She's Not There (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Edge of Heaven was set on a gentle slope in a copse of silver pines overlooking Lake Okoboji. With its green shutters and fieldstone pathways, the small L-shaped home looked more like a summer retreat than an elder-care facility.

The lobby was warm, with wood floors covered with pink and green Oriental rugs and furnished with sofas and wing-backed chairs. There was a small Christmas tree set up in the corner. A woman in a nurse’s uniform and a red cardigan sweater looked up from the reception desk as Amelia approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m here to see Avis Martin.”

The woman stared at her hard, her expression turning from courteous to confused. Then she flashed a toothy grin. “Mrs. Tobias?”

The name hit Amelia like a punch to the chest. She looked at the woman’s name tag, partially hidden by the sweater. Jill.

“Yes, hello, Jill.”

“I didn’t recognize you. I
love
your new hair,” Jill said. “It’s so chic, you know? So much more you.”

Amelia forced a smile, but her mind was racing. How did this woman know her?

Jill still looked mildly confused. “We weren’t expecting you. You always call and let us know when you’re coming.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Amelia said. “Can I see my grandmother?”

Jill came around the desk and motioned toward a hallway. “Well, you’ve come on a not-so-good day. She didn’t eat her lunch and she’s having a blue day so far.”

Amelia fell into step with Jill as she started down the hall. “How is she in general, Jill?”

“A little better than the last time you were here,” Jill said.

I was here? When?

“I know that was an emotional visit for both of you,” Jill went on, “but she’s doing much better since the doctor switched her to the risperidone.”

Nothing, none of it meant anything to Amelia. What was wrong with her grandmother? “Why did the doctor change her medicine?” she asked.

“She was having some nausea with the divalproex,” Jill said. “As you know, it’s very hard to find a workable treatment for bipolar disorder in the elderly.”

Amelia stopped.
Bipolar?

Jill turned back to her. “You okay, Mrs. Tobias? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Jill waited for her to catch up and then went on talking. “Her dementia has progressed some, as well, I’m afraid. She’s taken to obsessing over her house, you know, that one over on Fairfield? She doesn’t understand why she can’t go back there.”

“But she still owns it, right?”

Jill gave her an odd look. “You’re not going to sell it, are you?”

It’s mine?

“No, of course not,” Amelia said.

“That’s good to hear,” Jill said. “She lived there for so many years, you know. It’s always hard when they have to leave their homes. We try to make them feel at home here, but it’s never the same.”

Amelia had a million questions. How long had The Bird been here? When had she been diagnosed as bipolar? But there was no way to ask anything without having to explain what had happened back in Florida.

Jill pushed open a door, and the scent of rose air freshener wafted toward them. A woman sat in a wheelchair, a hunched gray silhouette against the window. Amelia watched, frozen by the door, as Jill went to the woman.

“I have something for you, Avis,” Jill said, pulling out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.

“I don’t need yellow,” the old woman said. “I need blue. You got any Black Jack?”

“It’s hard to find Black Jack, Avis.”

The old woman grunted and looked away. Jill came back to Amelia at the door. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked softly.

“No, I’ll be fine.” Amelia’s eyes were locked on the old woman.

After Jill left, Amelia drew a shallow breath and went toward the window. Her grandmother didn’t look up. She was concentrating on a long colorful paper chain that lay coiled in her lap.

Amelia wanted desperately to see her grandmother’s face, but the old woman ignored her, her head bent, her small hands weaving tiny pieces of pink paper into the end of the chain.

Dementia. Bipolar.

Go slow . . . don’t force her.

Amelia waited, focusing on her grandmother’s hands. They were liver-spotted and mapped with blue veins, the fingertips stained yellow from nicotine. But someone had painted her nails red. Red, the brighter the better . . . that had been The Bird’s favorite color. But there had been so many other colors, Amelia remembered. And a closet stuffed with leopard coats, flowery summer dresses, and a gold lamé gown, all of it smelling of Tabu perfume. And a big wooden jewelry box, she could remember that, too. The Bird had let her go through it, a pirate chest brimming with pearl necklaces, jangling bangles, big gaudy rings, and pins shaped like birds.

