The Good Life (34 page)

“That was the one trip we took as a married couple,” said Eileen. “Your grandfather rarely took time off from the farm.”

“I’m a working man,” exclaimed Sam, arching his eyebrows. “We don’t need much time off.”

“Well, that was a wonderful vacation in Florida,” said Eileen, setting her utensils down on her plate. “I’m so glad you made time to do it.”

“I don’t know why you say that,” said Sam. “We had absolutely no money and had no business taking a vacation in the first place.”

“The money didn’t matter,” said Eileen.

Lauren finished chewing a bite of pizza. “Why didn’t you have any money?”

Eileen served Sam some salad. “Things were different back then,” said Eileen to her granddaughter. “None of our friends had money. No one we knew had money. We were all just young couples starting out. We didn’t really need anything, except each other.”

“Ha!” said Sam, animated, his eyes alive with light. “You say that now! You weren’t so accommodating in Daytona Beach when we didn’t have two nickels to rub together that morning for breakfast.”

“What’d you do, Gramps?” asked Nate, reaching for another slice of pizza.

Sam sat farther back into the couch. “It’s rather embarrassing,” he said, scratching his head.

“Oh Sam,” said Eileen. “No one cares. It was years ago.” Sam smiled at his wife and then told the story. He had awoken early that day in their tiny motel room by the highway. His bride, as he called her, was still asleep. Sam quietly dressed and stole out the door, closing it behind him. Where he was headed, he didn’t know. What he did know was this: It was his job to provide his wife with some breakfast and he had no money. Of course, he had the fifty dollars he had calculated it would take to get them back to Pennsylvania, but he vowed not to touch it until they left later that day. Across the street from the motel was an orange grove. Sam crossed the highway, barely avoiding getting struck by a speeding truck going too fast for his peripheral vision, and climbed over the fence into the grove. In the trees, hanging just out of his reach, were the most luscious oranges he’d ever seen. Sam climbed a tree and was about to pick his first piece of fruit when he heard a man’s voice telling him to stay put, unless he wanted to meet his Maker sooner than he’d planned.

“What did you do?” asked Lauren, wide-eyed.

“I froze,” said Sam. “Not only was I caught red-handed, I also had the distinct feeling the fellow below me was not in a joking frame of mind.”

“Then what?” asked Nate, fascinated with both the story and his grandfather’s clear recollection of events that happened close to fifty years ago.

“I told him my story,” said Sam. “I apologized first, then told him I’d run out of money and needed some breakfast for my wife, who was pregnant. Well, darned if that didn’t soften his heart.”

“He gave you an orange?” asked Lauren.

“He gave me a crate of oranges,” said Sam. “And, to this day, they are absolutely the best oranges I’ve ever eaten.”

“Sweet and juicy,” said Eileen. “We ate those oranges all the way home.”

“Of course, when things are hard to come by, they always taste good,” said Sam. “Ask your parents. They know what it’s like. Every marriage takes a while to get on the right track. Everyone struggles.”

Nate smiled. “Tell us, Mom and Dad, about the deprivation days.”

Ann blushed. “We have been blessed,” she said quietly.

“By who?” asked Nate. “The money god?”

“That’s enough,” said Mike, putting another piece of pizza on his plate.

“Everyone’s had hardships,” said Ann. “Just because your father and I have always had enough money doesn’t mean we didn’t struggle in other ways.”

“With what?” asked Nate, with a laugh. “What to wear to the charity ball?”

“I said that’s enough,” said Mike, looking sternly at his son. “Looking back on being poor can be romantic, but living a life of true poverty is far from that.”

“I didn’t mean to stir up the pot,” said Eileen, clearing paper plates from the table. “We were just reminiscing.”

“I know you were, Eileen,” said Mike. “Everything’s fine.”

“Of course it is,” said Sam, hands on his chest. “Take the people we’re staying with now. They’ve got enough money to buy a small country. That doesn’t mean, however, they know their ass from their elbow. Most rich people don’t have a clue about real life.” Nate laughed out loud. “What’s so funny?” demanded Sam.

