Not That Kind of Girl (11 page)

“Mother. Why do you have a box of Velveeta in here?” Rachel pulled open the meat and cheese tray and popped up from her crouch in front of the refrigerator.

“Because that’s where it goes,” Gloria said, raising her hands to the heavens. “It says it right there on the clear plastic drawer—
meats and cheeses
!”

Rachel held the cardboard carton aloft and turned it to and fro, studying it. “This is not cheese, Mother. It’s not even food. It’s nothing but a log of Day-Glo chemical goo.”

Not this again,
Gloria thought. Her vegan daughter was a zealot. She came over here and preached and chided until Gloria agreed to remove from the premises whatever food item Rachel found most offensive. It was hard to believe the girl used to love nothing more than her mother’s homemade brisket or a good veal chop. She used to be the first to belly-up to the table, as a matter of fact.

“It is so cheese,” Gloria said, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly a little out of breath. “Read … the label. It’s says ‘cheese’ … right … on there.”

Rachel didn’t seem to care about the box of cheese anymore. She tossed it onto the counter. She was suddenly kneeling in front of Gloria, her face creased with worry.

“Are you feeling all right, Mama?” Rachel grabbed Gloria’s wrist and started checking her pulse against the second hand of her watch.

Gloria didn’t know what had gotten into Rachel. She was acting so strange. Why did she keep changing the subject to ask if she was feeling well? What had they been talking about, anyway?

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” Gloria said. “Why do you do this to me every week, Rachel? You sashay in here and tell me how to live and what to eat and then you look at me like I’m dying. I’m nearly eight-five years old! Of course I’m dying! And if I want to eat Velveeta in my last few days on earth then I’ll eat Velveeta! If I tell you I feel fine, then I feel fine!”

Her daughter ignored her. She’d already grabbed her car keys. “Hold on to my arm,
bubeleh
.”

Oh, why did she have to be like this? Out of Gloria’s four grown children, Rachel was the only one who didn’t trust her to live her own life. Why did she have to be so bossy?

You raise your children, praying to God at least one of them will grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer, and then what happens? Your daughter the lawyer thinks she can manage all your affairs, including your health and what you put in the meat and cheese tray of your refrigerator!

“Mother?”

Gloria reached out in front of her, wondering why someone had dimmed the lights. Her legs gave out from under her.

Chapter 7

Roxanne was nervous, which was the one exact thing she wasn’t supposed to be. Eli had made that very clear. He’d called a couple of hours before to go over the ground rules for his arrival and tell her that he’d e-mailed her the questionnaire he gave all clients. She’d since printed out a hard copy and started filling it out.

Apparently, the only information the man didn’t want was her cholesterol level!

What in God’s name would her childhood have to do with Lilith’s aggression? Why did he want to know about her hobbies? Whether there were seasonal changes in her energy level? Or how many people she’d dated since she brought Lilith to live with her? Why had he included a bunch of questions that were obviously right out of some psychology textbook? (
How do you see yourself? A. Equally worthwhile and deserving as others. B. Less worthwhile and deserving. C. More worthwhile and deserving.
) Did he think she was a sociopath or something?

She’d followed all his instructions, however. She’d taken a thoroughly muzzled Lilith for a long walk to relax her, which didn’t really work because they encountered other humans and dogs. Roxie even had to endure a few choice comments from the Sweeping Lady, including this tidbit: “The police came around the other day, asking about your pit bull. I told them she wasn’t normal.”

Swwsssh. Swwwssh.

Once they were home, Roxie removed Lilith’s muzzle and let her relax for about a half hour, as instructed. Then she fed the dog some cooked chicken and brown rice, just the way Eli told her to. Next Roxie sat quietly with her on the living room floor and stroked her fur and rubbed her ears, which was her all-time favorite thing.

“You both need to be comfortable and relaxed when I get there,” Eli had told her. “Roxanne, I can’t emphasize enough how important it is for you to come to the door without any anxiety. Please breathe deeply before you open the door. Greet me in a soft and friendly voice. Don’t shout or move quickly.”

“It sounds simple enough,” she’d said.

“Simple isn’t always easy.”

