Leeway Cottage (39 page)

 

“Your halo is bright in heaven,” said Monica on the phone, when Eleanor described it.

“Well, Daddy needs the break,” said Eleanor.

“Don't I know it. I suppose Jimmy has been very very helpful?”

“Oh, please.” Jimmy was living near San Jose, very involved with a software gaming company that was just inches, he said,
inches,
from going public and making his fortune. He didn't think he could get east this summer at all.

Bobby, who was a venture-capital guy, had been shown the beta version of the company's flagship product. He said, “Trust Jimmy to find a way to make hay out of ten years on psychedelic drugs.”

“He called me the other day,” said Monica.

“Jimmy?”

“To explain that he doesn't call Mother more often because when he does, Shirley lectures him about not calling enough.”

“What'd you say?”

“Get over it.”

It was hard to make Eleanor even cross, let alone angry, but she did resent Jimmy's inattention, especially to their mother. It was pathetic, the worshipful way Sydney lit up when she heard from him. Or even
of
him. Still, it wasn't Sydney who worried them these days. It was their father's inexplicable (to them) insistence on doing so much—really, everything—with Sydney and for her. He was eighty-four himself and should have been relishing the time on earth that he had left, not living like a prisoner.

On a Thursday morning in August, Monica and Eleanor sent their mother off to the hair parlor with Marlon at the wheel, and cornered their father in the study where he was paying bills.

He beamed when they came in and, ever courtly, left the desk and sat down in a chair facing them.

“Well, it's so nice to see you.”

“You, too.”

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked happily. “Would you like to get out on the water? We could take a picnic.”

“That sounds lovely, but Dad, could we talk about something?”

Suddenly wary, he said, “All right,” and sat looking at them.

The two women looked at each other. You go. No, you.

Eleanor started. “We're worried about you and Mother. We're worried about how much you have to do for her…”

“I am doing exactly what I want to do,” he said, his voice and face both quiet and neutrally pleasant.

“We understand that.”

“And we love that you want to do it.”

“But we're worried about what could happen.”

“Like what?”

There was a little silence.

“Suppose somebody broke into the house. What would you do?”

“I'd do exactly what you'd do. Call the police.”

“A fire, then,” said Monica, knowing this wasn't what she meant at all.

“Dad, what if you fell. Or had a heart attack, or…you know. What if the two of you were alone and something happened to you?”

“Why don't you tell me what you're driving at?”

“We'd feel better if someone was in the house with you at night.”

“Or if you'd consider—”

“No.”

This stopped them. They were prepared for questions, they had plans in mind. They hadn't anticipated flat refusal.

“I do not care to discuss this any further. If you'll excuse me, I have things to do here.” And he got up and sat back down at his desk. He sat there perfectly still with his back to them until they left the room.

Neither sister spoke until they were out of the house.

“I guess we're not going on a picnic,” said Monica. They were both so upset that they went and told Bobby. He took them into the village where a new bistro had opened in the former blacksmith shop, and made them drink wine with lunch.

 

“Well, that's over,” said Jimmy on the phone. Eleanor and Monica were on separate phones at Eleanor's house.

“Oh, come on, Jimmy. This isn't safe. If something happened to him, Mother wouldn't know what to do—”

“Why is this our business?”

“Jimmy! Use your head.”

“Monica! Don't lecture me!”

“Could we stick to the point here?” This was Eleanor.

Silence.

“All right, Jimmy. You tell us. What should we do?”

“Nothing.”

“You know, Uncle Neville and Aunt Gladdy are totally happy in that what-d'you-call-it—”

“Death camp,” said Jimmy.

“—Rosemont place. Totally happy. They have their own apartment, their own furniture, there's tennis and bridge, they like the food, they have new friends, they have buses to take them to concerts and movies—”

“Eleanor.”

“What?”

“It sounds lovely. If you want to move there, you move there. But this is not your life.”

“I
know
that! I'm just—”Suddenly Eleanor was very near tears.

“Did you like it when you were engaged to Bobby and Big Syd thought it was her wedding?”

“I wasn't even engaged and she—”

“Did you like it?”

“No.”

