Dying Wishes (4 page)

The
last time the
Henstock
sisters had asked for our
help, Margo and
Strutter
and I had been able to use
our real estate knowledge to put things right, but none of us was equipped to
fix this. No one had nursed an aged parent or lost a husband to illness. My own
parents, both lifelong smokers, had each died in the space of an hour of
massive coronaries. As a result, my personal experience with care-giving was
limited to seeing two elderly pets out of this world. Jasmine, at nearly
twenty-two years of age, would soon be the third. As heart-wrenching as that
was, how could it compare to losing the sister with whom
Ada
had shared a close and loving relationship, not to mention a home, for more
than eighty years? Plainly, it couldn’t.

Ada
needed
the advice of an expert on geriatric issues. She had doctors to answer her
medical questions, but there was so much more to think about here.

In
time
Ada
lifted her ravaged face and flapped a hand
in the direction of a side table, where a box of tissues sat adorned with a
crocheted cover. I hastened to fetch it. She blotted her face and honked
vigorously into several tissues while shaking her head over the ruined pillow.

“Sister
will have my head when she sees this,” she joked feebly, but I was delighted to
see her sense of humor reassert itself.

“Turn
it over and put it back where it was,” I advised her. “That’s what I used to do
when I got a stain on one of my sister’s blouses I’d borrowed without asking. Don’t
worry,
Ada
. Whatever the news is next week, you can
count on Margo and
Strutter
and me. We’ll help you
figure something out, you’ll see.”

If
only I felt as confident as I sounded, I thought. I let myself out the front
door and left
Ada
to splash cold water on her face.

~

Friday
at Vista View was much the same as Wednesday had been, which is to say
slow
. Ginny took the day off, so instead of our usual lunch
I used the time to run a few errands. At three o’clock I closed up shop,
checked on things back at the office and drove home to grab a quick shower and
feed the cats before Armando and I went to meet the kids for dinner.

Perhaps
because I’d had twenty-four hours to get my head around the notion, I was able
to confront the probability of my impending grandmother status stoically. And
perhaps because Latinos seem to be less hung up on age than their Caucasian
counterparts, Armando was merely amused by this development.

“So
I am now to find myself married to a sexy
abuela
, eh?
 
How do you say it, a cougar?” he observed as
we got into the car on Friday evening.

“How
do you say give it a rest?” I countered testily. “Being compared to a
predatory, aging jungle cat doesn’t help, in case you didn’t get that.”

Wisely,
he refrained from further comment. When we arrived at
Pazzo
,
Joey, Justine and Emma were already seated in a booth for six. Joey jumped up
to envelop me in his customary bear hug, and I was amazed yet again that a
nearly premature, six-pound infant had morphed into this strapping fellow.

“Good
to see you, man,” he greeted Armando, who shook his hand gravely. The two men
in my life were as different as people could be, and they were still awkward in
each other’s presence.

I
looked over Joey’s shoulder at the young women seated across from one another.
Emma’s forced smile and Justine’s soft drink, instead of her usual light beer,
told me all I needed to know. Still, we settled into the booth and let the
parents-to-be have their moment, pretending to be amazed and overjoyed when
Joey announced that a baby girl would arrive with the New Year.

“So
soon,” I murmured faintly, “and you already know it’s a girl.”

Justine
smiled at me kindly. She, at least, seemed to have a clue about my mixed
feelings at this moment.

“How
excited is your mom?” Emma asked her, deflecting the conversation into safer
territory. “Is she over the moon?”

The
two chattered brightly as Joey nursed his beer and glowed with pride. Without
even asking, Armando ordered me a glass of Shiraz, which I tried not to gulp.

“So
how are you doing with this, old lady?” Joey asked quietly. The question was
kindly meant, if impudent, so I let the sass slide.

“If
the two of you are happy, then I’m happy for you. Is this the reason for the
super secret wedding to which no one was invited?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Partly,
I guess. Justine’s folks wouldn’t have been thrilled to know that a baby was on
the way before we’d made things legal. Mostly, though, it was because neither
one of us wanted all the formal stuff. Well,” he amended, “that and the fact
that Justine was throwing up all the time.”

“Kind
of a
buzzkill
,” I agreed, “but you both are really
glad about this?”

“Oh, sure.
It’s going to be
tight financially, but when Justine gets back to work, it’ll be fine.”

In
the space of ten seconds, a dozen warnings and caveats, what-ifs and dire
scenarios, played out in my head. This was my baby, who had kept me up for
years with colic and nightmares and sleepwalking. This was my rotten little kid
who had picked the lock to my sewing room to sneak an early look at his
Christmas presents. What could he possibly know about being a father,
supporting a family on his own? I had to warn him, give him the benefit of my
experience, insisted Hysterical Kate.

But
then, none of us knows anything about parenting before it happens to us,
pointed out Rational Kate. I patted my son’s hand and kept my mouth shut, which
I was quickly learning was the mother of grown children’s primary job.

An
hour or so later we stood in the parking lot, making our farewells. Justine’s
blooming belly was now fully evident. “Got to get to Dad’s to give him and
Sheila the news,” Joey said by way of explanation for their early departure.
“Have to tell everyone at the same time to keep peace in the family.”

Michael
and Sheila might be less surprised than he thinks, Emma and I telegraphed to
each other behind his back, but we kept our insights to ourselves.

“Justine
looks good,” Emma commented as we watched Joey expertly maneuver their SUV out
of a tight parking space and head out of the lot. “Maybe there’s something to
be said for this pregnancy thing.”

