Club Sandwich (46 page)

Maybe Krystal?

Now that would be a trip! I’ll have to make a mental note.

Trixie hasn’t pooped her pants in two months, Persy stopped burping out on the athletic field, and I actually redeemed my day at the spa before it expired. Some victories are small.

In my darkest hour, I didn’t realize it could be this good. But somehow God manages to redeem even the most wounded of families.

I don’t know how He does it, only that He does.

I sit down at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of tea. Mom’s still asleep. Thankfully she’s on the afternoon shift at the dialysis clinic. The early morning time slots were torture.

I pull up the file for my novel. Almost done. I’m entering the edits I’ve made on hard copy, and boy is this the most tedious task imaginable. Having no idea how the publishing house will like it, I pray hard but still imagine copious rewriting. All part of the job, Candace assures me. Jane—excuse me, Lauren—and her baby ride off into the sunset, just the two of them, with fifty mil of Maximilian’s money. Maximilian meets his fate when he collides with a live wire, a stainless steel sink, fifty gallons of water, and a rare porterhouse. The steak had nothing to do with his death. It was a bit of symbolism I used throughout the book.

They’ve tided it
Busting Heads
.

I’ve taken a pen name.

Man, this tea sure tastes good this morning.

Okay, time to get started. Enter changes on manuscript, write column, finish article for newsletter. There are plenty of great women in our world for those savvy enough to recognize them. Fact is, we’re too busy comparing ourselves to one another to appreciate our sisters’ accomplishments. But hey, when one of us succeeds, we
are all lifted up. I guess you can say that about humanity in general as well.

The back door rattles beneath a knock. Debbie.

“Come on in!”

“Hey Ive.”

“So, is the deed done?”

“Movers came this morning.”

Wow, she looks horrible. Face blotchy. Old forest green sweatpants. Ratty flip-flops and a tattered Ron Jon’s T-shirt.

“I’ll fix you a cup of tea. How do you feel?”

“You got scotch?”

“That bad?”

She plops down on a kitchen chair. “Why does it have to be like this?”

I pull down a mug. “Some people just give us no choice.”

“She cussed me up one side and down the other.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Was I right to do this?”

“Definitely. She’ll be fine at the retirement village. It’s nice there. Maybe she’ll even make a few friends.”

“
My
mother?” Deep sigh. “I feel just awful doing that to her.”

I drape a teabag over the edge of a cup and hold it under the hot tap. “Debbie, she did it to herself.”

“My head knows that. But my heart …”

I hand her the cup, which she white-knuckles. “Your kids should always come first. It would be one thing if she couldn’t take care of herself. Now just close your eyes and sit. You don’t have to talk or do anything.”

“I liked your book, Ivy. I even liked the chase scenes.”

“Thanks, Debbie. Now just sit and be.”

One side of her mouth lifts slightly. “I can do that here, you know. I think it’s the only place I can.”

How cool.

After many postponements, Brian, at the urging of his lawyer, finally pled guilty to the DUIs. They suspended his license for two years, put him under supervised probation for the same amount of time, and laid a hundred hours of community service on his shoulders. He’s teaching cooking to underprivileged high-schoolers in a community center downtown.

They say folks never change. But if that were true, we’d be a whole lot worse off.
Some
folks never change. That’s true.
Most folks never change
might even be correct. But maybe those around them don’t let them, or even encourage them to try. I find myself feeling more and more responsible to be like God, that is, to look for places in need of redemption and do what I can. It may not be much, but sometimes a little help is all that’s needed. And then God, who made all that supper out of a few loaves and fishes, does the same thing with my pitiful offerings. I think if we had to do it all, we’d just call it quits before we started.

I call Brian on his cell. “Hey bro. Can you bring Dani and Rosa over for dinner? Mom’s hankering for your crab cakes. I’ve got all the ingredients.”

“Should she be eating crab meat?”

“No. But I can’t say no. She’s been so good lately.”

“I’ll see if Dani can, then call you back. I’ll come by myself if she can’t. Can somebody pick me up?”

“Absolutely. I will.”

