I Like You Just Fine When You're Not Around (26 page)

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As much as she had slept on the way over, Tig found there would be no rest on the way home. Dark, anxious anticipation filled her stomach on the red-eye flight from the first connection to last. Spending two weeks in paradise had done nothing to erase the worries. Thoughts of her mother's imagined, injured face, the blood on the carpet in her own house. Fern's stiffened hands. Pete's rough beard, his hardened words, his hands. Uncomplicated Alec with his own sad history. The man who committed suicide, though faceless to her, followed her everywhere with a blaming finger raised.

She could hear her mother's voice from the past addressing Tig's anxiety over an unfairness or a troubled relationship. Her mother would say, “Tiglet, this high drama is over when you say it's over. Just pull out. Stop playing along.”

Unable to disengage that easily, Tig would cry, “But I want to be happy. What if I make a mistake?”

In her signature, practical way her mother would say, “Stop making happiness some kind of concrete goal. It's a side effect. It's a secondary happening, but not the main event. Happiness is what you feel when you've been kind, fair, or loving in the face of hardness. It is the feeling of light that comes after behaving in the way you ultimately want.”

But that was the problem, Tig thought. What did she want?

Tig brushed her hair and applied lip gloss on the way from the airport to Hope House. She took in the vivid change of scenery. The succulent greens had changed to boisterous yellows, reds, and oranges. The smell of mossy pre-fall Wisconsin filled the car.

Once inside Hope House, Tig strode to her mother's room. Hallie sat holding her baby doll, gazing serenely out the picture window onto the grounds. As Tig approached, Hallie smiled. “I don't feel like seeing animals today; call Mrs. Tyson and tell her I'm taking a personal day.” Her eyes were ringed with dark blue, red, and yellow—garish and stark against her pale face. Tig reached out to touch the bruises. Her mother pulled back and glared at Tig.

Pam Gibson walked up. “I heard you were here. Welcome home.”

“I leave and this happens? Look at her.”

Hallie started to fidget.

“Where was Wendy? How did this happen?”

Unfazed, Pam said, “Wendy was here, Tig.”

Hallie started to fret and rock the baby doll. “There, there.”

“Why wasn't she helping my mom?”

Pam crooked her finger. “You are upsetting your mother, Dr. Monahan. Come with me.”

Tig looked at Hallie, who frantically patted the baby and looked worriedly from the window and back. “Get Dan. I need Dan.”

Touching her mother's shoulder, she said, “It's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay.” She placed a cool hand on her forehead.

Her mother ceased her rocking, but her eyes darted around the room. “I need your father.”

“I know, Mom. It's okay.”

“Let's step outside in the hall and talk.” The nurse strode out the door and into the hallway, stopping only to see that Tig was following.

Right behind her, Tig said, “Tell me what happened.”

“She was on the toilet and dropped her doll's blanket. When she bent to pick it up, she bumped her nose against the safety rail mounted on the wall next to the toilet. She didn't break her nose, and she appeared to have no other injuries, but when she woke the next day she had two black eyes.”

“Why didn't someone call me?”

“What would you have done, Tig? Your sister was here. Dr. Jenson came. We had it covered.”

“I'm her daughter! I should have been told.”

“Her other daughter, Wendy, didn't want you disturbed. Give her some credit for handling it.”

“I can't help but feel that I was off getting a suntan while everything over here was going to shit.”

Pam pulled herself up. “That is offensive, and belittles what I personally do here. You are not some good-luck talisman who keeps everything running perfectly as long as you're around. This is a nursing home, Dr. Monahan. People don't usually get younger here. We do everything we can to fight against the discomforts of aging. If you think you can do better, take your mother back home. Be my guest.”

Pam turned on her heel and marched away. Watching her go, Tig muttered, “Score one for Hope House.”

No longer filled with outrage, Tig walked to the nurses' desk where Alec stood, arms folded, concentrating on the compassionate face of a nurse. She touched his arm gently. Delighted surprise flitted across his face, momentarily followed by concern. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren't due back for another week.”

“I thought it was time to come home. How's your mom?”

He sighed and gave Tig a brief hug. “Not well.”

