Chapter 18...White Christmas

"When you have the time, and the money, we need to put in new pipes," big Ed said, massaging his hands and warming them on the mug of hot coffee. Observing Mrs. K warming her hands the same way, at exactly the same time, he broached the subject. "You know, Karen, I can do the plumbing without a down payment. With my son married and in his wife's auto repair business, I don't need as much money." Ed liked Karen Kaye, and knew it was mutual. A man his age understood the signals right away, especially if he paid attention, and Ed had been paying attention to her from the day they'd met: Pioneer woman, the kind who marched alongside the wagon trains that opened up the country, no spring chicken, but definitely his type. Junior caught it right away. "That's a woman for you, Dad. 'Uptown,' but not so far up that you couldn't take her for a vacation in the trailer."

Ed's not so secret vice was his trailer, the $60,000 deluxe motel on wheels parked under the portico of the house he'd built for Melly, son Junior's mother, who was gone, but not forgotten.

Mrs. K watched Ed's large hands holding, surrounding the coffee mug and let herself feel the warmth of his hands, as if the coffee mug were her. He wasn't wearing his knit cap. She could see that he wasn't bald. The fuzz was silver, half an inch.

...what would happen if I reached across the table right this minute, and felt it...he likes me that way...he likes my new hair-do....

She noticed him noticing that she'd cropped it very short, neat, very square, kept her hair nowadays flat and straight like a broom.

...keeps eyeing my chest...is a button unbuttoned... ...tonight's Christmas Eve...he's going to make a move...

"All that white out there in your yard," Ed murmured looking out the bay window. "Toasty warm in here. It's like the two of us are on a vacation in the middle of nowhere."

He covered her hand with his.

She thought: Yes! No! Why not? Lots of women would say yes!

She thought: This is the day and age of dread diseases. He knows all that. I won't regret it. I might. No, I won't. It's justifiable research for a jettisoned wife.

Ed said. "You going to answer that phone or do we let it ring?"

She thought: Saved by the bell.

A nasal female voice said, "This is Mrs. Schwimmer at the Nursing home. I tried your New York number, got a message to phone you here. Mrs. Gertrude Einstein has viral pneumonia. The Doctor suggests next of kin get here right away."

As Ed drove Mrs. K to the hospital in his truck, she sat without saying a word.

He was aware of her disappearing into her other world. Knowing they'd missed their moment, he was sad, wishing there was some way to express it. After they pulled into the nursing home driveway, he quickly unwound the shoelace with the sand-burned baby starfish that hung from the rear-view mirror. Dashed around the car, opened the door for her, pressed the shoelace into her hands. "Starfish keep you out of harm's way. I'm holding good thoughts over you and your mother."

She put it in her pocket. Her eyes echoed back to his eyes, an acknowledgment that what was between them was real and to be cherished.

Ed stood in the snowy driveway and watched her hurry through the swinging doors. He'd been through the swinging doors when Melly was slipping away. He wished he could take what was ahead for Karen onto his own sturdy shoulders. "I'll be here if you need me," he said even though she couldn't hear him.

Gertrude knew she was dying. In her mind she told Abe, if this is it, it isn't so bad. The thirst for water was gone. The struggle for air was no longer a struggle. Her fingers, the muscles in her hands no longer twitched with the desire to pull off the mask that connected her to the accordion pump, and yank away the tubes and wires that were making blue and orange lines on the machines.

Soon they'll remove the oxygen tent, she thought. A minute later that could easily have been an hour later, because time was slowing down, the girls in white did just that. The young doctor who came into the light with Karen looked tired, and Karen—she looked so sad—Gert made an effort, and found her voice.

"It's like my first day at school, child." It was hard to say it loud enough for Karen to hear. "You tell the girls. It's like kindergarten."

"I will Mom."

"Then they won't be afraid."

Karen repeated, "Won't be afraid."

"Won't be afraid when it's your turn."

Karen nodded.

"Or afraid when it's theirs."

"Mom, don't go. I'll be here with you. You don't have to be alone."

Gertrude chuckled. Everything looked so much better without the shiny plastic tent hanging over her. But her voice box, or whatever it was called nowadays, wasn’t up to a hearty chuckle. She squeezed her daughter's hand to let her know it was okay.

And died.

Sitting at Sidney's polished antique desk in the library, Mrs. K called her daughters.

The always practical, first-born Marlene, after a pause, said, "Do you want me to make the arrangements?"

"No. Gert gave me a letter some time ago, with instructions. Cremation, no service, just the family. She'd like us to have a party in a year. Marlene, will you break the news to Frankie? The last couple of times I phoned and left a message. Frankie didn't call back."

"Frankie thinks if she loves Dad, she can't love you, and vice versa. I’ll break the news, and suggest she call her therapist. And I'll get hold of Verna. Just this morning, she dropped off the quarterly reports on Smart Maids and Nifty Thrifty. Grandma's two businesses are booming. Oh Mom.... I'm going to miss her."

"Grandma said dying is like the first day in kindergarten. When you reach Frankie, tell her that."

An unfamiliar tenor voice answered Trish's home phone in Los Angeles. "Trish isn't here. She's spending the holiday shooting a video on Lasqueti Island."

"Do you have a phone number I can call?" Trish hadn't mentioned a new roommate, boy, or girl. "This is her mom, Karen."

"Lasqueti is in the Strait of Georgia, Mrs. Kaye, between Vancouver and Vancouver Island. No phones there. She'll probably call me when they come to town for supplies. This is Terry, her roommate. She told me how her family usually gets together on Christmas. I can give her a message."

"Tell Trish that her grandmother...” Was she speaking with a man or a woman—whatever—the roommate sounded like a strong, sensible person, but Karen wanted to break the news herself. "Just tell Trish to phone me."

"Something serious, huh?" Terry could hear it in Karen's voice. "Gee, I may not hear from her for quite a few days."

"When you do, it would be better, Terry, if you just tell her to phone Mom."

Perky, optimistic, youngest child Samantha answered right with a bubbly, "Hi Hi Mom!."

The moment Mrs. K said, "Grandma...” Samantha burst into tears.

"I knew it! I knew the last time we were all together might be the last time. Oh Mom," Samantha sobbed, "Grandma promised to dance at my wedding. I wanted us all to be together in our house, our home, a June wedding, with Grandma and Dad and all our friends, Trish and her friend, Todd and Marlene, Pete's family. I want to wear Grandma's dress," Samantha wailed, "The dress you wore when you married Dad!"

"You'll have your June wedding at home. I promise. And Grandma will be dancing."

Finally, when all the phone calls had been made, Mrs. K typed a page for the Handbook:

HAND-ME-DOWNS FROM MY MOM

WEDDING DRESS.

COURAGE.

ENERGY.

RESILIENCE.

WORK WORK WORK ETHIC.

"...I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE, CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL..."

LET GO OF LIFE WITH A SMILE, SO THE CHILDREN WILL PASS IT ON TO THEIR CHILDREN, AND THEIR KIDS TO THEIRS.

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