“So they say.”

“But here’s the single most important thing to remember—whatever happens, do not interfere. I can handle whatever Lilith might do. Do not reach for her or yell at her. In fact, do not look at her or talk to her at all. Remain still and calm and let me handle anything that comes up.”

“Of course.”

“I will not hurt Lilith. I might have to restrain her as a way to communicate with her, but nothing I do will hurt her. Please do not interfere. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Oh,
she thought,
so he thinks I’m the slow-learning type of sociopath.
“I understand,” she’d assured him.

“Even if she gets aggressive.”

“She won’t do that.”

“Be sure to keep her muzzle off.”

“What? Are you completely whacked? She’ll eat your face!”

Eli had paused for a moment, somehow keeping himself from pointing out her contradictory logic. “You cannot be afraid she’ll hurt me, Roxie. This is very important. You cannot come to the door worried that the worst will happen. If you do, she will pick up on your apprehension, and she’ll make your worst fears a reality.”

His deep-river voice made all the psychobabble sound like it made sense. Someday, Roxie would tell Eli that if the dog whisperer gig didn’t work out for him he could talk people off ledges for a living. Or negotiate for the release of hostages. Or be the host of
Cowboy Masterpiece Theater.

“But above all else,” Eli had said, “you’ve got to let go of your own anger for just a moment. Do whatever you need to do so that when I arrive at your house, you’re not thinking about your old boyfriend, or the vicious dog hearing, or anything anxiety-provoking.”

“No problem,” she’d said, once again wondering why the hell he’d turned her down for lunch six months before.
God, that had pissed her off.

But that entire exchange with Eli had been a couple of hours earlier, and she’d already let it all go, just as Eli had suggested. And now, as she sat cross-legged on the living room rug with her doggie all sweet and sleepy in her lap, she really believed she could do this.

She would be calm. She would be relaxed. She would radiate stability.

Roxie glanced at Lilith. She loved those little prickly hairs that formed her eyebrows. She loved the white stripe that ended at her little dark brown nose. She loved her white back paws and soft white belly. She loved the muffled noises she made in her dreams, where she ran free through open fields with her dog friends. Maybe someday that would be more than a dream for her. Maybe, with Eli’s help, Lilith would one day be a happy dog.

She suddenly sat up straighter, tears in her eyes. How could anyone have been so cruel to this little animal? How could some man have tied her up the way he had, and hit her with his fists, and just left her to starve the way he had? That asshole was the one who should have gone to jail, not Lilith! What was wrong with people, anyway?

Breathe. Breathe. Let it go.

She checked her watch. Eli would be there in a couple of minutes. “Okay, Lily Girl,” she whispered, still stroking her ears. “Let’s wake up, all right? You’re going to get to meet a new friend. You’ll like him, I promise.”

Roxie stood, taking a deep breath. Lilith got up, too, stretching and yawning as she looked up at her owner, excited about whatever wonderful thing they were going to do next. Lilith wagged her tail.

That’s when the phone rang. Roxie picked it up. Then there was a knock at the door. Lilith barked.

“Hello?”

“You fucking stupid bitch! Do you really think you can put anything past me? This is Raymond fucking Sandberg you’re fucking with! Don’t you get it?”

Roxie froze.

“You were a lousy lay, did I ever tell you that? I’d have gotten off better with a blow-up doll.”

She felt the rage begin as a tight ball in her chest, spreading to her head, her arms, her feet …

Lilith was at the door snarling like a guard dog at a prison break. She was already frothing.

Roxie exploded. “Go to hell, you prick! I
hate
you!” Then she threw the phone across the room.

There was another knock.

Lilith went insane. On reflex, Roxie reached for her collar. Her hand shook with rage. She tried her best to drag her dog away from the door.

Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to do that, was I?

Roxanne screamed over the barking. “Lilith, no!”

Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to do that, either.

Roxanne tried to salvage the moment. She took another breath, then opened the door just a crack.
Fuck Raymond! Just fuck him,
she thought, as she slipped off the door chain.

“Hello,” Eli said.

