There Was an Old Woman (13 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

It had been so sweet of Mrs. Yetner to invite Evie to stay over, and though Evie had no intention of taking her up on it, knowing that she had the option made her feel safer and less alone. It was chilly and damp when she got back inside. The insecticide smell hadn't vanished completely, and in the kitchen a single pantry moth fluttered drunkenly about. With her bare hand, she smacked it against the wall.

It took four calls to locksmiths listed in her mother's 2008 copy of the Yellow Pages before she found one that was still in business and taking calls on a Sunday night. In return for payment in cash, the woman who took her call promised someone would be there in an hour.

Evie hung up and called Ginger. “The house got broken into,” Evie said as soon as Ginger picked up, “but they didn't take anything valuable.”

“Oh my God. What next? Are you okay?” Ginger asked, her voice rising. “Did you call the police?”

“I'm fine. Of course I did.”

“Did they make a mess?”

“No. In fact, if I wasn't so anal about the way I sorted Mom's papers, I never would have realized the house was broken into. And before you ask, I've got someone coming to change the locks.”

“Tonight?”

“In an hour.”

“You sure you're okay?”

“Other than a headache—” Evie put her hand to her temple and massaged the spot that had started to throb. Headaches that started that way usually turned into doozies. She started for the bathroom where she'd seen some Excedrin in the medicine cabinet. “—I'm fine.”

“It's a good thing you had all that money with you,” Ginger said.

“Good thing,” Evie said as she ran water in the bathroom sink and splashed her face with one hand. “I'll deposit it first thing tomorrow.”

“You're sure nothing else is missing?”

“Ginger, I checked everywhere.” Evie opened the medicine cabinet. “I'm sure—”

But the words died on her lips, and the phone dropped into the sink with a clatter. Except for the tube of Crest toothpaste that she was sure she'd left on the sink, the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet was empty.

She picked up the phone. “You're not going to believe this. Everything that was on one shelf of Mom's medicine cabinet is missing.”

“That's weird. Were there any prescription drugs?”

“I don't remember anything like that.” Evie conjured a visual image of what else she'd seen. “She had Excedrin. Vitamins. Maybe some cold medicine. I can't remember what else.”

“Excedrin and vitamins?” After a long silence, Ginger added, “You know, I'd find it more reassuring if whoever broke in
had
taken her jewelry and her goddamned TV. Because this is just plain creepy. I don't think you should stay there.”

“I can't leave now. I've got a locksmith on his way over. At least when he's done, I'll be the only one with a key.”

“Then I'm coming to stay with you.”

“You are not.” The doorbell rang. “That's the locksmith. Don't worry. Mrs. Yetner invited me to stay with her, and I will if I need to.”

“How do you know she wasn't the one who broke in?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Evie said and disconnected the call.

Chapter Thirty-three

Brian arrived the next morning, hours earlier than Mina expected him. She was still eating her breakfast and reading the paper.

“You remembered I was coming, didn't you?” he said. “You're up to looking at residences?”

Of course she did. Of course she was. She took a drink of tea, scraped up a last mouthful of oatmeal, and walked the dishes to the sink.

“I've arranged for us to see a few places.” He read from a piece of paper. “Pelham Manor. Golden Oaks—”

She took the paper from him and adjusted her glasses. “I can read, for heaven's sake.”

He had four addresses written down. Pelham Manor was where Annabelle had spent her final days. Golden Oaks was also in the Bronx. Briarfield Gardens was on Saw Mill River Road, over into Westchester. The fourth place she'd never heard of. Visiting four in a single day seemed awfully ambitious.

She handed him back the paper. “Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?”

“I'm fine.” He looked at his watch. “We've got to step on it, Aunt Mina. They're expecting us at Pelham Manor in thirty minutes.”

Mina folded the newspaper, slapped it down on the table, and stood. “All right then. I'll be ready in a minute.”

She closed herself in the bathroom, even though she didn't need to go. Then she sat on the closed toilet seat trying to calm herself. She'd thought she'd be fine, visiting old age homes. But she wasn't. She did not want to leave her house. Her neighborhood. Her marsh. Besides, she was nowhere near that far gone.
Or am I?
she wondered as she stared down at the backs of her hands, the veins popping beneath skin that was shriveled like loose latex.

“Aunt Mina, you haven't forgotten I'm out here waiting for you, have you?”

