A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents (25 page)

“Why does she have to be so cartoonish?” I whisper, finally looking at him.

“I don’t know.”

“As if this wasn’t hard enough,” I say, looking around.

John is quiet.

I continue, “She’s hated us since the moment we met. All the ‘honeys’ and ‘dears’ and the whole time she hated us.”

“You’ve got to hand it to her,” John sighs.

“Yes, she’s truly a marvel,” I say, looking away.

“Grace,” John says, taking my hand.

“What?” I say, shaken.

“This is about your dad,” John repeats.

“I know,” I say, letting my head fall onto my chest.

“We have to focus,” John says, pulling my chin up and toward him.

“I know,” I say, tears crowding behind my eyes.

“Good,” he says, scooting closer.

“She’s not going to like this one bit,” I say, shaking my head.

“Connie?” Huston asks, approaching her at Dad’s bedside.

“Yes?” Connie turns around to face Huston. Her voice sounds feeble. Her body looks so tiny next to Huston. Next to anyone.

The ambulance is five minutes out.

Dad’s ready to go. All the discharge papers have been signed. We’ve all checked out of our respective hotels. Our bags are
packed away in our already gassed-up cars. All we have to do is get Dad on a gurney, roll him out of this hospital and into
the waiting ambulance. Down the 101 freeway—away from here. Away from the sad little couch bed. Away from the six-month marriage
he couldn’t break free of. Away from the loneliness. Back to his family. Back home.

“I’d like to talk about Dad’s care,” Huston starts.

“Sure…” Connie answers, turning around. Dennis watches the exchange with interest. I stand just outside the room. John stands
beside me. We didn’t want it to seem like we were ganging up on Connie. I cross my arms and step forward just a bit. Closer.

“If we could speak out in the hall?” Huston asks, motioning to Dad, who has just fallen back to sleep.

“Denny?” Connie calls to Dennis as she inches toward Huston. Not far enough. She’s not far enough away from Dad. He can still
hear. He can still be upset. Dennis stands and joins his mother.

“I think it would be best if we transferred Dad to a facility in Los Angeles for his skilled nursing care,” Huston says, his
voice unwavering, his gaze steadfast. Connie and Dennis recoil from Huston’s words. They manage to look offended and confused.
But mostly, they look as if they can’t quite figure out how this happened.

“
You
think it’s best?” Dennis answers. I step forward. John eases me back.

Four minutes.

“I have to sit down. Dennis, go out in the hall and see if the nurse can get me a glass of water. I’m feeling faint,” Connie
calmly says, walking back over to Dad’s bedside and dropping feebly into the chair. Dennis scrambles past the bathroom, with
its cups and running water, and out to the nurse’s station.

“It’s my decision to make,” Huston says to Connie’s back.

“My heart,” Connie whimpers, her liver-spotted hand at her chest. I look back and see Dennis talking to the nurses. They are
staring at Huston, John and me like
we’re
the monsters.

“Do you need to take a moment? Maybe we can go into the lounge and talk,” Huston says, his voice low.

“I have to be here for my husband,” Connie clucks, her eyes fixing on the nurses as she swoons. Dennis is beside himself with
worry, yet no glass of water in sight. I look from Connie to the nurses. A direct line of sight. My stomach drops as I realize
that she’s playing to them. This is all a show and we’re the villains with the handlebar mustaches tying the damsel in distress
to the train tracks.

“Go stand in the doorway,” I whisper to John, motioning at the gossiping nurses behind us taking in the show. John doesn’t
ask any questions, sneaking a glance at the nurses as he settles into the doorway. Connie’s eyes narrow as her audience’s
view is obstructed.

“Dad gave me his power of attorney, it’s my decision to move him to Los Angeles where I can properly oversee his care. Just
as he wanted,” Huston says, looking over at the bed. I follow his gaze. We both notice simultaneously that Dad’s awake and
following this conversation closely, or as closely as he can given his condition. Dad’s face is twisted with concern, his
restrained arm flailing. Huston watches Dad, torn between making a move to comfort him and standing his ground and getting
him safely out of this hospital for good. Huston stands his ground.

Three minutes.

“I can’t breathe,” Connie whimpers.

“We want to make this as easy a transition as possible for everyone,” Huston eases, still trying not to make a scene.

“I’m his wife,” Connie sobs.