Nate smiled and looked at his grandfather. “Your accuracy,” said Nate. “You’re a very wise man.”

“Thank you,” said Sam.

Nate glanced at his father, who raised his eyebrows in return.

“Well,” said Ann, slowly getting up. “I’m ready to head back.”

“Me too,” said Mike, taking another bite of pizza and leaving the other half of the slice on his plate.

“But you haven’t eaten anything,” said Eileen, looking at her daughter.

“I’m more tired than hungry,” said Ann.

“But I’ve made a special dessert.”

“Gran,” said Lauren, “you weren’t supposed to make anything. That was part of the deal.”

Eileen smiled at Lauren. “Old habits die hard,” she said. “Plus, it’s just a pie.”

“Pie?” said Nate. “Did someone say pie?”

“She did,” said Sam, pointing at his wife. “I’ll have a big slice, ma’am.”

“Make that two,” said Nate.

“Mike?” Eileen asked.

Mike looked at Ann, who was putting on her coat. “I’ll take a rain check, Eileen,” he said, standing. “Thanks for having me tonight. The pizza and Monopoly were fun.”

“It was Lauren’s idea,” said Eileen. “I think she liked spending some time with you.”

Mike kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek, and then bent down and kissed Lauren’s forehead. He and Ann then walked out of the room and out the door, Mike calling his good-bye on the way.

“Where’s my pie?” shouted Sam from the living room.

“It’s coming,” said Eileen, heading into the kitchen. “But I will serve patient people first.”

“I can be patient,” said Sam, folding his hands in his lap like a child in Sunday school.

Lauren got up to help her grandmother. Eileen cut small wedges from her Mile-High Lemon Meringue Pie and Lauren took them into the living room. Sam brought his plate directly to his mouth and was about to take a bite, when Nate stopped him and told him they needed to wait for his bride. When Sam gave him a quizzical look, Nate simply repeated his command. Slowly, Sam set his plate on the table, still appearing mystified. Nate patted his grandfather’s hand and assured him they would eat soon. Moments later, Lauren and Eileen, holding plates with smaller pieces of pie, joined them. Eileen took the first bite, closing her eyes to concentrate on the texture. It was perfect. Opening her eyes, she saw Nate helping Sam with his fork and Lauren looking at her. “You are an amazing woman,” said Lauren, smiling.

“Why do you say that?” asked Eileen, taken aback.

“You’re an unbelievable cook,” said Lauren. “You’re an unbelievable wife. And you’re an unbelievable person.”

Eileen, fiddling with the paper napkin on her lap, said, “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” said Lauren, lifting her fork.

Eileen swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump that had just formed in her throat. She didn’t know how to say what she knew she must. She had been unable to say it all evening. “I have some news,” she said, looking at Sam.

“What’s that?” asked Nate, forking another bite of pie into his mouth.

“Meadowbrook has an apartment for us,” said Eileen, looking down at her plate.

Nate stopped chewing.

“What?” asked Lauren.

“Meadowbrook, the assisted-living facility in Pennsylvania,” said Eileen, who then coughed in an attempt to clear her throat. “They called this morning. They have space for us now.”

Lauren put her untouched pie on the side table next to her seat. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

“It means,” said Eileen, looking at Sam again because she was unable to meet Lauren’s gaze, “that your grandfather and I can go home.”