“Hi,” Roxanne said, wiping the hair from her face, hoping she sounded stable, hoping to God that in a few seconds there wouldn’t be another massacre. Her mind flashed with the image of Raymond lying on his back clutching his throat, spewing obscenities and blood in equal measure.

Roxie let go of Lilith’s collar. Oh, God, she hoped Eli hadn’t noticed how she was shaking, or how unraveled she was, or the mistake she’d made by holding on to Lilith’s collar in the first place. Or shouting at her. “Come on in,” she yelled over the barking.

Eli stepped inside.

Roxanne had a very bad feeling about this.

*   *   *

Bea rapped her knuckles lightly on the door to Room E-451 of the Neurology floor. She waited a moment, then heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Come on in.”

Bea pushed at the door, peeking around cautiously. She didn’t know what she expected to see when she entered that hospital room. But it wasn’t this.

A tall, lovely woman stood up from her seat next to Gloria’s hospital bed. The woman’s eyes were a strange brownish-green color, but instead of looking muddy or bland, they were luminous. She had a nice, wide smile. Her hair was streaked blond and gray and it looked soft as it settled down in choppy layers at her jawline. She was dressed comfortably, but there was a sense of fun to what she wore. It was probably the funky earrings and the silk scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Thank God you’re here,” Gloria said from under the blankets. “Would you please take Rachel down to the cafeteria for coffee? I need my rest.”

Then it hit Bea—Rachel was Gloria’s daughter, the lawyer. Gloria had spoken of her often. A lot more often than her other three kids, now that Bea thought about it.

“Rachel, this is Beatrice Latimer, my apprentice. Bea, this is my eldest, Rachel Needleman, attorney-at-law.”

Whatever was in that IV drip at Gloria’s bedside had to be making her delusional. An apprentice? An apprentice to
what
? The only thing Bea knew about being an apprentice was what she’d seen on Donald Trump’s reality show, and that shit wasn’t for her.

But Bea managed to put a smile on her face as she stepped forward, holding out her hand to Rachel. The hand that found hers was soft but firm, and it was infused with a deep and warm strength that nearly knocked the wind out of Bea. She tasted a mix of vanilla, lemon, and cinnamon-sugar on her tongue.

What the fuck was that?

Bea tried to speak. Nothing came out. She cleared her throat. “Uh, hey. Hi,” was what she came up with. Bea was mortified. The only other time she’d been at a loss for words was when she’d interviewed Michael Phelps in Beijing’s Olympic Village. And she’d always considered that the peak experience of her life.

Until right this second.

“Oh, sure! Hello, Bea. Mother told me you might stop by. That’s very kind of you.”

Bea nodded, swallowing hard.

“Excuse me, but did you think I was joking?” Gloria asked, staring at Bea. “I need my rest. Take her out of here before she makes me so crazy that they transfer me to the psych ward.”

Bea snorted. “I’m glad to see you’re in good spirits, Gloria,” she said, arriving at the side of the bed across from Rachel. Bea stole a quick glance and saw Gloria’s daughter smiling at her.

Wow.

Gloria reached out and patted Bea’s hand. “I am glad you came, Beatrice.”

“Well, of course I came! I came as soon as I got your message.” Bea looked at Rachel again. “What exactly happened? Have the doctors found anything yet?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, her voice straining to be strong. “It seems Mother had a ministroke, a ‘TIA,’ they called it.”

Bea thought the floor had been pulled out from under her. She blinked. The image of Rachel’s face became blurry in Bea’s tears. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Well, she should be all right,” Rachel said, trying to maintain a pleasant smile. “They’re a little concerned because of her age and the weakness she experienced in her legs, so they’re going to do some more tests.”

Bea nodded, trying to take it all in without morphing into a snot-soaked mess. She felt weakness spread in her own legs. This could not happen to Gloria. In the short time Bea had known her, she’d become incredibly important to her. She was a dear woman. Bea sometimes saw her as the mother she’d always wished she’d had.

“How long will she be here?” Bea asked Rachel.

“We’re not sure.”

“What is the next step?”

“Hello?”
Gloria called from the bed below. “Would you mind going down to the cafeteria before you start discussing my burial arrangements? I would like to take a nap.”