The Good Life (5 page)

“That’s enough, Nate,” said Mike. “How was your day, Lauren?”

“Fine, Daddy,” she said. “I got a B+ on a math test.”

“Good girl,” said Mike, looking at the menu even though he’d already ordered.

“Good girl?” said Nate, flipping his hair that had fallen back into his eyes. “You blow a gasket every time I get a B.”

“Shall I stock up on gaskets?” asked Mike, looking across the table at his son. “When do report cards come home?”

“Next week,” said Lauren, at the same time Nate said, “I don’t know.” Nate shot his sister a look.

“Just before Thanksgiving,” said Lauren softly, finishing her sentence.

“I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving,” said Ann, jumping into the conversation. “We’re going to have some very special guests.” Nate and Lauren looked at their mother.

“Your grandparents are arriving at the end of the week. They’ll be here for Thanksgiving and for some time afterward.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Nate, his hazel eyes boring into his mother’s matching set.

Ann savored the last few bubbles of her champagne and then set her glass down on the table. She pushed the words through her lips. “Gramps and Gran are coming to live with us for a while,” she said. “They need temporary housing until the spring, when they can move into an assisted-living facility.”

“What?” said Lauren. “When did you decide this?”

“Thanks for asking our opinion,” said Nate, refolding his arms across his chest.

“And what is your opinion?” asked Mike.

“Gran and Gramps living with us twenty-four/seven, parading around the house in forty-year-old but ‘perfectly good’ bathrobes and mismatched slippers? What do you think?”

The remark about slippers was in reference to their visit with Ann’s parents last Christmas. Her father had come into the room on Christmas morning with a sheepskin slipper on one foot while the other was unsuccessfully crammed into Eileen’s penny loafer. They had all laughed, thinking Sam had done it on purpose. And because he was adept at concealing and compensating for his disease, no one had questioned it.

“They’re going to live in the guesthouse,” said Ann. “You’ll only see them at Sunday dinner.”

“Since when have we had Sunday dinner?” asked Nate.

“I don’t even know them,” said Lauren, reaching for her water glass. “And now they’re living with us?”

“You will get to know them,” said Ann.

“I don’t think so,” said Nate.

Ann unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap. Mike checked his BlackBerry. Mario arrived at a silent table with their dinners, including a cheeseburger and fries for Nate.

“Your grandparents need us right now,” Mike said to his kids after their plates were set down in front of them and Mario had retreated to the kitchen. “I know you have your friends and your activities. We all do. And, for the most part, we can carry on. We will have to make an effort every now and again, however, to spend some time with our guests. Remember that most of the burden will fall on your mother, not on you.” Ann forced a smile. “Everything is going be the same, basically,” said Mike. “They’ll live in the guesthouse. We’ll live in our house. It couldn’t be a better arrangement.”

C
HAPTER
3

A
nn got a large, extra-hot, fat-free caramel latte at the Coffee Now drive-through on her way to the mall. She had her nails touched up and bought a dozen Godiva chocolates and six Gerbera daisies before racing to the salon for her weekly bangs trim. When she arrived home, she jogged down the path to the guesthouse. She put the chocolates, which she had temporarily stored in her car cooler, in the refrigerator, and set the flowers in the cute white milk-jug vase she found at T.J.Maxx, and then placed them on the living room table. She took a quick look around to make sure everything was in order. The caregiver, Selma Jackson, drove in just as Ann was walking out the front door. Ann jogged to the driveway to greet her. “Good morning, Selma,” said Ann cheerily as soon as Selma opened the car door.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barons,” said Selma, meeting Ann’s gaze.

“Today is the big day.”

“Yes, it is, Mrs. Barons.”

Ann looked into the backseat of Selma’s 1994 Ford Taurus and saw several cloth bags filled with food. “I see you did the grocery shopping.”

“Yes,” said Selma, easing herself out of the car. Standing, she put her hands on her lower back and leaned back briefly before righting herself. “It doesn’t matter if I’m in a car five minutes or five hours,” she said, explaining, “my back is not was it used to be. Too many hours on my feet in too many hospital rooms.” She was shorter than Ann expected, and slighter, making Ann wonder if she could handle a man her father’s size. But she was younger looking than her sixty years, with barely a wrinkle on her brown face and clear dark brown eyes that didn’t require glasses. She reached for Ann’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m fine with the telephone, but I don’t feel like I really know a person until I have a chance to look them over.”

Ann took her hand and shook it. “Yes,” she said. “I completely agree. Are you all moved in? I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier; I had to run some errands.”

“Yes. And as soon as I get these groceries in the house, I’ll change into something more presentable. I thought I’d make chicken noodle soup. After traveling today, your parents will want something easy to digest,” she said.

“That sounds delicious,” said Ann, hands pressed against one another in front of her chest.

Selma looked at the man’s watch on her wrist. “I expect they’ll be arriving soon.”