C
HAPTER
21

T
he next week was a busy one. Eileen made several phone calls to Meadowbrook: for occupancy confirmation, apartment size, meal plan options, and medical service information. She sent checks to secure everything she talked about on the phone. She called Charlene Dennis, the real estate agent, telling her she and Sam would return shortly for the few pieces of furniture they had tagged before they left, and then Charlene could sell the house, as is, to the people currently renting it. With Selma’s help, she washed and ironed all their clothing and neatly packed it into the suitcases and duffel bags that had lain dormant, holding nothing but dust in the back of the master bedroom closet for more than four months. Ann squeezed two early morning appointments out of her dentist’s receptionist so Eileen and Sam could have their teeth checked and cleaned before they hit the road, and a coveted afternoon slot out of her stylist. Eileen refused to have her hair colored, which Ann gently suggested would take ten years off her appearance, but she did indulge herself with a blow-dry. She sat in the padded chair with her eyes closed, allowing the warm air swirling around her head to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. Her list of things to do stretched from the top line of her legal pad to the bottom, and Sam, of course, could not help in any significant way.

During this time of planning and packing, Eileen had no time for puttering in the kitchen. She didn’t bake a single cookie; she didn’t prepare a single meal. It was Lauren who, wrapped in her grandmother’s apron, rolled out the dough and baked a blueberry pie. It was Lauren who made three dozen chocolate chip cookies and froze them so they would be fresh for the trip east. And it was Lauren who made a lasagna—her father’s
and
her grandfather’s favorite—for dinner the night before Eileen and Sam were scheduled to get into their car and drive out the Baronses’ long white pea-stone driveway for the last time.

The afternoon before their departure, Lauren, wearing the scarf her grandmother had given her for Christmas, knocked on the guesthouse door. Eileen, smiling but looking like a person who had too much to do in too little time, let her in. “You don’t need to knock, my dear,” she said, gathering her granddaughter in her arms. “After all, this is your house.”

“It’s
your
house,” said Lauren, correcting Eileen. “It always will be.”

“Come in,” said Eileen, taking Lauren’s hand and leading her into the kitchen. “We haven’t had a moment together all week. I’ve been so darned busy.”

“Do you have time?” asked Lauren, misty-eyed.

“Of course I do,” said Eileen, opening the cupboard next to the stove and taking down the teapot. “Sit. Let’s have some tea.”

“I’ve got some cookies up at the house,” said Lauren. “I’ll run and get them.”

“Never mind,” said Eileen. “Selma brought some homemade pastries from her sister. You’ll just die when you try them.” Eileen took several pieces out of the large red tin that was usually filled with her cookies and arranged them on a plate. She set the plate down in front of Lauren. “How does that look for an after-school snack?” she asked.

Lauren, whose efforts at willing her eyes to stop generating water were failing miserably, said nothing. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter behind her and dabbed her right eye. When her bottom lip became to quiver, however, Lauren knew she’d lost the battle for stoicism. She looked up at her grandmother, who had just put the kettle on to boil, and let her tears flow freely. “Don’t go,” she said quietly.

Determined to stay dry-eyed for Lauren, Eileen sat down at the table and took her granddaughter’s hands in her own. “We have to go, darling,” she said gently. “We were meant to go from the beginning and the time has come.”

“Tell them no,” sobbed Lauren. “Tell them you want to stay here, with us.”

Eileen laughed. “Your mother might have other ideas.”

“I don’t care what my mother, or my father, thinks,” said Lauren. “I want you to stay here with me.”

Eileen put her hands on Lauren’s face and kissed her nose. “We will come back,” she said, only half-believing it. “For Christmas or Easter, there will be a holiday that brings us back for a visit.”

“It won’t be the same,” said Lauren, shaking her head. “If you leave now, we’ll lose everything we’ve built together.”

Suddenly losing her resolve to remain cheerful and upbeat at all times, Eileen frowned. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Listen to me, Lauren,” she said. “We will never, ever lose what we’ve built. You and I have a relationship that can withstand time and distance. We will always be friends.”

Lauren hugged her grandmother, pressing hard against her small but strong frame. “I love you,” she said.

“And I love you,” said Eileen.

Lauren pulled back. “That’s the first time we’ve said that.”

“Ah,” said Eileen, smiling. “But it’s not the first time I’ve felt it.”

“Me neither,” said Lauren.

The teakettle whistled and Eileen got up. She poured the hot water into the pot and set it down in the middle of the table.