“How is this different?”

“You know how it's different!”

“No I don't,” said Jimmy.

By this time Monica, who was on the cordless phone from the kitchen, had come up to Eleanor's bedroom and was sitting on the bed beside her, holding the receiver to her ear.

“The difference,” said Monica, “is that they're old. They're fragile—”

“Not that fragile. They're both in good health. Dad's of sound mind. He's perfectly able to choose what risks he wants to run.”

“Jimmy, you're saying that because you don't want to have to come here and help us deal with it.”

“Monica, someday you are going to be sorry you said that.”

“I'm sorry already,” she said, and began to cry.

“I can't take much more of this,” said Eleanor.

“Neither can I,” said Jimmy.

The three sat for about a minute, just breathing into their telephones. Finally Jimmy said, “I know what you're afraid of. But if Dad isn't afraid of it, then you'll just have to live with it. It isn't your life.”

“But it is. It affects us all.”

“I didn't say it doesn't affect us. But it's his choice.”

“What about Mother? She can't choose.”

“She has chosen. She wants what he wants.”

“You don't think Dad would mind if he fell down a flight of stairs and lay there all night? Or died?”

“You may be afraid of his death. But he isn't. I think he gets up in the morning and says, ‘This is the day the Lord has made,' and if it's his last, well then he's looking forward to seeing his movie.”

“I can't talk about this anymore,” said Monica.

“I'm sorry, but it's what I think,” said Jimmy.

“I can't either,” said Eleanor.

“Goodbye, then,” said Jimmy.

When they had hung up, Eleanor looked at Monica and said, “Jimmy's right. I'm afraid of his death. I'm afraid he'll die, and there won't be any movie.” She began to cry.

Bobby appeared in the doorway holding a pair of large, full martini glasses with salt around the rims.

“Ladies, I have made margaritas.”

“You're a saint,” said Monica. She took the glasses and held them while Eleanor wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“I thought you would like to know that your father just dropped your mother off for dinner. He's gone to play poker.”

“Great,” said Eleanor.

L
aurus was out on
The Rolling Stone
watching the
International racing, when he came so near hitting a buoy that his grandson was alarmed.

“Granddad? Did you see that?”

He had to wait a moment or two for his answer. They were under power, luckily, as the boy could not have handled the sails single-handed, any more than his grandfather could.

“Would you take the wheel for just a minute?” Laurus finally said.

“Granddad?”

“I'm all right.”

“But what is it?” The boy had the helm.

“I have a headache.”

“Should we go in?”

There was a pause, in which the boy felt panic rise so high in his throat he could taste it.

“I think maybe we should. Go in.”

The boy kicked up the speed and set a course for the committee boat, grateful that the racing fleet was behind him in something close to doldrums. He steered close and the captain of the race committee came on deck without his having to blow the foghorn, which made a terrifying noise. He put the
Stone
in neutral and dropped the engine noise.

“Everything all right?” called Rufus Maitland, noting that old Mr. Moss was sitting down and looking odd.

“We're going in. Would you call my mom and tell her?”

“Righto,” said Rufus, heading below to radio the club to relay the message by telephone.

By the time the boy brought the boat into the yacht club dock, a landing he and his grandfather had practiced at tedious length for which he was now extravagantly grateful, Eleanor was pulling into the club driveway. She met them on the dock.

“Oh, hello, honey,” her father said when he looked up and saw her.

“Hi.”

“Are you giving the tea?” Laurus asked.

“No, I just thought I'd see how you were getting along.” She could see the pain in his face but knew it would be fatal to start fussing.

“Well…I have a headache.”

“Where?”

He touched the side of his head. “And I think…something with that eye.” Eleanor and her son looked at each other.

“Why don't I run you in to see Dr. Coles?”

The fact that he didn't refuse instantly told her that something was really wrong.

“I hate to run out on my sidekick here…”

“I'll be fine, Granddad.”

Laurus let the dock boy give him a hand stepping down from the boat rail to the dock, another bad sign.