Tig accompanied Alec down the hall. In Fern's room, Erin popped up from her chair and ran to Tig.

“You came!” She buried her head into Tig's stomach, holding her tight. The unbridled enthusiasm and girdle of warmth from Erin, coupled with her own fatigue and worry, made Tig's eyes smart. Over Erin's head, Tig was alarmed to see the shell of Fern Fobes. She looked as dry as the leaves Tig had kicked through on the front path to Hope House. Parched and tiny. Flat on her back with her white hair brushed up on her pillow, Fern's mouth was open and she seemed to breathe in a way that was all unsatisfying nerve impulse and had nothing to do with rejuvenation and life.

Tig guided Alec into the hall with Erin still clinging to her waist. “What happened?”

Alec shook his head, baffled. “She told me she wanted to die and made me sign a Do Not Resuscitate order. Then she had a long talk with Erin.”

Tig knelt down and looked Erin in the eye. “What did she say, honey?”

With a watery breath, Erin said, “She said that she was getting really sick and pretty soon she wouldn't be able to go to the bathroom or breathe alone. She said that her body has been her best friend for eighty years, but now it needs to rest. She said her body is really tired.”

Tig pulled a strand of light brown hair away from Erin's face and secured it behind her ear. “Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie, that must be so hard for you.”

Alec hugged his daughter close. “The nurse said her skin is starting to mottle. That's not a good sign. Her blood is pooling. I can't see how this happened so fast. Now I don't know what's keeping her here. At this point, I wish she would allow herself to go. I can hardly bear to watch it. It's just too close to losing Jennifer.”

Tig stood up. “Maybe you need to tell her it's okay to go. That you will be fine.”

“Do you think she can still hear? That it will register with her?”

Erin Ann wandered back to Fern's bedside and tentatively touched her hand.

Alec said, “She's gone through a lot, that little girl.”

Tig stepped into Alec, holding him close. After a moment, he said, “I don't know what I'll do without my mom.” Tig heard a gurgle in his throat and realized he was crying. “She's always been there.” Stepping back, he palmed his face and gave a little self-conscious sigh. “Of course she has, right?”

Tig smiled. “I understand. Some parents go on cruises; others, like yours and mine, they never miss a baseball game and hold your baby even when their mind is off in the 1960s. I'm not sure which is better.”

“The second one looks better on paper.”

“Yeah. Still, being the one who's always there isn't what it's cracked up to be.”

“I'm glad you're here.”

“I didn't mean how that sounded. I want to be here.”

Alec leaned against the wall and looked over Tig's shoulder. “I've always been afraid of the freak accident. You know: the car crash on vacation, a fall in the shower. Sudden death. God, worry is a waste of time.”

“Worry is what you do when there's nothing to be done. You can't be in the car with your teen, so you worry about your teen in the car.”

“Yeah. I worried when my wife was on the road if it snowed. I worried that if she traveled, her plane would crash. Apparently, I should have been worrying about my wife's pancreas.” Shaking his head, he added, “And my mom's connective tissue.”

“That's exhausting to even think about.”

Alec studied his daughter, who was now sitting with her knees tucked under her chin, playing a handheld computer game. “I'm mostly sorry for Erin. Look at her, so at ease with death at such a young age.”

Tig folded her arms. “I don't think that's a bad thing, Alec. Think about it; you don't really live life if you don't know the value of it. You learn the value of things when you realize you could lose them. Think about all the people who finally give up smoking or steak after they have their first heart attack. Erin will always know how precious life is.”

Alec looked at her admiringly.

“God, don't look at me like that,” Tig said. “I'm only smart about other people. I've got absolutely no insight where my people are concerned. Or myself, either. You met me living in a nursing home, remember?”

“That was the one happy accident that's occurred lately.”

Tig smiled. “Don't start worrying about my connective tissue.”

Walking into Fern's room to be with his daughter, he said, “I might, and there's not a thing you can do about it.”

With half a dozen leis wilting in the back seat next to her luggage, Tig passed the University of Wisconsin Hospital, the remodeled strip mall, and the bagel shop close to her house. She dialed her phone.