“Where’s Gramps?” asked Lauren, just noticing his absence.

“Nate took him for a ride.”

 

There was little he enjoyed more, Sam said as Nate buckled him into the passenger seat of his BMW, than a car ride. While summertime was best, when he could roll down the windows and let the rush of wind fill his ears, wintertime had its benefits as well. The heater kept the car comfortable enough for occupants to go coatless, Sam explained as they drove out the driveway. That in itself was a luxury. The only problem with winter drives was the reflection of the sun on the snow. It was damn-near blinding. Nate took his sunglasses off his face and handed them to his grandfather. “What’s this?” asked Sam, putting them on.

“My sunglasses,” said Nate. “They will help with the glare.”

“I’ll say,” said Sam. “These are nifty. Are they Foster Grants?”

“Oakleys,” said Nate, taking a spare pair out of the pocket on the side of his seat.

“Marvelous,” said Sam, looking out the side window. “With these on, I could drive forever.”

“Where do you want to go?” asked Nate, turning the car onto a side street narrowed by six-foot snowbanks on both sides.

“Anywhere,” said Sam.

Nate drove through the farmland north of town. Sam talked for a half hour about his upcoming transfer to company headquarters. In his mind, Meadowbrook was a corporation, not an extended care facility, even though Eileen had done her best to give Sam a comprehendible, friendly description of their new home. She described Meadowbrook as a network of people their age, supported by community helpers who would ease their burdens as they sailed into old age. From that, Sam deduced he had been promoted by the company and was finally given the responsibility and respect he deserved. Eileen did not correct him. In fact, no one corrected him much anymore because it didn’t matter. If he thought it was Tuesday instead of Thursday; if he thought he was twenty-seven instead of seventy-two—it didn’t matter. The only things Eileen concerned herself with were his safety, which was Number One in her book, and his happiness. “Look,” said Sam, pointing at the side window. “The children are playing in the field.”

“Wave to them,” said Nate.

Dutifully, Sam raised his hand in acknowledgment. “I hope they’re not cold,” he said.

“You know kids, Gramps,” said Nate, turning to look at the vacant snow-covered field. “They never get cold.” Nate drove around what he called the Northern Expanse for another twenty minutes, until Sam fell asleep. Nate liked watching his grandfather sleep. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed and his tired brain resting.

 

Ann poured herself a glass of wine and took it to the living room, where she sat on the couch and flipped through Noble and Robertson’s proposal for her sunroom. She was impressed, as usual, with their thoroughness and excited about the prospect of building such a grand and unique addition to her home. Half of the room would be glass. It would be a bear to heat in the winter and that would be the first thing Mike would point out. But Peter and Tim suggested solar panels for the roof of the main house, which would certainly help. Plus, with that much glass, the room would act like a large greenhouse, attracting and then holding the sun’s warmth. She had to decide about the flooring. While she had originally wanted South American tiling, Peter and Tim suggested she go for something warmer, either a hard wood with a large area rug, or some kind of special covering that would allow the sub-floor to breathe, yet not have the look or feel of indoor-outdoor carpeting. Ann was leaning toward the wood, even though it was more expensive. Then again, in a $200,000 sunroom, what did it really matter?

“I thought I might find you in here,” said Eileen, walking into the living room. “Do you want company?”

“Sure,” said Ann, moving the paperwork from her lap to the coffee table.

Eileen sat down and Ann shifted her body so she could look at her mother. “So,” she said, “are you just about ready?”

“I think so,” said Eileen. “I can’t fit any more in our bags. And I seem to have accumulated some more things in the last few days. Thank you, Ann, for the beautiful cashmere sweaters for your dad and me.”

“Well, you’ve been a trouper to do it all yourself,” said Ann. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?”

“You’ll have a lot to contend with when I’m gone,” said Eileen. “And Selma, bless her heart, helped me wash and iron everything, so we’ll be all set when we arrive at Meadowbrook.”