It’s like this: I’m standing by a switch that will turn off the electricity he’s frying in. If I don’t move a muscle, I share in the responsibility. Oh, a lot of people will tell you differently. Let each man be responsible for himself and all. But I don’t believe that anymore. God put us on this earth to help each other out. I’ve been reaching for that switch more and more. Rusty convinced me it was the right thing to do.

“Man, those were good, Bri.” Brett wipes her mouth. She heard rumors of crab cakes, and there she was!

Rusty took the kids for ice cream a few minutes ago. It’s just me, Dad, Mom, Brett, and Brian. I don’t think anyone realizes the significance of this gathering. And I’m scared to point it out or someone might leave.

Dad’s made amends. Oh, Mom doesn’t trust him any more than Elizabeth Taylor’s next groom will trust his new bride, but she’s decided to forgive. She told me yesterday, “I can’t die in that state.”

Which scared me to death.

I place a bouquet of cutlery in the sink. “Let’s just let the dishes soak. I’m up for a good game of Boggle. Anybody else?”

“I’d love to play!” Mom’s hands flutter.

That seals the deal.

I gather paper and mismatched writing instruments and pull the game down from the living-room cabinet, and soon the letter cubes are clacking with vigor, and pages of the dictionary are flying. Of course, I ended up with a crayon! But at least it’s a pink one.

“Unbox?” says Brian to Harry. “Dad, I’ve never heard of that word.”

“Me either.” Me.

“Well, if you can box something, you can unbox it.”

Brett. “Dad, people just say, ‘I’ll take it out of the box.’ I’ve never heard anybody say, ‘Hey Joe, will you unbox those widgets?’ ”

“Oh, let’s give it to him.” Mom. “Life’s too short. I should know.”

Well, nobody can argue with her on that.

Harry waves a hand. “Forget it. Your mother’s right. Life’s too short. I’ve never heard anybody use the word unbox either.”

I make us tea. We drink together.

We even laugh.

“Whew! I feel winded!” Mom stops walking halfway across the church parking lot.

“You okay, dear?” I hold her arm more tightly.

“Just give me a second. Oh, look at the trees, Ivy. Aren’t the leaves gorgeous right now?”

“I think they’re at their peak.”

“I’m glad I got to see this again.”

Autumn in Maryland can be breathtaking, especially after a dry summer. Our skies may not be huge, but their blue resembles a deep aquamarine gemstone that sits behind the mosaic of warm leaves: ruby maples, garnet oak, and many colors of topaz. I’m seeing life through Dorothy’s eyes lately, and the fleeting perspective affords me a breathtaking view, bird’s-eye, pregnant with urgency.

“Oh, I’ll bet you’ll be around to see it next year too.”

She only smiles.

“Mom, do you want to die?” I can’t even believe I asked it.

Rusty comes up. “You okay?”

“Mom just needs a little rest. Go ahead and get the kids settled in their classrooms. And you get to go with Trixie today. I went last week.”

Well, not everything can be perfect! Poor Trixie. Life as the family thorn must get a little sorrowful at times.

“I do want to go on home,” Mom says. “I’ve been thinking about signing a Do Not Resuscitate order, Ivy.”

I feel my heart sink. “Oh, Mom. Really?”

“Yep. I know it sounds drastic. And after all my years in Right to Life.”

“Well, it’s your decision. And certainly it’s not something I’d be comfortable deciding for you.”

“I’d like to make that decision while I still can.”

“Okay.”

“Can you talk to our lawyer?”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll do that.”

I cry for two hours in Rusty’s arms. From eleven to one. He cried with me part of the time but stayed awake. Finally, I arose and kissed his cheek. “Go to sleep. The fall concert’s coming up soon. You need your rest.”

I bundle myself up in a sweat suit, grab two sleeping bags, and lay outside on the hammock. The aroma from the evening’s fires in the fireplaces around the neighborhood swaddle me. Autumn’s stripped the trees halfway to bare, and I stare up at the glimmering stars in between the dying leaves as they fall from their branches, kiss my face, caress my hands like a mother’s fingers, and recline softly upon my covers.

Brian and Brett meet me at Starbucks.

“I know you’ve got bad news, Ivy.” Brett. “I can see it on your face.”

“Well, it’s not bad in the sense that Mom’s got something else wrong with her.”