Three days later, at the Seacoast Medical Center in Union, Eleanor was on the phone to Dr. Coles in Dundee. Outside in the corridor, Bobby sat with her father, who had dressed himself in the clothes he'd been wearing when he was brought in, and announced to them when they appeared that he was glad to see them, because he was checking out and they could drive him home.

“I'd be happier if he'd go to Bangor for an MRI,” said Dr. Coles, “but I have to admit, I can't make him. There isn't any reason to keep him in the hospital if he wants to leave.”

“But he's had a stroke.”

“He's had a stroke. But the first twenty-four hours make all the difference and he came back pretty completely.”

“But Dr. Hayes said it could happen again, he wanted to watch him—”

“It
could
happen again. On the other hand, it might not happen for years, or ever. His vision is normal, I examined him last night and didn't see any residual impairment. And I'm told he had a disturbed night because he wanted to be at home. That's not good for him.”

“Is that your medical opinion?”

“Yes, Eleanor, it is.”

She thanked him and hung up. She felt that the doctors were in cahoots with her father against her. Even the nurse in charge of the floor had fallen for Laurus when she asked him if he knew who was president of the United States, and Laurus said stubbornly, “I may not know his name, but I know I didn't vote for him.”

Laurus did
not
like being in the hospital. And today he did know the president's name, and anything else they could ask him.

“You take care now, Mr. Moss,” said the nurse as Laurus walked to the elevator, with Bobby and Eleanor trailing behind, carrying his newspapers and books in a paper bag, and the geranium Gladdy had brought him, and his little duffel bag with his pajamas and slippers. “Enjoy your poker game…”

“You're not planning to play poker tonight,” said Eleanor in the elevator.

“Yes I am. It's Thursday.”

“Do you want to end up right back in the hospital?”

“I do not. I do not ever want to go to the hospital again.”

They emerged into the daylight. Bobby persuaded Laurus to stand at the door in the shade and let him bring the car, but just barely. They installed Laurus in the front seat and Eleanor behind with the belongings. As they drove down the main street of Union, the sidewalks busy with summer tourists in shorts and sandals (although by far the greater number of tourists would be up at the mall on High Street), Laurus said, “Look, they're doing
The Mikado
at the Opera House. I think your mother would like that. Don't you?”

Eleanor leaned forward so her head was nearly between her husband's and her father's.

“Dad, you tell me. You won't consider having someone live in the house with you.”

“I would if it were necessary. But it's not.”

“You won't even talk about moving somewhere where you could have help taking care of Mother, and yourself if you should ever need it…”

“No I will not, and I don't want you and your sister trying to go behind our backs. We've made our own bed, without help from you, and we intend to lie in it.”

Eleanor was quiet for about a half mile, trying to figure out what exactly that meant. And how did he know not to include Jimmy in this?

“All right, tell me this. You won't go for an MRI.”

“I do not want any more hospital.”

“Tell me why not. What happened at the hospital that was so bad?”

“I'm old. I've had a very interesting life, but I have no intention of living forever and I don't want strangers doing things to me I don't want.”

“All right. What if something happens to you so you aren't dead and you can't live as you do now? What am I supposed to do? Will you tell me? Do you want us to build you a platform in the woods like the Indians and drive off and leave you? That will look wonderful in the papers.”

 

“Five-card stud,” said Al.

“So what'd you say?” Hugh Chamblee asked Laurus.

“I told her I'd made arrangements with Al to take care of it.” The men laughed.

“But that won't help you if you're in Connecticut,” said Hugh. “You better find a plumber there who makes house calls.”

“Maybe I better not leave Dundee.”

They played the hand out, and the deal passed to Al.

 

Mutt Dodge and Hugh Chamblee were having lunch at Olive's.

“What do you make of Laurus?” Mutt asked. “I gotta admit, I see this from the daughters' point of view. My father's ninety-three and I can't do a thing with him. Lives alone and likes it, shovels his own walk, won't have a generator…”

“How'd he make out in the ice storm, then?” The region had had a bad one the past winter, with power out for days.

“Just fine. He lit a fire in the woodstove and got in bed with the dog. The two of them ate Ritz crackers for two days and then they got their power back.”

“Ours was out for six days.”

“I remember,” said Mutt.