“You’re still planning on stopping for the night, though,” said Ann, sipping her wine.

“Oh yes,” said Eileen. “I’ve got a small bag packed for the hotel.”

“You are so organized,” Ann said. “You always have been.”

“As are you. You keep your house immaculate—Nate’s room aside.”

They both laughed. And then Ann held her wineglass out in front of her. “Would you like some?”

Eileen hesitated. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“I’ll be right back,” said Ann, getting up from the sofa and setting her glass down on her Great Horned Owl coaster. While Ann was at the bar, her back to the room, Eileen glanced at the sunroom proposal and spotted the bottom line. She smiled and shook her head.

“What’s funny?” asked Ann, returning with the glass of wine.

“Nothing,” said Eileen. “It’s been a long day.”

Ann took another sip from her glass. It was almost empty, but she resisted the urge to refill it at the bar. While she was a long way from giving up alcohol altogether, she was trying in earnest to drink less. And she had been mostly successful in the five days she had been living according to her new, self-imposed regimen of just two glasses a day. She’d slipped and poured a third the other night when Mike shared some stock option news, but had been on track since. It was harder than she thought it would be, even as she gradually accepted the idea that she might have a problem with alcohol. God knows she didn’t need the calories, but she still craved the buzz, the off switch.

Eileen took a sip of wine. “I can’t thank you enough,” she began.

Ann held up her hand. “Please, Mom,” she said. “Let’s not do this. It’s been fine having you here. I’m glad we had the room to do it.”

“But it hasn’t been easy,” said Eileen, setting down her glass. “Our living here has been a huge disruption to your life.”

“It’s okay,” said Ann, leaning over to give her mother a brief hug and breathing in the faint vanilla scent of her childhood. Alongside the salt, pepper, and vinegar, the bottle of vanilla had always been in the counter in their farmhouse kitchen. Her mother baked every day: for Ann, for the Grange, for the church, for shut-ins, and for emergencies. Ann could remember one particular summer day that a car she did not know approached the house, its tires kicking up dust from their desiccated dirt driveway. It was hot that summer, with little rain, and her mother hadn’t turned on the oven in several days, instead serving cool meals and lemonade to the overheated farmhands. Yet, she was able to send the occupants of that car—a family from the city out for a country drive who had missed the turn leading back to the interstate—on their way with a tin of oatmeal raisin cookies, her own recipe, with an extra splash of vanilla. Life on the farm seemed so easy, so peaceful and honest compared with the life she had created after leaving it.

“We’ll head out first thing in the morning,” said Eileen. “I think that’s the best way. There’s no sense prolonging our good-byes.”

“We’ll say our farewells tonight then,” said Ann. “You can’t just drive off without a proper farewell.”

“Farewells are difficult,” said Eileen, picking a piece of lint off her pants.

Ann put her hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s going to be okay, all of it,” she said. “Dad will get the care he needs. You will meet people. You will have a new life that will include freedom and friendship. You deserve that.”

Eileen looked at her daughter. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Ann squeezed her mother’s arm and then picked up the sunroom proposal. “Do you want to see the plans for our new sunroom?” asked Ann. “I want to ask your advice about flooring.”

Eileen scooted over closer to her daughter and listened attentively as Ann explained the pros and cons of hardwood versus carpeting.

 

Lauren’s lasagna was delicious. In fact, it was the main topic of conversation at the dinner table, taking the place of anyone talking about Eileen and Sam’s imminent departure. Lauren had so much to say to her grandmother, but she didn’t know how to say any of it. Nate wished he could be alone with his grandfather. The more people in a room or a discussion, the more confused Sam became and behaved. Ann, feeling oddly ill at ease in her own home, was close to tears. And Mike, sensing the tension but unwilling to acknowledge it, ate as quickly as possible, even though Ann had already lectured him once about wolfing his food. “I’d like another piece of lasagna,” he said, chewing the last bite of his first piece.