“Hello,” Amelia said.

Her grandmother looked up. Her mouth was stitched with wrinkles, but her eyes were a sea-foam green, like jewels pushed into a pincushion. Her hair was white and silky, and Amelia had a memory of an old Christmas tree topper shaped like an angel with a skirt made from white spun glass.

Amelia’s heart gave. Her eyes teared.

“Who are you?” Avis asked.

Oh no, no, no. Please, God, no.

Amelia brushed at her eyes. “I’m Amelia. Your granddaughter.” It was a struggle to keep her voice normal.

Something registered in the old woman’s eyes, and for a moment, Amelia was sure The Bird knew her. But then it vanished.

“I’m not your grandmother, young lady.”

Amelia slid into the chair opposite. A strong feeling of déjà vu began to settle in as her last visit here finally began to re-form in her head. It had been very hot, August maybe? It had been the first time The Bird had not recognized her.

Avis went back to her paper chain.

“Do you have a granddaughter?” Amelia asked.

“I have a granddaughter
and
a grandson,” she said without looking up. “Mellie and Bennie, Bennie and Mellie.”

Yes, that is what The Bird had called them, almost like they were twins. A sense of emptiness came over Amelia, the same as she had felt at the cemetery looking at Ben’s headstone.

Amelia looked around the small room. There were three picture frames on the dresser. “May I look at your pictures?” she asked her grandmother.

Avis’s eyes moved to the dresser and then back to her paper chain. “Sure. Just be careful.”

Amelia rose, gathered the three frames and brought them back to her chair. The first was a sepia-toned wedding photograph, which Amelia now recalled seeing on the top of the piano at the lake house. Her grandfather looked solemn in his plain suit, but The Bird wore a sly smile and a slinky pale gown.

The second photograph was of her mother, Barbara, sitting near a Christmas tree, holding a baby. A little boy—Ben—sat at her knee. The third photograph was of Amelia and Ben, standing on the porch of the Morning Sun house. Ben about age fourteen, wearing a baseball jersey and baggy jeans. And her, all twig arms and long knobby legs, wearing a pink leotard and a blue tutu.

Amelia stared at the picture for a long time, struggling to make the memory come, and slowly it did. The photograph had been taken the day of one of her ballet recitals. She had fallen during her performance and almost left the stage in tears.

I’m so embarrassed. I want to quit, Grandma.

Baby colts fall down, Mellie, you’ve seen ’em do it. But they get up again and again and they learn to run. Some of them grow up to be thoroughbreds.

Amelia looked back at The Bird. Her hands had stopped working and she was staring out the window, squinting in the light. Amelia studied her profile, seeing herself in the severe angles and high cheekbones. A few more memories trickled back, split-second snapshots of her and Ben at the lake house. The feel of The Bird’s hands as she gently braided her hair. Sitting on the porch with Ben, scraping cake batter from a big blue bowl.

“Would you tell me about your granddaughter?” Amelia asked.

Avis looked at her with suspicion. “Why?”

“I’d just like to know her better.”

“You got a cigarette first?”

“No, I don’t smoke. I’m sorry.”

“They won’t give me any. What, they think I’m gonna croak from lung cancer at my age? Gimme a break.”

Amelia hid her smile. Oh yes, she remembered The Bird now.

Avis was staring hard at her and for a moment Amelia thought there was a flicker of recognition. Then she held up the paper chain. “I made this,” she said. “I made it out of gum wrappers. Mellie taught me how.”

I did? I don’t remember that.

Her grandmother held up a gum wrapper. “I could use some help.”

Amelia set the frames on the table and took the wrapper. It was Teaberry gum. Its odd taste came back to her, like Pepto-Bismol. “You’ll have to show me what to do,” Amelia said.

The Bird picked up a wrapper from the pile on the windowsill and began to neatly fold it into a narrow strip, then into a V-shape. Amelia copied her motions, and for a long time, the room was quiet as Amelia folded the wrappers and The Bird wove them into her chain.

“So, what do you want to know about Mellie?”

