Club Sandwich (31 page)

Rusty’s mom would weep if she had lived long enough to witness all this.

He reaches into his shirt pocket for his reading glasses. “Go on up and take a bubble bath, hon. I don’t want you to hear this.”

Father-son stuff. I shouldn’t hang around.

I’m horrible. I eavesdrop from the bottom step, unable to help myself. I have to know what I’m up against when Rusty calls me tomorrow. If he calls me tomorrow. He might tell his dad to go jump in a lake and take me with him. Not much chitchat transpires before Reuben jumps right in.

“Are you aware that your mother-in-law is worsening?”

“…”

“What do you think you ought to do about that? Ivy’s here by herself, and the kids … Dorothy is very, very ill. I know where you are, but this is a serious situation. How are you going to handle this thing, son?”

“…”

“Sure, I know you’re out on the road, but with Ivy having all these problems, how do you think you can help your family?”

“…”

“It’s not about money, Russell. The home front is in need of reinforcements. Ivy’s taken a direct hit. She’s trying to keep things together.”

“…”

“What else do you think you can do?”

“…”

“I know you’re working hard. But bottom line, son, is you’re not here. You don’t take the time even to call home. And Ivy’s shouldering this burden, and I’m watching her waste away.”

“…”

“Think about this, then: if you came back and Ivy wasn’t here, and your kids weren’t here, what would you do?”

“…”

“There’s got to be something you can do around here.”

“…”

“Sure, I can put out some feelers. Maybe you can go back to teaching.”

“…”

“I know. All I’m asking you is to think about things.”

“…”

“Love you, son.”

Whew. He handled that well. Better than I would have. Now we’ll have to see how long it takes Rusty to come up with a solution. If he really bothers to.

“Go take that bubble bath, kiddo!” Reuben yells.

M
arty Bass rambles on and on about this “winter weather event” on channel 13. Everything’s an event with the news these days, special graphics in the corner of the screen, a theme song. But I love Marty Bass.

A fine, freezing rain descends, and Lyra and Persy boogie down with the “school’s canceled” dance, overtones of SpongeBob tingeing the melee.

I love snow days. Although it isn’t technically a snow day. It’s a “winter weather event” day. I do, however, whisper a prayer that ice won’t coat the power lines and abandon us to the cold, silent darkness.

I hate that.

I check on Mom. She’s awake.

“The kids are off of school today. Freezing rain.”

“I hope they won’t do too much running around. I’m not up to it.”

I kiss her cheek. “I’ll try to keep them quiet.”

“It is my house, you know.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Yes, I do know.”

“I don’t know if I want to sell it.”

Disappointment jabs my chest. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, Mom.”

I tiptoe up the stairs, lay on the bed, and lay in my own emptiness, bound in the chains of a woman whose life isn’t her own.

Help me, God. Help me. Help me. Help me.

The once-freezing rain turns to drizzle by 10:00 a.m., and we are off to visit the adult day-care center.

Margaret of Family First reminds me of a retired gym teacher. Kind of stocky, walks by leading with her shoulders, not her hips. Her extra-short brown hair curls at the trim line, and a bit of gray sparkles in the sunlight now streaming through the large windows of the warm recreation room. “We do all we can to keep them happy and busy.”

Sweet pictures decorate the pale-blue walls: families on picnics, mother and child walking the beach, folk art with no depth but lots of busyness. A middle-aged man plays the piano in the corner, “Red Sails in the Sunset” coloring the atmosphere.

Let’s see: a Scrabble game in full swing, chess, a couple of puzzles, backgammon, crafts. An orderly enters bearing a tray of medicine cups all queued up neatly. “So you oversee their medication?”

“Oh yes. We take care of everything you’d do if they were with you at home.”

“Everybody looks content.”

“We find folks actually like being with people their own age. You’d be amazed at the connections. So-and-so knows so-and-so,
and off they go, talking about shared experiences. It’s never dull around here.”

Yeah right, Marge.

“We arrange field trips for those who are capable. We go to the mall, take in a matinee sometimes, a play occasionally, concerts.”