“I understand that you were Dad’s wife at one time.”

“At one time?” Connie snivels.

“You were separated in 2005.”

“We are the loves of each other’s lives,” Connie sobs.

“You were separated in 2005,” he repeats.

“We spend every waking moment together,” Connie insists.

“We know you live in a town house at 1375 Daly Street.”

Connie stands abruptly, teetering. Huston and I rush over to help her. Her tiny body completely surrounded by ours. Connie
suddenly clutches at Huston’s arm, pulling him down toward her. It looks like she may faint.

“Are you feeling oka—” Huston starts.

Connie cuts in, in a voice only Huston, John and I hear, “Do whatever you want with Ray. I just want what’s mine.”

Stunned, we fall back, letting go of Connie.

Huston’s face drains of color as we back away. John steadies himself in the doorway. Connie takes a deep breath, gets back
into character and begins to walk feebly toward the door of the hospital room… and toward her adoring audience. But she has
to get through John first. Huston and I immediately go to Dad.

Two minutes.

John puts his hand gently on Connie’s tiny shoulder, appearing to assist her out the door. John the Lawyer fades into the
background as John the Juvenile Delinquent steps forward. His face hard. His eyes narrowed, looking directly into Connie’s
rheumy red eyes. He’s downright terrifying as he leans in and whispers, “You better watch your back, because
I
might just give you what’s yours.” I see her eyes dart wildly behind him as she sees the ambulance driver rolling the gurney
down the hallway toward Dad’s hospital room.

“Now? You’re doing this now? You’re disgusting, Mr. Hawkes,” Dennis accuses from the nurse’s station. The nurses gasp and
point. I walk past John and into the hallway to flag the ambulance driver down. We’re all focused on one thing.

Get. Dad. Out.

The ambulance driver, thank God, is a beefy young kid. He rolls the gurney into the hospital room past John.

“Denny? Denny, do something!” Connie sobs, the nurses scrambling around her.

“Can’t anyone do something?” Dennis wails, looking to the heavens and yet not entering the hospital room.

I look away from The Connie and Dennis Show and watch as Huston leans over Dad’s bed, finally taking his hand. He whispers
something in Dad’s ear and I can see the tears streaming down Dad’s face. My heart tightens. John helps the ambulance driver
shift all of Dad’s medical equipment around. Two nurses have braved the front lines and are helping to get Dad on the gurney.
This is the hardest part. Once we get him in the ambulance, he’s in the clear. We’re in the clear.

I focus on the Madonna and the crucifix. They’re hanging on the bulletin board next to some of the twins’ drawings and the
picture of Mom I stole from Dad’s office. Dad’s finally all settled on the gurney. I breathe deeply. Almost there.

John has been holding Dad’s feeding tube delicately throughout the exchange, careful that it doesn’t pull or tug on Dad. Dad’s
face is worried, he’s staring up at Huston. Focusing on him. Focusing on the calm in the storm.

Connie’s and Dennis’ sobs and protestations fade into the background as the ambulance driver starts to wheel Dad out of the
room. Connie collapses into Dennis’ arms.

“Look what you’ve done to my mother!” Dennis wails. Huston simply walks past them. His pace never falters, his focus never
wavering from Dad, their hands never letting go.

I can see the gurney finally disappearing behind the closed elevator doors. I remember I have a part in The Connie and Dennis
Show. I hitch my purse over my shoulder, heavy with the Madonna and Child and the crucifix. I tuck Mom’s picture and the twins’
drawings into an outside pocket of my purse and grab my Casio. I start out of the hospital room.

“We’ve left directions and contact numbers for St. Teresa Manor with Nurse Miller, along with a copy of Dad’s medical file
for you,” I say, delivering my one line before they have time to respond.

I walk down the long hallway toward the elevator. It dings open and I step in. As the doors close, I catch a final shot of
Connie and Dennis lurching back toward the nurse’s station in search of Nurse Miller, Dad’s medical file and directions to
Dad’s new facility.

The elevator doors close.

My body convulses forward. I try to steady my breathing, steady my body. The walls close in on me as I bend forward, put my
hands on my knees and close my eyes. I’ve got four short floors to get this under control.

I’m afraid this is just the beginning. We’ve seen what they’re capable of. Knowing Connie and Dennis will stop at nothing
scares the shit out of me.

