The Beach House (40 page)

“I don’t see why,” she replied softly. “I’m ashamed to think of it.”

“I hated my own guts for being such a chickenshit. And I hated you for leaving me behind to hold the bag.”

“I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

He shrugged as though to shake off the heavy history.

She saw the gesture, the set jaw, the squint of his eyes, and saw him again as the wary teenager she remembered. The older brother who laughed and told a good story on the outside had held a lot of pain on the inside. “I really think you should come visit Mama. In fact, I’d come right away, if I were you.”

Palmer looked at his shoes. “She doesn’t need me.”

“Sure she does. Now more than ever.”

“Not when she has you. You’ve always been her favorite.”

“
You
were her favorite.”

His lips rose in a smirk and he said almost contemptuously, “Is that what you think? Then, honey, you don’t know anything.” He turned from her to open the door wide. “Go on back to her and to your damn beach house. And leave me the hell alone.”

The following day an enormous bouquet of flowers was delivered along with a card that said, “Get Well Soon! We love you!” It was signed “Palmer and Julia.” Cara held the bouquet in her hands at arm’s length and wanted to throw it in the compost. This was Palmer’s reply and she found the gift heartless. Her mother would see through the ruse and be crushed.

She dutifully carried them to the kitchen, added water and Floralife into the cheap glass vase they’d arrived in, plastered on a cheery face and delivered them to Lovie’s room.

“Look what Palmer’s sent!” she exclaimed through a tight smile.

“He sent those?” Lovie asked, rising to a sitting position as her eyes lit up. She coughed with the effort as her hand reached out toward the bouquet. “Oh, they’re beautiful! Such extravagance! No, no,” she snapped at Cara, jabbing a pointing finger in the air. “Put them over here so I can smell them.”

Cara pinched her mouth tight and moved them to the bedside table.

“Isn’t he a wonderful boy? Cara, could you get me my thank-you notes? Right away?” She leaned over to smell the flowers, murmuring, “Wasn’t he thoughtful? Do you think he might come visit soon?”

When Cara came out of the room she saw Toy pounding the sofa pillows with vigor.

“Easy, girl. What’s got you in such a fury?” Cara asked as she crossed the room to the small writing desk.

“I overheard. I can’t believe she thinks that Palmer is such a prince. It makes me boiling mad. Don’t she care that he hasn’t even bothered to come by and see her? Her own son? Shoot, anybody can send flowers.”

“I don’t think she wants to even think that. It’s too painful for her to accept. I just let her be. She has enough pain to deal with now.”

“What about you? Don’t you get mad at him?”

Cara almost launched into her fight with Palmer the day before but thought better of it. “I can’t spare the energy or the time to get mad. I’m too tired.”

“I sure would be. She sings his praises and all he does is sit on his butt and send flowers while you do all the work.”

Cara pulled out a drawer of the desk to find her mother’s box of ice-blue, monogrammed thank-you notes. It was the same pattern she’d used for as long as Cara could remember. She traced the elegant blue swirling letters with her fingertip, recalling how her mother had always rigidly demanded that Cara sit and write a thank-you note immediately after a gift or a kindness was received. Naturally, her mother couldn’t wait to write Palmer. How could he deny that he was her favorite?

Cara doubted she’d receive such a formal thank-you for all that she was doing for her mother now. After all, how do you thank someone for being the martinet and badgering her to drink Ensure and water, for scolding her to eat and take her pills, for being the mean one to enforce the doctor’s orders when all Lovie wanted was peace? In her heart, Cara knew her mother was grateful and depended on her. She didn’t need or even want a piece of paper to validate her efforts.

But it was just plain hard to see Palmer receive such lavish praise for so miserly an effort. Hurtful. Mama always made such exceptions for the males in her life and the pain was as stinging now as it had been as a child when her mother would praise anything and everything that Palmer did, barely noticing her own hard-won successes. His term paper with a B-was posted on the fridge while her A was accepted as a given.

She brought her hand to her forehead, amazed at the power of her anger. Her hand was shaking! It was ridiculous to still be jealous of her brother at forty years of age. She was ashamed of herself.