“Yes,” said Ann, looking at her Rolex. “You should
officially
be on duty in about an hour. My mother called from the hotel this morning. They’re right on schedule.”

The pleasantries behind them, Selma turned her attention to the groceries sitting on the backseat of the car. She opened the door of the car and grabbed the handles of four cloth grocery bags, two in each hand. “Well, I’d better get started then,” she said, pushing the car door closed with her right foot. Ann watched with pride as Selma trudged along the path with the bags and disappeared into the house.

 

Ninety minutes later, Eileen pulled their Ford station wagon into the driveway. Ann, who was on the phone in the kitchen, hung up and ran out the back door as soon as she saw the car. Eileen waved through the windshield as she shifted into P
ARK
. Ann opened her door. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Hello,” said Eileen, lifting herself out of the driver’s seat. “We’re fine. Your father wanted to stop at the dairy thirty miles back for ice cream.”

“Oh,” said Ann.

“We’ve had quite a morning,” said Eileen, giving her daughter a hug. “Ice cream was just the ticket. Your father has always loved ice cream, vanilla ice cream. We had it every afternoon in the summer when you were growing up. Do you remember that?”

“How could I forget,” said Ann, wrapping her arms around her mother’s sloping shoulders. “It’s taken me a thousand trips to the gym to work it all off.”

Hands on Ann’s bony arms, Eileen took a step back and looked at her daughter. “You’re too thin, dear,” she said. “Next time, I’ll bring some back for you.”

“I never eat it,” said Ann, shaking her head.

“Well,” said Eileen. As she launched into a colorful description of the acres of farmland they drove by, Sam, still imprisoned in the car, fiddled with the door handle. Unable to lift it, he knocked on the window. Remembering him, Eileen walked around the front of the car to open the door for him. “It’s not easy to work these handles, honey,” she said.

“You have no idea,” said Sam as Eileen bent down to undo his seat belt. She then grabbed his wrists and planted her black tie–shoed feet shoulder-width apart on the driveway. “Swing your legs around now.” Sam quickly lifted his feet from the car floor, as if he had just stepped in something distasteful, and moved them in the direction of the door. Eileen dropped one wrist and used that hand to guide her husband’s legs over the metal trim and his feet onto Ann’s driveway. “Now duck your head.” And with Sam scooting himself forward, and Eileen pulling from outside the car, it took just thirty seconds or so to birth Sam from the car’s cavity. Like a newborn calf, he was unsteady on his feet. He took hold of the car door to regain his balance, blinking his eyes in the bright sunshine. Ann studied him a moment before walking around the front of the car to greet him. She hugged him quickly, careful to avoid the dollop of melted ice cream on his flannel shirt, and then stepped back to look at his face. It was as cold, white, and lifeless as a vacant ski slope. The muscles in his cheeks had gone limp, had simply abandoned their job of holding up his mouth. His deep blue eyes, formerly keen and focused—he had not needed reading glasses until he was fifty-eight—were watery and empty. “Who’s this young girl?” he asked, turning his face to his wife for clues.

Eileen smiled and put her hand on Ann’s shoulder. “It’s Annie,” she said, “your daughter.”

“Really?” said Sam, looking back at Ann. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Well, since Christmas,” said Ann. “We were at the farm last Christmas. How was your trip?”

“Very good,” said Sam, “except for the fog this morning.” Ann looked at her mother.

Eileen waved her hand dismissively. “It’s always somewhat foggy, dear.”

“Let’s go inside,” said Ann. “We can get settled and then have a nice chat.”

Ann was halfway to the guesthouse before she realized that her parents were not right behind her. She stopped, turned, and watched her father shuffle from the driveway onto the brick path, kicking the crushed shells onto the grass with his worn moccasins that never lost contact with the ground. When they finally reached the front door, Ann waited a dramatic moment before leading them inside.

“Oh Ann, this is lovely,” said Eileen, following her daughter into the living room. “Isn’t this great?” she turned to ask Sam.

“Swell,” said Sam, taking in the room with slow, deliberate head turns. “It’s going to cost me a bundle, so I’m glad you like it.”

“I sure do,” said Eileen, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch while Ann gives me a tour.”

“I wouldn’t mind having the grand tour myself,” said Sam.

“And you shall have it,” said Eileen. “I just need to use the powder room.”

“Oh well,” said Sam, sitting down hard on the couch.

Ann waved her mother into the bedroom, half-closed the door behind them, and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Mom,” she said, “Dad didn’t recognize me.”

“Don’t worry about that, dear,” said Eileen, rubbing her daughter’s arm. “He’s like that sometimes, especially after a long day. He mixes me up with his mother, of all people.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” asked Ann. “It happened on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and it’s happening again.”

Eileen took a deep breath, sucking in her stomach, and then slowly exhaled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it at first. As I’ve told you, when you live with someone, change is gradual. It wasn’t until summertime that he really started going downhill.”

“He seems pretty close to the bottom of the hill,” said Ann. “I wish I had known.”

