Tending Roses (33 page)

I stood frozen to the spot, unable to say anything.

Dad helped Grandma up, his hands clasped firmly on her shoulders, guiding her toward the door. “Mother, you need to calm down. Let’s go in the kitchen and get something to drink. It will make you feel better.”

“I have to have my pearls!” She flailed her hands in the air, screeching so loudly that Josh started to cry.

Picking him up, I followed them to the kitchen, my heart hammering and my stomach rising into my throat as Dad forced her into a chair and grabbed a wet towel, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. “Mother, listen to me. You’re confused. There is no church today. It’s Thursday. Dad’s been gone for thirty years. He’s not waiting in the driveway.”

She stopped struggling and looked at him blankly, her eyes searching his face, then slowly filling with tears. When he released her arms, she covered her face with quivering hands and wept, her body trembling as if it would shatter.

Fifteen minutes later, she stopped crying, wiped her eyes on the towel, then tried unsteadily to rise again to look for her pearls for church. Like a record with a scratch, we repeated the same litany, and she wept a second time.

Not having seen her like that before, I watched with a growing sense of panic. It must have shown in my face, because Dad laid a hand on my shoulder and looked me sternly in the eye.

“Calm down, Kate. You look like you’re about to faint.” His voice was steady and controlled. “Get her things together. We need to take her to the hospital.”

“Can you stay?” I choked, knowing that his plan was to fly out that morning.

“Of course.” He seemed surprised that I would even ask. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Embarrassed, I waved him off, not wanting him to think I was out of control too. “I’m fine. That pecan pie I ate for breakfast didn’t agree with me. I’ll get her things. We can drop Joshua with Ben on the way.”

Dad nodded. “Be calm about it, Kate. We don’t want Grandma to panic. She’s probably had a slight stroke.”

Swallowing my churning stomach, I walked past Grandma. Tears pressed at my eyes, and I bit my lip, frustrated with my emotions.
She’s probably had a slight stroke.
I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew that my father, who had worked in the medical profession all his life, could spot the signs.

The doctors confirmed it at the hospital later that day. They also discovered that her electrolytes were badly out of balance, causing some of the dementia. After an IV treatment, she stopped muttering about the past. By nightfall, she was beginning to come to reality.

She quickly made sure that my father would spend the night with her, and then she started in on me. “Katie,” she whispered, capturing my hand beneath hers and urging me closer to her hospital bed. “What is wrong with you? You look terrible.”

Laughter tickled my throat and burst from my lips. The comment was vintage Grandma. “Too much pecan pie,” I told her. “But you gave us a scare. Do you feel all right now?”

She nodded weakly, her eyes falling closed. “You should have somebody check you over. They have good doctors here.”

Dad and I looked at each other and smiled, both relieved that within that pale, fragile-looking shell, Grandma Vongortler was still scheming.

At home that night, I stood in the kitchen looking at the darkened windows of the little house. A part of my mind told me Grandma was out there sleeping, even though I knew she was in the hospital. Somehow I could not frame the idea—as if the farm could not possibly exist without her. I wondered how I was going to prepare myself for the day when her absence became permanent.

Ben came into the kitchen and caught me watching her house. Wrapping his arms around me, he held me close. Neither of us spoke, but I knew our thoughts were the same.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered. “Let’s take it one day at a time.”

Then we closed the shade and went to bed, with the house seeming quiet and the farm too empty. Even the winter wind was silent, as if it, too, did not know how to exist without Grandma.

Dell appeared at our back door the next morning as Ben was eating breakfast and I was nibbling on saltine crackers, nursing my case of the flu. Still only 6 A.M., it was bitterly cold and almost pitch-dark outside.

Dell slipped through the door on a gust of frigid air and stood on the rug shivering, with her coat still bundled around her face.

“Dell, what’s wrong?” I stood up and unwrapped her, then pushed her toward the warm oven. “Stand here by the stove. You’re about frozen to death. Why in the world did you walk here in the dark?”

I realized instantly that I had been too harsh with her. She looked at me with tears sparkling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was afraid about Grandma Rose. I wanna go to the hospital with you.”