“What
do you mean by that?” I frowned at her, and Armando squeezed my arm in a tacit
warning. Emma responded evenly enough, but I didn’t miss the sudden softness in
her eyes.

“Just that they seem happy, really happy.”

“It
is good to see, is it not,
Cara
?”
Again, the cautionary pressure on my arm.

I
tore my eyes from Emma’s face and straightened out my features. “Yes, it is,” I
managed finally. “Let’s hope it lasts when they have a screaming baby keeping
them up nights.”

Emma
burst out laughing. “There’s my real mother. I knew she was in there somewhere.
Talk to you tomorrow probably.”
 

“What
was that death grip you put on my arm all about?” I hissed at Armando as I
waited for him to unlock the car.

He
smiled to himself in a sort of smug, superior way that I found particularly
irritating. “Did you not see it, the expression on Emma’s face?”

I
thought back for a moment as I climbed in and fastened my seat belt. “She did
look a little odd, now that you mention it, sort of soft-eyed and sappy like
somebody just showed her a puppy.” I thought some more.
“Or a
baby.”

“Ah.”

“What, ah?”
Trying to get a
straight answer out of Armando can be very much like trying to solve a riddle.
All you get are hints, no specific information. “Could you please just spit it
out?”

“You
said it yourself,
Cara
. She looked as
if she had just seen a baby. This one, of course, was in her mind’s eye.”

“Since
it hasn’t been born yet, it would pretty much have to be, but I think you’re on
the wrong track here. Emma worked in daycare for years while she was getting
her paralegal degree. She likes kids and all, but I can’t believe she would go
all
googly
-eyed at the prospect of becoming an
auntie.”

“I
do not believe she was thinking of her brother’s child.”

Really,
could the man be any more annoying? I gritted my teeth.
“Whose,
then?”

“Hers.
Emma was
picturing her own baby daughter or son. It was right there in her eyes.”

It
was my turn to grab his arm.
“Her imaginary baby, right?
I mean, she doesn’t even have a boyfriend at the moment. Do you know something
I don’t?”

We
pulled into the driveway of our unit. He pressed the remote garage door opener
and turned to face me. “The maternal longing is infectious among young women,
is it not? When one of them is with child, the others in the group wish it for
themselves. I have seen it often.”

“To
some extent, and in some cultures, that’s probably true, but I doubt very much
that Emma is going to get all jealous and broody about this. Even if she did,
it would be pretty tough to pull off without a man in the picture, don’t you
think?”

He
pulled the car smoothly into his side of the garage and turned off the
ignition. “These days it is very possible. Women have many options, and single
motherhood is one of them. We see it on television all the time. We have two
single mothers by choice that I know of at
TeleCom
.
Adoption is now possible for single women, and there are sperm banks.
Also something about turkey
basters
.”
He shrugged. “Anyway, she can certainly do it.”

I
gathered my things, got out of the car and shook my head to clear it. Becoming
a grandmother twice in the same evening was simply not acceptable.

“You’re
divining all of this from one fleeting expression in the parking lot? I think
you’re delusional. Emma has a great, but demanding, job. She drives an
eight-year-old car and lives in a third-floor walk-up, neither of which is
baby
friendly. She likes to go out with her friends and
drink and dance. She can take or leave any man she meets. She’s free as a bird.
A baby just doesn’t fit into her life at the moment.
Maybe
someday.”
 
I hiked up the eight
stairs to the kitchen door. As usual of late, I was a little out of breath at
the top. When I had to do it with a bag of groceries in each hand or a load of
firewood, I practically panted. How much longer can I keep doing this, I
wondered?

“I
know what I saw,
Cara
. It may pass.
Very likely, it will, but only for the moment. When her brother’s child
arrives, I think it may be very difficult for Emma. She is always, how do you
say it, the bridesmaid.”

“That’s
weddings, not babies,” I snapped. “Don’t forget to close the garage door.”

Three

Saturday
passed in the usual blur of domestic chores and errands that had accumulated
during the work week. Once a month I treated myself to four hours of hired
assistance from Rosalie, an energetic young woman who gave the kitchen and
bathrooms a thorough scrubbing and vacuumed every surface she could reach. It
was an enormous help to me, and as Rosalie joked, she was the only graduate
student at the
UConn
Law School who didn’t have to
pay for a gym membership.

Laundry,
groceries, cooking and daily maintenance fell to me, along with the care and
feeding of Jasmine and Gracie. Armando did his own laundry and occasionally
helped me grocery shop, but that was about it, due to his long workdays and odd
schedule, which required frequent travel.

As
I dusted and mopped and changed bed linen, my mind replayed the events of the
past week relentlessly. Turning fifty was already sticking in my craw. The
imminent arrival of a granddaughter was altering my youthful self-image still
further. I was nonplussed by Ginny Preston’s announcement of her retirement
plans. And in the wee hours of Saturday morning I had been awakened by yet
another hot flash, a real
doozie
.

Late
Saturday afternoon the habitually surly clerk at the supermarket deli counter
got on my last nerve. I had summoned the last bit of my limited supply of
patience to endure two patrons yakking on their cell phones while a third one
sampled three different varieties of salami before ordering one-quarter of a
pound of the first one she’d tried. When it was finally my turn, and the clerk
was compelled to make a trip to the back room for a fresh package of the plain
baked chicken Armando preferred in his lunches, his grumbling and eye-rolling
as he flounced off pushed my irritation level to the max. I managed not to
snarl at him only by imagining myself in his place. Lord knows, if I had to
wait on members of the general public all day, I’d be homicidal.