“And what could you have done, Ann? This is not a solvable problem. This is permanent.”

Ann lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

“It’s just rotten luck,” said Eileen. “Nothing more than that.”

“And you’ve been handling this, handling him on your own, for the last six months.”

“Not anymore,” said Eileen, brushing away the stray gray strands of hair from her forehead with her fingers. “I can’t do it anymore. And that’s why I called Meadowbrook. When I talked to them in July, they said they’d be able to take us before Christmas. I figured I could take care of your dad until then. I’ve been doing it for forty-eight years.”

Ann put her hands on her hips. “Have you had
any
help?”

“Here and there,” said Eileen, looking out the glass sliding door at the woods behind the house. “Our friends have been wonderful. For the most part, we’ve just been doing less. He’s best at home.”

“How did you get out, to get groceries, or get your hair cut?” asked Ann.

“He went to day care when I needed some time off,” said Eileen. “But he’s been more agitated in the last month or so. Remember, I told you he tried to escape.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Ann, a searchlight in her brain, sweeping for the facts.

Eileen smiled slightly at her daughter. “We’ll be okay,” she said. “It’s so good to be here.”

“It’s good to have you here, Mom,” said Ann, accepting a hug.

“Now, let me use the bathroom and then we can get down to the business of unpacking. I never feel at home until my suitcase is empty.”

“The bathroom’s right there,” said Ann, pointing to a doorway in the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Ann walked back into the living room, where her father was tracing the plaid pattern on the couch with his right index finger. Ann lingered a moment, then moved quickly and quietly behind him to the kitchen. She moved as close to the stove as possible, so that her father couldn’t see her if he turned his head. She lifted the lid of the soup pot, closed her eyes, and inhaled.

“Now what smells so good?” said Eileen, a few minutes later, as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “I must be hungry.”

“Chicken noodle soup,” said Ann, again lifting the lid to show her mother the diced carrots, celery, and onion simmering around bite-sized pieces of chicken and egg noodles in a clear yellow broth.

“You were always a good cook,” said Eileen, “and you were sweet to make it—and to remember that it’s your father’s favorite.”

“I didn’t make it,” said Ann, replacing the lid. “Believe it or not, I hardly ever cook now, Mom. But Selma, your caregiver, is supposed to be wonderful in the kitchen.”

“Is she here?” asked Eileen, peeking through the space under the cabinets into the living room, as if she’d missed seeing her on the way in.

“She was here a while ago,” said Ann. “Maybe she had to run out for something.”

Together, they walked back into the living room. Eileen sat next to Sam on the couch and Ann sat in the chair facing them. She looked at her father’s face, both familiar and foreign, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Everything looks so fresh and clean,” said Eileen.

“Yes,” said Ann, happy for conversation. “I’ve redone it.”

Sam looked at Ann. “When will the others arrive?” he asked.

“Who?” asked Ann.

“Don’t tell me they’ve canceled,” said Sam, switching his gaze to Eileen.

“No one’s canceled,” said Eileen, patting his hand.

Just then, Selma came breathlessly through the door carrying a baguette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot the bread.”

“No trouble,” said Ann. “Come in and meet my parents.”

Eileen stood and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Selma.”

“And you, too, Mrs. Sanford,” said Selma, shaking it.

“Please, please call me Eileen. You’re awfully nice to be here with us.”

“That’s my job,” said Selma. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“Well, if that’s your soup I smell, I know we will,” said Eileen. “This is my husband, Sam.”

Sam scooted forward on the couch cushion, readying himself to rise. Selma approached him and set her hand gently on his shoulder. “Please stay seated,” she said.

“Have we met?” he asked, searching her eyes for signs of recognition.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “But it’s nice to meet you now.”

“When do we eat?” he asked. “I’m as hungry as a black bear in spring.”

“Soon,” said Selma. “I’ll go check on things in the kitchen.”

Silence filled the open space. “Well,” said Eileen, after a moment. “I’m going to grab a few things from the car and start unpacking.”

As soon as her mother turned to go, Ann stood. “Let me help you,” she said.

“I’m fine,” said Eileen, calling over her shoulder as she walked to the door. “I’m just going to get my duffel bag. I’ll get the other bags after lunch.”

“What can I do?”

Her hand on the doorknob, Eileen called to her daughter, “Stay with your dad. It will take him some time to adjust to these new surroundings.”

Ann sat back down in the chair facing the couch, her father, and the string of saliva hanging from his chin. She looked at the floor. Forcing her eyes to his face, Ann said, “So, Dad. How was your drive?”

“Fine,” answered Sam. “How was yours?”

“I didn’t have a drive,” said Ann.

“How did you get here then?” asked Sam.

“I live here. This is my house.”

Sam smiled at her. “You’re putting me on.”

“No,” said Ann.

After a moment, Sam again shifted his bottom to the edge of the couch cushion. “Well, I’ve had a nice stay,” he said, “but I’ve got to get home now. My wife will be looking for me.”