The Beach House (39 page)

She despised hospitals. They all looked the same, she thought to herself as she shifted her weight in the uncomfortable metal chair. Cold and sterile with long, narrow halls that wound around linoleum floors and passed through double doors like a maze. The worst thing about hospitals was that they were filled with sick people. Cara didn’t like being around illness. She hated flying because, to her mind, it was like being trapped for hours in a giant germ bank. When someone coughed in a theater, she’d lean far away. If someone sneezed in a crowded elevator, she’d hold her breath until she escaped. Which was why Cara was convinced that her mother’s persistent cough, and now the hospital visits, was God giving her a kind of purgatory for sins of the past.

Not that she was complaining. Her love for her mother was more powerful than any aversion to illness. So she quietly sat hunched over in the metal chair while Lovie underwent multiple tests. She waited, thinking every minute what a saint Toy had been for so long. While Cara was oblivious in her career in Chicago, Toy had driven Lovie to her radiation treatments and waited like this, pregnant and tired, probably having to get up to pee every ten minutes. Cara fervently believed there was a special place in Heaven for caregivers.

After two and a half hours, the nurse emerged to ask if she’d join Dr. Pittman in the examining room. Cara practically sprang from the chair to follow her through the very narrow hall. When she entered the room, she found her mother sitting on the examining table still wearing the papery green robe and chatting away with an unnatural cheerfulness.

“Look who’s come to join us!” Lovie exclaimed, her eyes feverishly bright.

Lovie was trying too hard to be cheerful and Cara immediately felt on edge. She looked over to the doctor, a young, bookish man with heavy eyeglasses and a long, serious face. Dr. Pittman was writing in the chart but managed to look up briefly and smile. They’d spoken on the phone at length when Cara had first learned of her mother’s illness, but this was the first time they’d met.

“Take a seat, Miss Rutledge,” he said, indicating another metal chair.

“Thanks, but I’ll stand,” she replied, walking to her mother’s side.

“So, what’s the verdict?” her mother asked, again with a forced optimism.

Dr. Pittman’s silence spoke volumes. Lovie’s balloon of cheer deflated as his expression turned somber.

“I didn’t like what we found today.”

When Lovie turned her head, Cara saw that the fevered cheerfulness was, in fact, fear. She reached out to hold her mother’s hand.

“The cancer has spread more rapidly than we’d anticipated. In particular, it has moved into the trachea, which would explain the coughing.”

“Is surgery an option?” Cara asked.

“The trachea is inoperable. The mass is…everywhere.”

Cara’s stomach tightened but she tried to maintain calm. “Surely there’s something we can do, Doctor.”

He sighed. “We could consider initiating another round of radiation therapy.”

“No.” Lovie was adamant.

Dr. Pittman looked at Lovie and smiled weakly. He closed the chart and looked at Cara with compassion. “We’ve entered the final phase of the disease.”

Cara heard him clearly and returned his gaze unflinchingly, grateful for his honesty. She couldn’t have stood it if he was evasive or tried to mask the harsh realities. “I understand.”

“Your mother understands that the best we can offer at this point is palliative treatment.”

Lovie patted Cara’s hand. “What he’s trying to say is there’s nothing he can do.”

To his credit, he smiled. “That’s right, as far as treatment goes. However, there is a great deal we can do to make certain you are comfortable, Mrs. Rutledge. There is absolutely no reason for you to suffer. Since you’ve decided to remain at home, I’ll arrange for a visiting nurse to set up regular appointments and for oxygen to be delivered. It just makes it a little easier when you feel like you’re not getting enough air. Use it. Don’t be shy. We can also discuss at length the use of morphine.” He glanced at Lovie. “But there’s no need to do that today.”

To Cara he said, “This is a process that needs to be understood so you can best help your mother. It’s time to be practical and realistic as to what treatments you can manage at home and what you might need help for. Time to gather together a support group. Is Miss Sooner still around?”

“Yes. She’s a great help.”

“Good. But she’s having a baby soon, isn’t that right?”

“She’s due September 15.”

“I see.”

“Cara can handle this,” Lovie said. “She’s very competent, you know.”