Cara looked over at the pillows on the sofa. With her face set she walked directly over to them, bunched her fists, then, glowering, pummeled one hard. Again and again and again. She could hear Toy laughing beside her.

“Go for it! Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Cara stepped back and put her hands on her hips, nodding, breathing deeply and feeling a release. “You’re right. I
am
angry. I’m angry at Palmer. I’m angry at my mother. Mostly I’m angry that I’m caught in this damn position again. I left home to get away from this, and here I am, stuck back in the mire.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing a nice thing, the right thing, taking care of your mama. When she goes, you’ll know you did your best. That’s more than Palmer is going to be able to say.”

“I suppose,” she said, raking her hand through her hair. “But it’s too bad. It breaks my heart. I know he loves her.”

“Maybe he just can’t stand to see her sick. Some folks are like that.”

“He’s been spoiled all his life. First by Mama and now by Julia. He’s used to letting women handle this kind of thing.”

“He’s a man.”

“I hate stereotypes, but the social worker told me that women provide most of the caregiving in this country.”

“No surprise there. Most men figure it’s woman’s work.”

“It shouldn’t be. It’s the duty—no, the honor—of all children to take care of their sick parents.”

“Well, I’m never taking care of mine,” Toy said, her face mutinous.

“Never say never. When I was your age I would’ve said the same thing. But here I am, twenty years later…And I thank God. I would’ve died somewhere in my heart if I hadn’t had this chance to tell my mama I loved her before she died.”

Toy’s face twisted.

“Oh, Toy, I didn’t mean to imply—”

Toy shook her head. “I know. It’s just that my mama had to take care of her sick daddy till the day he died. He was a terrible drunk, but she loved him. And at least she had her sister to help her.”

“I have you.”

Toy’s eyes rounded before she looked away, wringing her dust rag. “Yeah, big help I am lately. I’m sorry I’ve been away so many nights. I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“You need time to yourself. You’re young and going through a big change of your own.”

“I’m trying to figure so many things out right now,” she said, appearing a bit guilty. “It’s so confusing. I’m going to be a mother soon but I’m still just a kid, you know?” Her voice went higher. “I—I—What am I going to do with a baby? How can I take care of him?”

Oh Lord, Cara thought, unable to stop the grimace on her face. With all that was going on, she’d clean forgotten about Toy’s situation. Not forgotten, maybe, but shoved it aside to the corner of her mental desktop, like she did a lower priority problem at the agency. Her mind was spinning as she wondered what she could do to help. Or even if she had it in her to handle one more crisis. She felt used up, sucked dry of any advice left in her.

She plopped down on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. Toy reluctantly joined her, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind her back for support.

“What have you got planned?” she asked, hoping the girl had given the situation some thought.

Toy took a deep breath. “Well, I’m going to take the GED test soon. I feel pretty good about that. Then, I don’t know. I guess I’ll start looking for a job.”

She guessed?
“Anything in particular?”

“Anything as long as the pay’s good and I get health insurance. I don’t care what.”

“Do you have any skills? Experience? Anything you’ve done before that you liked?” Cara was grasping at straws.

Toy looked down with dejection and shrugged.

“Who will take care of the baby while you work?”

“I dunno.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Have you looked into day care centers?”

She shook her head.

“Toy,” Cara exclaimed, her frustration sneaking into her voice. “What
have
you looked into?”

Toy grabbed the pillow from behind her back and held it tight across her chest. “I guess I was thinking about the GED first.”

Cara closed her eyes. This was much worse than she’d thought. Toy had done nothing to plan for her future. That she could be so careless was unthinkable, even infuriating, to someone as goal oriented and driven as herself. She remembered the comparison her mother had made between Cara at eighteen and Toy. She’d described Toy as childlike and Cara as someone who had always known what she wanted. Was that knowledge and drive something one was born with? Or was it something learned? But it was ironic, too. Toy could be meticulous around the house. How could a young girl who couldn’t see spilled milk on the counter without grabbing a sponge stand by, her whole life lie strewn out before her, and not make a move to pick up the pieces?