“Jean, I'm back. I've been thinking a lot. If you set up a meeting with the woman whose husband killed himself, I'll tell you my idea for some changes in the radio show with the goal of trying again. That's my deal. Take it or leave it.” Tig dropped her phone into her purse and drove up her driveway. The sight of her red door, the golden leaves of the maple tree, and Thatcher's head in the front window was as effective as a Welcome Home banner at making her feel, well . . . home.

Inside, Thatcher scrambled to her side, sneezing and doing what Tig called the doggie-hello dance.
That was the longest ten minutes of my life. So glad you're home, your crotch smells exactly right
. It was the same welcome she received if she was gone for a month or an hour. Thatcher never discriminated. Her philosophy was if you came home, you deserved a parade.

Tig looked around. The place was spotless. The notes for her mother were all gone, along with the remnants of adhesive and dust that went with each. Her mail was stacked in a tidy basket on the hall table next to a mix of orange, red, and yellow mums. The house smelled of lemons, cinnamon, and fresh air. Wendy rounded the corner with Clementine tied to her in the baby sling.

"Bienvenido a casa."
Wendy smiled, bending her head to her child. “I told you your aunt was coming. Look Clem, it's Auntie Tig.”

Tig peeked at her niece. Stroking the baby's face, Tig felt a rush of uncomplicated pleasure. “I thought you'd be at Mom's.”

Wendy smiled back. “I wanted to make sure the place was ready for you. Come see.” Tig followed Wendy, noticing small changes along the way. The frayed carpet in front of the sink had been replaced with a vibrant rug woven with reds, oranges, and blues. The old singed potholders that had hung over the stove now matched the rug. The counters were clean, the microwave wiped free of smudges, and the coffeemaker bubbled.

“I hired a cleaning woman. Come see Clem's room.”

No longer a makeshift baby-holding area, the space had been arranged into a cozy living spot for a girl to grow. “I hope you don't mind. Phil painted. Do you like the color? It's called Sweet Pea Green. I found the crib dust ruffle at Lost and Found, that little consignment store downtown.”

“It looks great, Wen, like we stepped inside a magazine. So things with Phil are good?”

“It's a long story. How is Pete?”

“That's a long story, too.”

A slice of quiet sat between them until Wendy cleared her throat and said, “Do you really like the place?” Wendy beamed like a six-year-old looking for approval on a handmade birthday card.

“I do, Wen. What's not to like? The place hasn't been this clean in years. How'd you do all this with Clem? Phil must have really stepped up.”

“It wasn't that hard after Clem stopped crying.” Wendy addressed her child in baby talk, “You did, didn't you? You stopped crying.” To Tig she said, “We have a little routine now. We get up and eat, take Thatcher for a walk, get started on our lists, nap a little, and start over.”

“And Phil?”

“He's gone.” Wendy blinked rapidly and inhaled.

“That was fast. For good?”

Wendy nodded hard. “Just couldn't do it.” With her chin up, she said, “I'm not interested in any half proclamations, any ‘we'll sees.' All in or all done is what I'm saying these days.”

“Does he want to be in her life in smaller ways?”

“I don't care if he does. What would that message be? I like you, but not enough to put you to bed every night or go to your parent-teacher conferences on a regular basis. That's a pet owner, not a father. I might ask him to sign over parental rights. We grew up without a father, you especially.”

Tig said, “The people who always use that argument are the ones with the most problems. I mean, Wen, we sat right here, in this room, looking through a mystery box trying to figure out who our mother was after we made some dubious choices of our own.”

“All in or all done.” Wendy's voice cracked on the last word.

“You okay?”

“I found I can't like someone who doesn't love Clem and want to spend significant time with her. Look at her, Tig. Just look at her.” A fat, silent admonishment sat unspoken between them and Wendy dragged her head up to look at her sister. “You had every right to want to kill me. I can't explain how I could leave her with you. It was like there was a freight train going through my brain and I was trying to deal with everything else around that sound. If I ever did get a chance to sleep, I would wake feeling like cold water was swirling around my neck. The night you came home, I had a thought that I just couldn't deal with.” Wendy coughed.