Cara didn’t miss the pride in her mother’s voice and felt a chink in her self-control.

“Good,” he said emphatically. “But don’t take it all on yourself. Too often I see a competent daughter or wife feel she can manage it all and in the end she suffers burnout. There’s no need for that. A good caregiver takes care of herself. Remember, it’s important to have a two-pronged support system. The first is your medical support staff. We’ll get you lined up for visiting nurses, social workers and hospice. The second you have to arrange yourself. You’ll need a support group that will provide a caring atmosphere for both Mrs. Rutledge and yourself. A group of good listeners who can be counted on to help when needed.”

Cara and her mother exchanged a glance.

“The Turtle Team,” they said in unison.

The phone began ringing off the hook as word leaked out about Lovie’s illness. Volunteers asked if they could bring over a covered casserole, soup, anything at all from the four basic food groups. Brett did all the lawn work. Emmi called every time she left her house just to make sure some errand didn’t need to be run. Miranda came by just to sit beside Lovie on the bed and keep her company while they watched TV. Flo briskly walked in twice a day full of enthusiasm and energy, talking loudly and bringing along something fun or interesting to read that she’d painstakingly searched out. “Got to keep her spirits up,” she said with a knowing look to Cara each day before returning home.

Cara couldn’t keep count of all the turtle paraphernalia that arrived each day from well-wishers. Turtle jewelry, shirts, candles, wind chimes, hats, cups, flags, key rings—Cara didn’t know where folks found so much turtle stuff. Lovie was moved and grateful for it all and tried to take the time to speak to everyone who stopped by or called. On occasion, the visitor would break down into tears and it was Lovie who had to offer comfort. Before the week was out, Cara saw how her mother’s energy was sapped and she began restricting visitors. Word was sent out that Lovie needed her rest and, gradually, peace was restored at the beach house.

Lovie’s bedroom looked increasingly like a hospital room, though. It couldn’t be helped. The oxygen tank and cart took up a lot of space beside her bed, and the bedside table was covered with a tissue box, a water glass and several small pill bottles. A TV had been moved in as well as a bookshelf. Cara tried to order a mechanical bed that moved position but Lovie was horrified at the thought. She wanted to sleep in her own four-poster bed, the one her mother had slept in, and her mother before her. She refused any discussion on the matter.

Thus, in short order, the house went topsy-turvy. Lovie spent a good deal of time in her room resting, reading, watching television and organizing the photo albums that had become an obsession. She tried to keep involved with the household decisions and turtle affairs, but it was a struggle.

Cara also began preparing more of the meals. Toy helped but her advanced pregnancy made her slow and cumbersome in the kitchen and she had to put her feet up frequently because of swollen ankles. Several nights a week she grew antsy and said she had to get out of the house for a little while, too. Toy began going to the local movie theater on a regular basis.

That was how Cara became the official gatekeeper, cook, laundry woman, housekeeper and chauffer. She managed the meals, the medication and the complaints. She scheduled medical appointments, did the shopping and paid the bills. She had several offers to help but was reluctant to accept. She didn’t like to bother folks with her problems. Besides, in her mind it was easier and quicker if she just did the job herself. There was, however, one person she felt
should
step up to the plate.

Palmer opened the door of his home and his face broke into delighted surprise. Then, as if catching himself, the warmth iced over and his smile turn stiffly polite.

“Hello, Cara.”

“Hello, Palmer.”

He looked healthy and tanned in his pale-blue polo shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. Cara guessed he’d been boating or golfing, or both. She was dressed in plain khakis and a madras cotton shirt that made her look almost girlish compared to his sophisticated casualness. She regretted not dressing up more for the discussion.

“What brings you here?”

“I thought we’d chat about Mama.”

He thought about this a minute while she shifted her weight. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

“Come on in, then,” he said with reluctance, opening wide the door.

She entered the house with a firm stride to disguise her nervousness. This was only the second time she’d visited her old home since her arrival. There had been no more invitations to dinner nor had there been any more visits to the beach house from Palmer since the Fourth of July party.

“Where are the kids?” she asked as she passed through the marble-floored foyer.