My heart twisted at the sight of those dark, pleading eyes. “Dell,” I said soothingly, knowing there was no way I could take her out of school and to the hospital an hour and a half away, “you don’t need to be afraid. Grandma’s fine. But you know you have to go to school.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I felt like an ogre. “I’ll tell you what. Maybe you can stop by Ben’s office at the church on your lunch break and call her on the phone.”

The tears ebbed, and she sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Can I make a picture for her before I go catch the bus?”

“Sure,” I said. “Have some of those eggs, too, if you’re hungry.”

She did both, then was off to catch the bus at the end of our driveway. Sticking her carefully folded note in my pocket, I got my things together and headed for the hospital, leaving Ben to take care of Josh.

When I reached her hospital room, Grandma was sitting up in bed nibbling at food on a breakfast tray.

“It is a sin to call this food,” she complained. No
Good morning, Kate.
No
I’m so glad to see you.
Just: “Lying is a sin.”

Taking off my coat, I stepped a little closer. “Oh, Grandma, it can’t be that bad,” I said, although the sight of it made me ill. “The sooner you start eating, the sooner they’ll let you out of here.”

She jutted her chin out and gave me and the hospital food her wooden-Indian stare. “You shouldn’t have brought me here anyway. I was just fine.”

“No, Grandma, you weren’t.” I sat in a chair by the door and grabbed the TV remote, realizing that this was going to be a long day. “But I can see you’re back to normal now.”

My attempt at humor went unappreciated. “And it’s a good thing I am,” she retorted. “Your father’s just gone off and left me before I even awoke this morning. I have no idea where he is.”

“He’s probably getting some breakfast,” I said.

“I hope nothing’s happened to him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Will you look at that foolishness on television? That is why there are so many crazy people in the world. They watch too much television.”

“I can turn it off.”

“There’s nothing else to do. It’s too quiet in here.”

“I can make it louder.”

“Then we’ll disturb the old lady next door. She was up all night screaming that she was dying. Come to find out, she’s only having gall bladder surgery.”

“Well, she’s probably in pain.”

“She ought not to be screaming and keeping everyone awake.”

And so the conversation went for an hour or so, Grandma making it clear that she would not be content until we sprung her from prison. Even Dell’s note only cheered her up momentarily. By the time a nurse came in to draw her blood, I had a splitting headache and was feeling woozy from lack of breakfast. Standing up, I took some money from my purse to go to the snack machine.

“Katie, will you look at this?” Grandma motioned to me from behind the nurse. “I haven’t a vein left that isn’t bled dry. They’ve . . .”

I didn’t hear the rest. Images of needles and blood came into my head, blackness swirled before my eyes, and stars danced just for me. I dimly felt the coins falling from my hand, and I heard them ring against the floor. The last thing I remember was falling also.

When I awoke, Dr. Schmidt, a nurse, and my father were crouched over me. Grandma, in the bed, was straining to see over their shoulders.

“Ooooohhhh,” I groaned, feeling leaden and weak. “What happened?”

Dr. Schmidt smiled, dabbing a wet towel on my forehead. “You fainted. How do you feel now?”

Like I’m in the middle of a bad dream,
I thought, supremely embarrassed to be laid out on the floor. “All right. Can I sit up now?”

They helped me into a slightly more dignified position. Dr. Schmidt pressed a digital thermometer against my ear.“You’re not running a fever. Let’s go down to the lab and take a blood sample. Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to think of any way to avoid having a needle stuck into my arm. “Do we have to take a blood sample? I just missed breakfast this morning, that’s all.”

Dr. Schmidt gave me that wise, fatherly look with which there was no arguing. “I just want to make sure this isn’t something your grandmother could catch.”

“All right, I’ll go,” I conceded, then climbed to my feet and teetered into the hall between Dr. Schmidt and the nurse. As we left, I could hear Grandma theorizing on what might be wrong with me.