“Not yet.” Mina reached back and flushed the toilet.

“Do you need any help?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She stood and checked her face in the mirror, relaxing the frown lines as much as she still could and smoothing her chins. She splashed her face with warm water and dried it.

From the other side of the door, Brian called, his voice sounding more urgent, “I'll go start the car and meet you—”

She banged out of the bathroom. “Don't bother. I'll drive.” She found her purse sitting on the placemat in the kitchen, snagged her cane, and stumped out the door. Immediately she realized it had started to rain again. She should have picked up an umbrella, but she'd be damned if she was going to go back for it now.

She waited until Brian got in the car and had shut the door, too, before releasing the brake and slamming the car into drive. Let him sulk. He'd been doing that since he was three years old, whenever things didn't go precisely his way. Once on the street she accelerated, holding on to the wheel to pull herself up a little taller to see over the steering wheel. Had she shrunk more? With relief, she noticed a cushion from the seat was on the floor. The girl must have left it there.

When they'd emerged from her little pocket of residential streets, Brian said, “So you know where you're going?”

She harrumphed. Did he think she could forget how to drive to a place she'd gone every day for two years? When Brian put in an occasional appearance there, he'd acted as if he deserved a medal.

She bypassed the highway on-ramp, and he asked again if she knew how to get there.

“This is the way I go.” She wanted to say,
Shall I let you off and you can take the bus?
She chuckled to herself, imagining him standing on the street corner and receding in her rearview mirror.

Mina didn't take highways. Not anymore. Whenever she tried to, it seemed as if they'd repainted the lines to make the lanes even narrower, while those big rigs that rumbled along at top speed and tailgated her had grown longer and wider.

She didn't drive at night, either. Ever. It wasn't so much that she couldn't see, though that was a piece of it. She could swear that some oncoming headlights on new cars were brighter than brights. Apparently those new blue headlights were legal, though she couldn't imagine why, because they were blinding. Those seconds it took for her eyes to recover from them were terrifying. Plenty of time to run someone over or give herself a heart attack.

No, she'd stick to daytime driving, thank you very much. As Mina drove up the street, the phantom smell of yeast teased her nose. A Wonder Bread factory had once been nearby.

“You'd better lock your door,” she told Brian as they passed a row of derelict houses. Those had been brand-new when she was in elementary school, but now their perimeters were surrounded by battered chain-link fencing. A stout dog, tied to a front porch railing, barked as they drove by.

It was a little farther to Pelham Bay Park, where her mother used to take Mina and Annabelle to play when they were little. There, in the distance, were the Co-op City towers, standing on the banks of the Hutchinson River on land that had been a broad flat expanse her father used to call “the dump.” He'd taken them there to swim back in the day when you still could.

Mina pulled into Pelham Manor's familiar entryway. Could it be only six months since she was there? Her last visit had been a week after Annabelle died. Mina had gone in to remove what remained of Annabelle's few possessions. She'd given away most of Annabelle's clothes. Donated her unused medications. And left with a few forlorn cardboard boxes.

Chapter Thirty-four

When the alarm went off that morning, Evie felt as if she were pushing herself up from beneath a pile of cinder blocks. The locksmith hadn't arrived until after ten, and he hadn't finished until nearly midnight, far too late for Evie to change her mind about where she was going to sleep. For hours she'd lain awake on the mattress on the living room floor, jumping at the slightest sound. No matter how many times she'd made a circuit of the house, demonstrating to herself that the doors and windows were secure, anxiety had returned the minute she lay down again.

On the way to work, she stopped at the bank. The minute she deposited the cash and checks, she felt as if some of the burden had lifted. But now, as she stood in front of a whiteboard in the Historical Society's conference room and stared at a chart outlining everything that had to be done before
Seared in Memory
opened, the weight was back.

While she waited for her staff to arrive, she took a red marker and wrote
E
beside each of the tasks that were her responsibility. The workload, even spread over three weeks, was daunting. She'd never get it done if she had to be on watch for her mother.

“Hey, are you all right?” Nick's voice startled her. She looked over as he entered the conference room. He held a cup of coffee out to her. “You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks,” Evie said, taking it. She did need coffee. She inhaled and took a sip. It had a hazelnut edge.

The other two members of her team filed into the conference room and took their places at the table—Maia, whom she'd hired last year, fresh out of graduate school, and Marie-Christine, who was a Barnard College intern. Now they were all looking at her.