I squeeze Mom’s arm. “What do you think, Mom? Is this someplace you could be for a few hours a day?”

She nods. Mom says little to strangers nowadays.

An older woman stands up and begins to cry. “I can’t find my doll. I can’t find my doll!”

“That’s Eunice. She’s a sweetie pie.” Margaret doesn’t explain further, which is good because it’s none of my business. I don’t want Mom’s condition bandied about with strangers.

“It seems nice.”

“We don’t have too many people who remove their parents from our program. But to assure you, we do have a thirty-day trial period. If you find this isn’t for you, you can stop Dorothy’s enrollment without any penalty.”

Good. And a lot can happen in a month, right?

Later on, after Lyra’s ensconced in her room studying for a biology test and the little ones are asleep, I have to admit that God had mercy on me. Just knowing Rusty’s aware of my plight and is at least ruminating on a solution has given me hope. And I refrained from sending Mitch any IMs. But tonight it felt like a fifties show around here. Garret called and told me everything was going well at the bistro and to relax, which, for a guy his age, I thought was incredibly
mature and caring. I picked up a beautiful pork roast, browned it, and baked it slowly with apples and sauerkraut. The aroma put us all in a good mood. I made rolls and even baked a pie. We congregated around the table, Mom flirting with Reuben, believe it or not, and him patting her hand, smiling warmly. Trixie was at her cutest, and I made sure to seat her as far from Lyra as possible.

No call from Rusty yet. But I imagine him with his thoughts toward home. I have to. As usual, he’s left me with no other option.

Warm baths for the little ones, bedtime stories, prayers, and they lay sleeping in their beds by eight thirty. Even
Ancient Marvels and Mysteries
proved too much for Persy, whose head kept drooping forward during prayers.

While I tended to them, Reuben cleaned up the kitchen, and I came downstairs to a humming dishwasher and a hot cup of tea. After I settled Mom in bed, Harry emerged and warmed up his plate in the microwave, poured a glass of milk, and told us about his job search. And I truly didn’t mind his company. In fact, I felt genuine excitement for him as he talked about working at an optical center.

“You’ve kept up your license?”

“Yep.”

Shocking. You just can’t ever tell, can you? You think you’ve packed people neatly in a box, and they upend all your ideas about them.

“It’s been good here with you, Ive. I’ve forgotten how precious a home life can be.”

Precious? Did he ever once think that about our life in Lutherville?

Two months ago I would have made a crack. Tonight I just take it at face value.

“I want to be more of a help with your mother. Lord knows, I owe her that.”

True, but …

“Let’s introduce you slowly, Harry. Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow night? By way of the front door.”

He nodded.

So now we sit here at the table. I work on Old Barbara, Reuben reads a James Clavell novel, and Harry tinkers with a crossword puzzle. More tea all around.

“Tomorrow morning’s going to be difficult with getting the kids off to school and Mom to day care. Harry, can you drive the kids?”

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll drop Mom off on my way to the restaurant. Dad, you up to Trixie patrol?”

“Of course. I don’t get the problem with that child. She’s as good as gold for me.”

“Just wait until the bloom wears off.”

Harry laughs.

Reuben shuts his book. “I’ll cook up breakfast as well. I enjoyed that the other day.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Look. You’ve taken me in, and I’m no mooch. I can pull my weight, and what’s more, I’ll enjoy doing it.”

“Thanks. I’ve got a box of frozen waffles and there’s some bacon in the fridge. But waffles will be enough if you don’t feel like really cooking.”

“You got it, kiddo. We’ll get through this somehow.”

I smile. God’s sent these two my way. Reuben I can believe. But Harry Starling sent by God? Go figure.

Okay, so I need to call Brett, and I’m dreading it so much I feel the nausea burbling in my throat.

She’ll still be up. I am.

“Brett, it’s Ive.”

“Hey Ivy.”

“How did Marcus’s announcement go?”

“Fine.”

“Find a good dress?”

“It was all right.”

She must really be depressed. “I’ll bet you looked great.”

“I tried.”

“I took Mom over to see one of those adult day-care facilities. She starts tomorrow.”