmed a large dance floor, and each one bore a
grinning jack-o’-lantern, lit from within by a flickering, battery-operated
candle. Skeletons and cobwebs festooned the walls and dangled from the ceiling
while energetic dancers, all masked and many in full costume, gyrated to oldies
blasting from a jukebox.
I was
relieved not to see
Ginny Preston in attendance; nor were the Grants and the
MacRaes
present. It was just as well.

Not
surprisingly, I spotted Bert in the center of the action and waved. He lifted
his Batman mask and waved back. Margo and I were tempted to join in the fun,
but we were here on a mission, and time was ticking by.

“Where’s
Sandy?” Margo mouthed over the music as we scanned the room. After another
minute I spotted her blonde bob behind a huge punch bowl at the serving
counter. She was wearing a Marilyn Monroe mask and a bustier that was keeping
the men she was serving enthralled. Whatever she was ladling into their
proffered paper cups was apparently adding to their enjoyment, which surprised
me. Surely spirits—the alcoholic kind—would be frowned upon at a Vista View
function. Still, I was certain there was more than one flask among the
party-goers, and punch bowls were always fair game for spiking.

Slowly,
Margo and I moved in. We helped ourselves to paper cups and joined the throng
around the punch bowl, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal ourselves to
Sandy. Just as we reached the serving table, there was a pause in the music as
the jukebox changed selections. We looked at each other and pounced.

I
ripped off my vampire mark and leaned in. “The next time you have a message for
me, Sandy, have the guts to deliver it in person. Painting it on the front door
of a place of business constitutes malicious mischief in this town, you know.”

Margo
removed her cat mask and glared at the hapless girl who stood motionless, ladle
in hand, staring at us. “And how stupid do you have to be, not to mention
heartless, to steal a police officer’s dog
who
never
did you a moment’s harm? For your information, I had
nothin
’
whatsoever to do with your boyfriend
losin
’ his job.
Any tales that were told about Tommy Garcia came from some silly busybodies
here who need more to occupy their minds, not from me. Tommy is a fine, decent
young man, which makes me wonder what he wants with a sorry piece of work like
you, Sandy.”

With
infinite caution, the Marilyn Monroe mask was lifted, and we found ourselves
face to face with Suzanne, one of the maids with whom I had shared a table the
previous day.

“Police
officer?” she repeated incredulously. “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking
about.” She shifted her affronted gaze to me, and I cringed.

“
Ooops
,” said Margo. At that moment the real Sandy came
through the door leading from the kitchen, bearing a platter of cookies. She
took one look at Margo and me, dropped the platter to the floor with a crash,
and took off back to the kitchen at a dead run.

Once
again, music blared from the jukebox, but dancing and conversation died as the
revelers tried to figure out the players in our little melodrama. Before they
could do so, however, a real drama erupted at the back of the dance floor.

“Page
emergency services,” someone hollered. The crowd parted, and I was horrified to
see Bert crumpled on the floor in a heap. Instinctively, I moved toward him,
but Margo held me back. The Vista View staff members scrambled to their tasks,
obviously well trained to handle such emergencies, and the best thing we could
do was stay out of their way. Mercifully, someone pulled the plug on the
jukebox.

Within
minutes a team of paramedics arrived. Accompanying them was a tall, gray-haired
man carrying a black bag that identified him as a physician. “Dr. Petersen, I
presume?” Margo murmured.

At
some level I registered the fact that the elusive Dr. Petersen was at last in
our presence, but I was too concerned about Bert to pay Petersen much
attention. As the paramedics gently placed Bert on a gurney, I was struck by
how slight and frail he seemed now, when only minutes ago he had been the life
of the party. Without being aware that I did so, I worked my way to the front
of the crowd, willing him to be all right.

The
medical team worked together efficiently to strap Bert to the gurney, set up an
intravenous line and attach a variety of electronic monitors to his still form.
After ascertaining that he was stable enough to move, the paramedics rolled the
gurney slowly through the crowd that parted to make way for them. Dr. Petersen
followed, barking orders into a cell phone. As the little procession passed me,
I was startled to see that Bert’s eyes were open and alert. He motioned to the
paramedics to stop.

“Sorry,
Gorgeous. Our dance will have to wait. Unavoidable delay,” he apologized.

To
my chagrin a tear rolled down my face. “Another time,” I whispered.

“Have
a great birthday, if I don’t happen to see you,” he added with a wink as the
gurney moved forward again.

Margo
came to stand beside me and give me a hug. Now that Bert and his medical team
had left the building, the bystanders turned curious eyes to us.

“Bert’s
in good hands, Sugar. I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Right now, you and I have
some serious amends to make.” She jerked her head toward the serving station
where Suzanne still stood looking totally dumbfounded.

“Right,”
I said. I swiped my sleeve over my face and went to eat my fair share of crow.
“Do you think we could persuade
Strutter
to staff the
sales desk on Monday?” I pleaded, aware of the disapproving looks and whispers
following us. “I believe we’ve had enough of Vista View for a while.”

“And
vice versa,” Margo muttered unhappily. “You know, now that I come to think of
it, I wasn’t very good at this in high school either.”

~

“You
were
where
?”

“You
did
what
?”

Despite
their ethnic differences, John and Armando looked remarkably alike as they
paced before us in the family room. It had taken us more than an hour to
extricate ourselves from the crush of exiting guests and cars and pick up our
overdone dinner at Village Pizza on Old Main Street. It lay untouched on the
kitchen table.

Margo
and I stood by the sofa. We were bad girls, all right, summoned to the
principal’s office to explain our behavior, only there were two principals, and
so far, we weren’t doing too well with the explanation part. It didn’t help
that I burst into tears the minute I saw Armando and blurted out an extremely
garbled account of what had occurred. His sympathy lasted until I confessed
that we had mistakenly confronted the wrong Vista View employee, not the one
who had vandalized the Law Barn door and stolen Rhett Butler. The choking
sounds coming from Margo reminded me that John and Armando were not totally up
to speed on the events of the past few days.

Armando
handed me a box of tissues, and Margo yanked me down on the sofa rather harder
than necessary, I thought. I blew my nose and gulped. Armando looked really,
really mad—the kind of hardcore angry that he could radiate successfully
without saying a word. I’d had occasion to experience it once or twice before.

“It
was just a little latex paint,” I offered weakly. “It washed right off, no big
deal. God knows we’ve received worse threats in the past.”

Margo
pinched me as Armando’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am well aware of the
previous threats received by you and your friends. So are most of the emergency
personnel in Hartford County with
whom
we are now on a
first name basis. If it would not be too much trouble for you to tell me the
truth, I would like to hear about this particular threat.” He crossed his arms
over his chest and glared at me.

John
stepped forward. “And I am more than a little curious about our dog apparently
being stolen. Were you ever planning to tell me about that?” He actually shook
his finger in Margo’s face. Predictably, she snorted, and I got a fit of the
giggles.