“They’re out playing somewhere.”

“Too bad.” She was disappointed not to see them. But perhaps it was just as well, given the topic of conversation. She made her own way into the living room. When he joined her, he indicated two plush armchairs covered in a gorgeous Italian fabric.

“Are these new?” she asked, admiring them.

“No, those are the ones that used to be in Daddy’s library. They had that tapestry-looking fabric on them, remember?”

“They look very different,” she said, sinking into one of them. They must have set Palmer back a few pennies. “Very nice.”

“It’s all Julia,” he replied without enthusiasm as he took the opposite chair.

“How is she? I haven’t seen her in a long time. She hasn’t stopped by.”

“She’s at some committee meeting at school. She’s always doing something over there. Things are heating up now that school’s started up again.”

“Things are busy at the beach house, too.” It was an opener and they both knew it.

Palmer nodded noncommittally.

Cara leaned forward, eager to end the polite chitchat and get to the topic at hand. “I called you about Mama two weeks ago.” She paused for emphasis. “I thought I’d clearly explained to you what Mama’s doctor had said but perhaps you didn’t understand. So I’m here to talk about it.”

“I understood what you said well enough, but I don’t agree.”

“You don’t agree? What’s to agree with? Mama’s got cancer. She’s dying.”

“I don’t believe she’s dying.”

Cara leaned back in the chair, stunned. She hadn’t been prepared for that.

“That’s denial, Palmer,” she stammered.

“Says you. I talked to the doctors over there myself and no one told me that she was dying. Hell, she’d be in the hospital if she were.”

Cara stared back at him, not knowing what to believe. Either the doctors were hedging with Palmer or he wasn’t listening. “Mama doesn’t want to go to a hospital. She wants to die at home.”

“She’s not dying,” he repeated.

“Palmer, listen to me. It’s bad. She needs to see you. She asks for you all the time. And for Cooper and Linnea.”

“You know we want to come out there more, but you see how it is. The kids have got Julia running ragged with one thing or other. And we were there just the other week.”

“You mean the children came out. You haven’t been to see Mama in over a month.” Her tone was accusing.

“I’ve been busy,” he said with a flat voice. “You’re the one with all the free time. Besides, Mama’s designated you as caregiver. You and that girl.”

Cara’s resentment knew no bounds. “I can’t believe you’re treating this so lightly. Talking about kids’ schedules and being busy—at a time like this!” She felt a fury welling up against her brother. “What are you so afraid of? The possibility that Mama is dying?”

“Like I said—”

“Or are you angry at her?” she interrupted. His mouth shut tight and Cara knew she’d hit the truth. “I know you had words on the Fourth. You upset her, Palmer.” She was relieved to see regret in his eyes. “But she won’t talk to me about it and I’m not asking. I don’t need to know what the argument was about. I don’t care. But surely you’re man enough to overcome mere pique when our mother is dying.”

His jaw flexed and his eyes sparked with anger. “You let me be the judge of my own dealings with my mother. I’ve been seeing to her needs for a lot longer than you have.”

“No one’s denying that, least of all Mama. But she needs you now. I need you.”

“You seem to have everything under control out there. Yes, ma’am. Things are going just the way you like.”

“I’m not quite sure—”

“You’re doing a fine job,” he said with false bluster, rising to a stand. “Real good. I’ll be by soon. And call me if there is an emergency, okay? Listen, I’ve got to run.”

He was pushing her off! She couldn’t believe it. She rose in a huff and followed him through the foyer.

“What’s gotten into you?” she snapped, unleashing her frustration. “Don’t you care about your own mother?”

“Don’t you dare question my love for my mother!” he bellowed back in her face. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t know what love is. Who do you think took care of her all those years while you were in Chicago? Me, that’s who. You left!”

“I got kicked out!”

“Only because you forced the issue with the old man.”

They stood inches apart, glaring at each other, while the memory of that night played in both their minds.

Cara stepped back and brought her hand to her temple. Her fingers were shaking.

“Hell,” Palmer cursed, putting his hands on his hips and looking out the beautifully etched transom windows that bordered the front door. “I was damn proud of you that night.”