Dr. Schmidt was not nearly so arbitrary. In the lab, he gave me a Twinkie to eat, then drew a blood sample.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back with a diagnosis. “It definitely isn’t something your grandmother can catch.” He smiled, sitting in the chair across from me and fiddling with his pen while I held my breath, wondering what he would say. “Kate, you’re pregnant.”

I stared at him in complete disbelief, unable to comprehend what he was saying. “What?”

He looked at me squarely and said it again. “You’re pregnant.”

Blackness descended on me, and I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the wall.

“I take it this wasn’t news you expected,” Dr. Schmidt said. I felt the warmth of his hand over mine.

“No,” I choked, not laughing, not crying, just numb.

“There’s nothing to worry about physically.” His voice seemed to be coming through a long tunnel. “You’re slightly anemic, and I’m going to give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and iron. I’d like to see you in my office later this week so we can run all the normal tests.”

“O.K.,” I muttered, clutching the paper as he slipped it into my hand. “Thanks, Dr. Schmidt.” But at the moment, I was anything but grateful.

He patted my shoulder as he stood up. “Sit here until you feel better. I’ll tell your dad and your grandmother that you’re fine, but you need some fresh air and lunch. You can decide what you want to tell them after that.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, and then I was alone with the faint humming of machines and the soft buzz of hospital lights. And the terrifying reality that I had a five-month-old baby at home and another one on the way. It felt like the most horrible revelation of my life.

Two days before, things had seemed perfect. Grandma was well, the family had mended, Ben and I were ahead of the bills . . .

Now all of it was coming down like a house of cards. Grandma was in the hospital, the family was gone, there would be thousands of dollars of insurance deductibles and baby expenses to pay. . . .

I sat there with my head in my hands, unable to comprehend it all. How was I going to tell Ben? What was my boss going to say when I told him I was pregnant again? How would I be able to work with a toddler and a newborn? How would we survive financially if I didn’t work?

What was Ben going to say? What would he think? Fighting over the responsibility for one child was almost our undoing. How would we raise another so soon? Was it fair to Joshua, when he still needed so much of our time?

I don’t know how long I sat with those questions spinning through my mind. When I stood up, I felt as if I were watching myself in a movie—as if the person walking back to my grandmother’s room was not me.

Entering the room, I had the sudden fear that Grandma would see through me and know what was going on. I wasn’t ready to talk about it with anybody. Not yet.

Dad gave me a casual glance as I came in, and Grandma studied me with only a modicum of suspicion. Obviously, Dr. Schmidt had done a superior snow job on them.

“Are you feeling better?” Grandma asked.

I nodded, pretending to search for something in my purse because I couldn’t look her in the eye. I felt as if the truth would be obvious, even though I hadn’t known it myself until an hour ago. “Yes, but I have a splitting headache from landing on the floor. Would you mind too much if I went on home?” I felt guilty for asking, but I desperately needed to be alone.

My father didn’t give Grandma a chance to answer. Standing up, he handed me my coat. “It doesn’t make much sense for both of us to stay here, and there’s no point in my driving back to Hindsville when I have to catch a flight tomorrow. I’ll stay here again tonight and see you in the morning before I leave. You can bring my suitcase with the rest of my things.”

Grandma, who so seldom got my father’s undivided attention, was quick to chime in, “Yes, Katie, you go on home. There is no sense all of us sitting around this horrid place. If you see Dr. Schmidt on the way out, tell him I am fine and it is time he let me out of here.”

“You listen to what Dr. Schmidt says,” I scolded, then kissed her on the cheek and departed as quickly as I could. I wanted to leave the antiseptic smell, and Grandma’s problems, and Dr. Schmidt’s revelation behind.

Unfortunately, they were passengers in my car as I drove home. Rolling down the window, I let the cold afternoon air flow over me.

The antiseptic smell finally subsided, and my stomach started to rumble. Halfway to Hindsville, I stopped at a mountaintop cafe—the kind of place where tourists come in the summer to take pictures of themselves high atop the mountains, to buy handmade Ozark baskets, wooden popguns, grapevine furniture, and other souvenirs. At two in the afternoon on a cold February day, it was deserted except for the waitress and someone rattling pots in the kitchen.