Whatever the answer, she thought as she looked at the dejected pose of Toy across from her, it wasn’t important now. Cara knew that it was also part of her personality to try to fix a problem.

“You know you don’t have to leave the beach house right away.”

“I know. But I also know I can’t stay forever. Miss Lovie is…well, you know her time is limited. And I expect you’ll be going back to Chicago?”

“Yes. I’ll be going back to Chicago. After…” She didn’t finish.

“So, I guess I have to figure out where I’ll go.”

Cara was filled with a spiraling panic as one more responsibility piled on to join the others. “Don’t worry. We still have time. We’ll think of something.”

Toy nodded and plucked at the pillow.

Cara didn’t see the optimism and faith that had filled her eyes at the beginning of summer. Back then, the days loomed long and they were all filled with plans. Now they’d run out of time and she only saw the same terror and worry that Cara felt in her heart.

That night, Cara had a mental meltdown.

“I’m not Toy’s mother!” she exclaimed, clinging to Brett’s shoulders. “I’m not my mother’s mother. I’m not anyone’s mother!”

“No, you’re a hellcat,” he chided. “Retract those claws before you draw blood.”

Cara groaned and flopped to her back on the bed, flinging her arms over her eyes. “Brett, I can’t take much more. I’m ready to explode or run away, whichever comes first.”

He turned onto his side to rest his head on his palm and gently moved her arm from her face. She looked up at him, searching for comfort. Beside him, she felt the same peace she felt when she looked out at a mountain range with its jagged terrain and imposing breadth. There was a power in Brett’s quiet strength and even-tempered goodness, just as there were hidden mysteries and dangers lurking beneath the surface.

“No one thinks you’re her mother,” he said in his low, rumbling voice.

“They don’t have to. I feel it.” She brought her palms to her face, dragging them down while her breath came short. “I hate feeling like a mother to my own mother,” she confessed. “It’s not natural. And it makes me feel like some kind of ogre. Sometimes she acts like this little kid. She pouts when I give her pills or hides them under her pillow and pretends that she took them. And she has this tight-mouthed grimace—” she turned her head to imitate it “—when I bring her water to drink. I swear, I’m ready to start saying, ‘Open wide for the choo choo train.’ Ugh!” She grabbed the pillow and tossed it over her face. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to see her like this.”

Brett gently moved the pillow from her face, blessedly silent.

“And Toy…She thinks of me as a mother figure, too. Me! What a joke.”

“Why is that a joke?”

“Look at me,” she exclaimed, looking at him disbelievingly. “I’m not the least bit nurturing and I’m a loser at relationships.”

“You don’t think worrying about Toy and nursing your mother is nurturing?” he asked gently.

She grew annoyed that he might be nearer to the truth than she wanted to admit. “It’s not the same thing. How can I take care of her when I can’t take care of myself? I’m falling apart. I seem to work harder every day and accomplish less. I’m so exhausted most of the time I find myself just staring at the walls on the verge of tears.”

“You’re taking too much on yourself. You need to ask for help.”

She laughed bitterly, still feeling the hurt and disappointment in Palmer keenly. “I asked my brother for help and he sent a bouquet of flowers. Brett, the responsibilities are endless. I can’t keep up. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s mother.”

“What spooks you about being a mother?”

“I’m not spooked. I just don’t like being forced into a role I haven’t signed up for.” Her voice was harsh, deliberate, as though she was saying the words as much to convince herself as him. She turned her shoulder from him and pulled the sheet up higher over her chest, simmering. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He shifted to sit up in the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder, drawing her back to face him. “Can I say one more thing?”

“Sure.”

“I think you’d make a wonderful mother someday.”

She turned to stare back at him, sensing more.

“Maybe even a fine wife.”

He’d said it with a smile, but she saw in his eyes that he was feeling vulnerable, venturing on shaky ground. The air grew thick with expectation. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“Nope, not me,” she said, grabbing hold of the sheet and rising to sit.

He seemed thrown off guard. “Why not you?” he asked, reaching out again to draw her closer. She held herself rigid.

“The same reason for you. Folks like us are just not cut out for marriage. Or children. We’re loners, right?”