“I'm sorry if I've seemed distracted. My mother is seriously ill,” Evie told them, starting the little speech she'd practiced on the ride in and trying to sound as businesslike and unemotional as possible. “I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I might need to cut back on my hours. My sister and I are trying to take it one day at a time. With the opening so soon, I'd like us to put together a backup plan just in case.”

They had started to go through, figuring out which of them could take over which of her tasks, when Evie's phone went off. The number on the readout was her mother's neighborhood. The hospital? Evie's stomach did a flip-flop. She excused herself and stepped out into the hall to take the call.

“Mrs. Ferrante?” The man's voice was unfamiliar.

Evie swallowed. “This is her daughter.”

“Oh, right. This is Jack, from Egan's Sunoco. We've got your mother's Subaru up on the lift?” Evie sagged against the wall, relief sweeping through her. Of course. That's who Finn must have called to tow the car, the gas station where her mother had always gone to have their car tuned. “We thought it would be an easy repair, but it turns out it's not. The fuel tank needs to be replaced. The fuel pump and filler pipe, too.”

Fuel tank. Fuel pump. Filler pipe. Evie heard the words, but she wasn't really processing them.

“The rest of the car looks fine. And with a little luck we can probably have it fixed for you in a day or two. But I didn't want to start the work until I checked with you first. Run you about eight hundred.”

So much for an inexpensive repair. For a moment Evie felt paralyzed. Did it make sense to repair a car her mother would never drive again? Still, it had to be fixed or she and Ginger would never be able to sell it.

“Go ahead,” she told him as she imagined a flock of her mother's hundred-dollar bills sprouting wings and flying out the window.

When she returned to the conference room, she was confronted with the worried faces of her staff. No, she told them, the call wasn't the hospital.

When her phone rang an hour later, it was. Her mother had lost consciousness while she was undergoing a brain scan. She was in intensive care.

Chapter Thirty-five

The parking lot at Pelham Manor was nearly full. Even the handicap spot where Mina always used to park whenever she visited Annabelle was taken. Mina had to zigzag back a few rows to find a spot. Brian came around and made a show of offering her his arm, but she ignored him. She started toward the building, trying to ignore the persistent drizzle and Brian's inane remarks about the weather.

In the circular drive by the entrance, a van was parked, its side door open and a hydraulic lift raising an old man in a wheelchair. Annabelle had taken a few van trips to the mall when she'd first moved to Pelham Manor, but on one outing she'd wandered into the basement and gotten lost. It had taken security hours to find her, and after that the staff at Pelham Manor had put a stop to her trips.

Mina got to the front entrance first and rang the bell. As she waited, Brian caught up to her. There was a buzz and a click, and he pulled the door open for her to go inside. Then he went to the front desk and talked to the receptionist.

Mina looked around the familiar space. Plastic forsythia bloomed in a vase on the table by the elevator. Last time she'd been here, there'd been sprays of autumn leaves and bittersweet. Fortunately the bittersweet had been fake, too—she remembered reading somewhere that the real thing was poisonous, and more than a few of the patients on Annabelle's floor were as likely to eat floral arrangements as look at them.

Mina heard a discreet throat-clearing and turned to find a woman in a light blue suit with a staff badge hanging around her neck standing beside her. Smiling, tall, and elegantly silver-haired, she reminded Mina of Mrs. Weber, her fourth-grade teacher, who told her students she'd once been a fashion model.

“Good morning, Mrs. Yetner,” the woman said. She gave Mina's hand the gentle squeeze of someone who knew better than to put pressure on arthritic fingers. Brian came over to join them. “And Mr. Granville. It's good to see you both again. Celeste Hall.”

Mina squinted at the badge the woman wore. It was easier for her to remember names if she saw them in print. But the print side of the badge was twisted around, facing the woman's chest.

The woman turned back to Mina. “It was good to get your call.”

“My what?”

“Here.” She gave Mina a large envelope. A sticker on the front said
THE MATERIAL YOU REQUESTED
, which she most certainly had not. But it was the name written on the front,
Wilhelmina,
that gave her a start. The last person who'd called her that was Annabelle, and only when she was annoyed.