Amelia’s head came up. The Bird wasn’t looking at her, still intent on her chain, but there was a new softness in her voice.

“Whatever you can tell me about her,” Amelia said.

Her grandmother looked up and smiled. “Well, she was a sweet little girl,” she said. “Smart as a whip she was, and fearless. That girl wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Amelia stopped folding, her thoughts returning to her strange dream of standing on a roof with Ben. But suddenly she knew it wasn’t a dream. It had really happened. One day The Bird had taken them up on her roof and told them they could jump and fly. And Amelia had almost done it—anything to please The Bird—but Ben had pulled her back. Ben had always been there to pull her back when The Bird had tried to push her too far.

A manic episode, Amelia thought sadly. Isn’t that what they called it? Wasn’t that what happened to bipolar people when their mood swung too wide? That day on the roof and the screaming fit over the burnt cookies—they were the negatives to all the positives.

Of course she had known about her grandmother’s illness. But like so many details of her life, it had been erased and now it was coming back. The good and the bad, she had to reclaim it all.

“Mellie’s father was a real son of a bitch.”

Amelia looked up at her grandmother. Her voice had turned cold.

“I never understood what Barbara saw in that man,” her grandmother went on. “He wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t a good father. Never saw nothing in those kids but mouths to feed. Ben, now I never worried much about him, but Mellie was too tender to understand that some men just can’t love babies the way they should.”

Amelia had a stab of memory, of being very small and trying to crawl up into her father’s lap and him pushing her away. And later, being much older, and how he had called her Jelly-Belly and fought with her mother over the ballet lessons.

Where did the money come from, Barbara?

My mother sent it. And we’re taking it, for Amelia’s sake.

Amelia looked up at The Bird. “You paid for your granddaughter’s ballet lessons, didn’t you,” she said.

“Damn right I did.” The Bird pointed at the gum wrapper in Amelia’s hand. “You done with that one?”

Amelia handed it over and picked up another Teaberry wrapper to fold. Again the room was quiet.

“Mellie is in New York City now,” The Bird said suddenly. “She’s a star ballerina, you know.”

A star. Had she been a star? She had been a dancer but could remember almost nothing of it. Was all that part of her lost forever? Was there anyone who could help her find that again?

“Mellie never comes to visit anymore,” The Bird said. “But that’s to be expected. They fly away, get out in the world and they forget where they came from and who they were.”

Amelia touched The Bird’s hand. “I promise you, she hasn’t forgotten you.”

The Bird looked down at Amelia’s hand. Then she grunted, set her paper down and looked toward the window.

Amelia was quiet, her heart swelling with affection for this woman. She wanted to put her arms around her and tell her she loved her, but she had no idea how The Bird would react.

Still, this feeling had been buried there inside her all week, even when she hadn’t known her grandmother’s name or been able to visualize her face. And if
she
could feel love for a woman she had not been able to remember, maybe The Bird could do the same.

Amelia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her grandmother. At first, The Bird stiffened but then she melted into the embrace, her hands coming up to rest on Amelia’s arms.

After a moment, The Bird drew back and straightened her shoulders. With trembling hands, she dug out a Kleenex from her sweater sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

“I’m tired now,” she said softly. “My brain is tired.”

A scene flickered in Amelia’s mind. She was sitting in the dark on a staircase, watching her mother and father in the living room below.

You shouldn’t leave the kids with your mother, Barbara. She’s crazy.

She’s not crazy. She’s just spirited.

She’s getting worse. I don’t want them going to the lake anymore.

She’d never do anything to hurt them. And they love her.

And then it was like the memories sped onward, a tape stuck in fast forward, and she saw herself not as a child but as a grown woman, sitting across the kitchen table from her mother, and there was a sense of emptiness in the house, like it was only the two of them left.

We’re going to get married, Mama.

Have you told him about Grandma yet?

I need to find the right time.

Don’t do it, Amelia. You don’t want a man like Alex to find out you got craziness in your blood. You don’t want him to change his mind. That almost happened with me and your father. You don’t want to be alone in life, Amelia.