The elevator door dings open. I stand up straight, breathe in and walk.

Out. Out. Out.

Home.

E
xcuse me?” I ask a woman whose all-white nun’s habit hits her about mid-calf—cocktail length. It’s like a beginner’s habit.
She’s probably the nun equivalent of a Webelos to an Eagle Scout.

I made it down the 101. Two hours of urgent phone calls, status reports, hoping that Dad was doing okay on the trip down.

“Yes?” The Webelos nun turns around, her round face tightly framed by the habit.

“My dad is going to be checked in today and I was just wondering—”

“Raymond Hawkes?” the Webelos nun interrupts.

“Yes, Ray Hawkes.”

“Your family is in the sunroom. They’re waiting to meet with Sister Marjorie Pauline,” she says, walking out from the nurse’s
station and into the hall.

“Am I supposed to follow you?” I ask, not knowing whether to stay or go.

“Yes, please,” the Webelos nun answers. “Are those yours?” she asks, motioning to the Madonna and Child and crucifix in my
hand.

“They’re my dad’s.” She smiles and continues down the hallway.

We walk in silence down the hallway past doors and doors of sick old people. I know this is a good place, but even the most
skilled nursing homes seem like haunted houses with rooms populated by the ghosts of people who once existed. If they would
have had an open room for the last five years, I would have fit right in. I try to steady my breathing and focus back on the
little Webelos nun.

“Thank you,” I say, as she leads me into a large sunroom. I blink my eyes and the room comes into focus.

“Tia Gwacie!!” Emilygrae runs over, her little casts banging into my knees. I quickly set the Madonna and Child and the crucifix
on a chair along with my purse.

“Hey, sweetie,” I say, looking down at her and scanning the room for the other little ones. I nod a quick hello to Evie, she’s
in her usual position: curled up in a chair, reading a novel. Mateo is flipping through a giant pirate book at Evie’s feet,
taking out moving parts and looking at a bit of text with a decoder lens. All very interactive. He is riveted. Leo is standing
by the doors that lead outside.

“How’d it go?” Abigail asks, approaching me. I look down at Emilygrae and smooth her long, tangled hair, tucking a bit of
it behind her ear. She leans into my touch.

“We got him out. That’s all that matters,” I say, meeting Abigail’s gaze, not wanting to go into it now. Maybe never wanting
to go into it.

Abigail listens absently. “Good… good…”

“Grace? It’s been a while.” Manny approaches me. I reach out to shake his hand, but he envelops me in a huge bear hug. I pat
at his back, but can’t make my body relax. I pull away and smile awkwardly. He smiles back and walks over next to Abigail.
Emilygrae shifts over and starts hugging her father’s legs. He rests his hand on the top of her head as she gazes up at him.
Manny’s freshly pressed polo shirt is tucked neatly into his equally pressed dress pants. He’s started to lose his hair, but
he otherwise looks just as I remember him.

“How far behind were they?” Leo asks, waiting at the door, biting his fingernails.

“Not far,” I answer, walking over to him. I pull his hand out of his mouth and smile. Leo softens.

“Have you gone home yet?”

“Do I look like I’ve gone home yet?” I smile, motioning to the same outfit I’ve been wearing for going on what feels like
three months.

Leo looks out the automatic door, his mouth forcing back a smile.

“What?” I ask.

“Well…”

“What?” I ask.

“While we were making keys.”

“We?”

“Abigail told me to,” Leo blurts.

“Told you to what?”

“We copied your house key, too,” Leo confesses.

“Why?”

“Yours, Huston’s. Mine… even John’s.”

“How?” I ask.

“You know how kids love to play with real keys.” Leo laughs, eyeing the sticky-fingered twins.

“Why, though?” I press.

“Abigail has a surprise for you,” Leo whispers.

“For me?”

“The other keys were just a cover.”

“Why?” I ask again.

“She hired movers to deliver your old piano to surprise you, for when you got home,” Leo whispers. I look from Leo to Abigail.

“My old piano?” I gasp.

Leo beams. “That old upright Mom and Dad found.”

“She’s had it this whole time?” I ask, having to look away and out the automatic doors.

“When we cleaned out Mom’s house, she thought you might want it someday. When you came back,” Leo says, biting his nails again.

“How did she know… I would…”