“I'm happy to show you around our independent living tier,” the woman went on, leading the way to the elevator. As Mina trailed behind in her wake, she smelled tangerine and ginger. Now Mina remembered. This was the woman who'd been there when Mina had checked Annabelle in on that hot summer day, efficient, calm, and frequently glancing at the large man's watch she wore on her wrist then as she did now.

The woman pressed the elevator call button and turned back. With a sympathetic smile on her face, she said, “Independent living is quite different from assisted living, and of course Memory Care where your sister stayed with us is something else entirely. We have three hundred and fifty . . .”

Mercifully, the elevator doors had opened. The annoyingly cheerful woman, whose name Mina had already forgotten, rattled on with her canned speech as they rode the elevator up one floor, so slowly that it felt as if they were barely moving at all.

Instead of a locked door with a nurses' station beyond, as there'd been on Annabelle's floor, the elevator doors opened onto a spacious, brightly lit room littered with sofas and wing chairs that looked as if they'd lost their way en route to a furniture showroom.

When Mina and Annabelle had first visited, Annabelle had said, “But everyone is so old.” Mina had laughed, but now she was thinking the exact same thing as a woman shuffled past, pushing a walker tethered to an oxygen tank. An old man sat nodding off in a chair.

But it wasn't all shuffle and nap. A woman who sat reading a
USA Today
lowered her paper and gave Mina a sharp appraising look as the energetic guide led them down a hall to a library where all five computer stations were in use. Maybe Mina would finally get around to learning how to use one. Past that was a room set up like a den with a big TV and card tables. Four women there were playing mah-jongg. Another foursome, men and women, were playing poker, betting with nickels.

“Are you a card player?” their cheerful guide asked with a treacly smile. Lipstick was smeared on her front tooth.

Mina said she wasn't, but she wondered if anyone still knew how to play whist. She'd passed many a pleasant evening playing that with her grandmother.

Past the card room was an exercise room where women and a few men sat in two rows of chairs. According to Mina's guide, they were “enjoying a session of chair yoga.” As Mina watched them look up at the ceiling, down into their laps, curl and stretch, she realized that she'd probably enjoy it, too.

All in all, it wasn't so bad, really. It didn't smell terrible. No one was muttering, or marching along like a zombie, or disrobing in the hallway. Mina had witnessed all three on the floor where Annabelle had been installed.

Continuing on, they passed a hall table, its top strewn with flower petals surrounding a carefully calligraphed card that read
Dearly Departed.
Beside the card was a framed photograph of a woman smiling and looking directly at the camera, her hand to her cheek. Perched on her head was a party hat in the shape of a tiara—just the kind of goofy thing Mina would never be caught dead wearing. But from the woman's lively expression, it looked as if she was in on the joke.

Below the picture was a name and a room number and the date, May 17. Three days ago.

Farther down a corridor and beyond double doors were the rooms. The woman walked ahead with Brian at her side. They were chatting. Brian turned and motioned for Mina to hurry up. But just then a young woman came out into the corridor from one of the rooms. She turned back, holding the door open, talking and nodding.

Inside, Mina could see a cozy room with ruffled white curtains, a well-worn leather lounge chair, and a bed neatly made with a finely crocheted spread like one tucked away in Mina's linen closet that she didn't dare use for fear Ivory would have at it. Which reminded her, would they let her bring Ivory? It gave her a stomachache imagining Ivory being dumped at an animal shelter.

A woman in a wheelchair sat facing the door, so stooped she was bent near double, her thin white hair tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck. Beside her was a piecrust-top table crowded with framed photographs and porcelain figurines. The young woman at the open door said something to her, and the old woman craned her neck in order to look up. Her face reminded Mina of a shriveled apple. Eyes sharp. She was starting to say something when the young woman let go of the door and walked off down the hall.

It seemed to Mina as if the door closed in slow motion with the old woman sitting there, talking to no one, until finally she was shut in that room, utterly alone with only a television, pictures of loved ones, and a window overlooking a parking lot. In a few weeks or months, a picture of her smiling gamely at the camera would be sitting on the Dearly Departed table. And the cozy room she was in would be filled with someone else's memories.

It was the thing no one wanted to talk about. People came to places like this to die. Even after they'd finished their tour and were riding down in the elevator Mina was still shaken, thinking about the woman in the wheelchair.

Assisted
living
?
Pfff.
If she came here, it would be to die, tidily and off camera, as inexorably as the elevator she was in was going down.