Chapter 6

Emm waited in the hospital lobby for Bruna to get him. The morning after visiting the cemetery, he’d phoned, told her about his fall, and asked if he could live with her. There were several seconds of silence, before she finally said, “This is rather sudden.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been in this place for weeks. The doctor says I’m ready to be discharged, but I can’t stay on my own anymore. My blood pressure could drop too low or shoot too high. Either way, I’ve got to stay with someone who can keep a regular eye on me.”

“I meant, I wasn’t expecting you to want to move in. With me. Have you asked any of the others?”

“No. I haven’t even told them what happened to me yet. I was hoping you would.”

Bruna sighed. Emm knew she’d make the calls. It was in her obedient nature. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re the oldest. And it’s not like you have anyone else to take care of.”

After Izora died, Bruna had dropped out of high school to help raise her siblings. Not until the youngest left home did she go back for her diploma and then to college. She’d never married or had children of her own, instead devoting herself to her nieces and nephews. Bruna was also a responsible, if not enthusiastic, daughter. As if checking off an item on her “to do” list, she called her father on the first Monday of every month. Unfortunately, as it turned out, her most recent call had been the day before his fall. Emm couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her, though, and it had been years, if not decades, since they’d hugged.

“So, you’re saying it’s my duty?” It was more a statement than a question. Bruna sighed again. “Okay, Father. But give me a few days to get ready.”

“What is there to get ready?” Emm was eager to escape the confines of the hospital and that nagging rehab therapist, even if it was only to his daughter’s two-bedroom apartment. The place was already child proofed. Her nieces and nephews came over all the time when they were growing up, and now there were great nieces and nephews to entertain. Surely, the apartment was safe enough for an old man shuffling around with a walker. “It’s not like you have to spoon feed me. Or bathe me. I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself. I just can’t live by myself.”

“There are still a few matters I ought to attend to. Things are set up to keep children from getting into them, but you’ll need to be able to reach and take things out of the cabinets. That means I’ll have to move some things lower down, where the little ones could get them. Child-proof locks should solve the problem, assuming you don’t have arthritis yet?

Emm said his fingers were as nimble as ever. He waited for Bruna to ask why, in that case, he’d let the house go downhill. It’s not like he had anyone or anything else to take care of either. Instead, she said, “I guess I also need time to get used to the idea.” She asked if Emm could request that the hospital permit him to stay another week or if she should call someone in administration.

Emm said he’d take care of the matter himself. Delaying his discharge was the last thing he wanted to do, but it would give him another opportunity to talk to Mrs. Cray. She’d understand his impatience and wish him well. Emm needed her sympathetic sendoff. It had been a long time since he’d made a significant change in his life, and he didn’t know what to expect.

A week later, when Bruna finally pulled up, she was ten minutes late. Given how punctual she was about her telephone calls, Emm wondered what had kept her. The paint on her old Chevy wagon was riddled with rust spots, but it was solid and roomy. Big enough to take a carful of kids to the zoo, and more than ample to drive Emm, his walker, and one suitcase to his new home.

While Bruna signed a form accepting responsibility for him and pocketed instructions for Emm to check in with his case worker once a month, he studied her. She was slightly overweight, and her mostly gray hair was pulled back into a bun that was coming loose. When had she aged so much? He shuddered to realize she was only six years older than his wife had been when she died. By then, Izora was thin and pale, however, a contrast to all those years of being swollen and flushed with pregnancy, whereas Bruna still looked robust and full of efficient energy. With another jolt, Emm realized that his daughter was only a few years younger than his case worker, whose advice he valued, even if he didn’t always agree with or plan to act on it. Maybe Bruna would turn out to be someone he could lean on after all, and not just until he was more mobile.

Emm enjoyed the ride through the city. He didn’t get out much, even before this latest fall. Occasionally he met one of the other retired salesmen for lunch, although one by one, they’d grown homebound too. He envied those whose wives were still alive and spry enough to take care of them. After the first couple of grandchildren, and the obligatory sharing of photos, none of the men talked about their families. Emm didn’t know whether they’d lost interest or could no longer keep them straight. He himself had given up long before the great-grandchildren arrived.

When they got to her apartment, Bruna settled Emm on the couch and sat opposite him in an armchair. The living room furnishings were clean but worn, like the car and Bruna herself. Emm saw a bookshelf stocked with children’s books, bins with toy cars and trains, and dolls in different states of undress. A square of linoleum had replaced the carpet in one corner, on top of it a small table strewn with paper, paints, and crayons. Along one wall, there were baskets of yarn filled with Bruna’s knitting projects—a baby blanket, the sleeve of a child’s sweater, a pair of tiny socks.

Bruna suggested they have tea, and Emm followed her to the kitchen, surprised that it was so large. He sat at a table, surrounded by eight chairs, but expandable to hold more, and gaped at a rack of hanging pots and pans, enough to cook for a small army. Early spring sunlight streamed through a south-facing window lined with containers of growing herbs. Bruna took a tin from her well stocked pantry, and milk and lemon from the stuffed refrigerator. Emm wondered whether she remembered that he liked his tea with lemon and extra sugar, but her routine movements suggested that she was simply in the habit of setting out everything her guests might want.

Emm was watchful, as though he were visiting a foreign country. His own kitchen, once a hub of activity, was now a gloomy room in which he did little more than heat canned soup or toast a grilled cheese sandwich. Would he ever feel at home in this hive of domesticity? Not until Bruna closed the refrigerator door, and Emm saw the drawings taped to it, did he feel a twinge of familiarity. He was taken back to a time when Izora was alive and the children were young. Only instead of shaky and backwards letters spelling MOMMY and DADDY, the ones he saw now were for AUNT BRUNA. There was no reason for Emm to expect pictures made for him, but a few empty spaces anticipating his arrival would have been a nice welcome.

He and Bruna made small talk while they sipped their tea. Emm asked if she had watched any of the Winter Olympic Games in Austria last month; she hadn’t. Actually, neither had Emm; he just thought it might lead to a conversation. Bruna asked if he’d been following the Patty Hearst case in California. Emm said he had, until his stay at the hospital had cut him off from the daily paper. He missed it and asked Bruna whether she had the Toronto Daily Star delivered.

“I sometimes read a copy at work, but mostly I catch the news on the radio while I cook dinner.”

“Would you mind transferring my Star account to your address?” Emm asked. When Bruna hesitated, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it. I don’t intend to be a freeloader.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I don’t care about the money. I’m just opposed to clutter.” Then she smiled. “Although you probably think my place is already cluttered with all of the kids’ paraphernalia.” Her serious face softened into an amused look that Emm thought she must easily give to a child. Not that he wanted to be treated like one, but he wouldn’t mind more of those smiles himself. He promised to carry the newspaper to the incinerator after he finished reading it each day, and Bruna said she’d call the circulation department tomorrow.

Emm closed his eyes and, when Bruna asked if he was tired, admitted he wouldn’t mind a nap before dinner. As she led him down the hall to his bedroom, he peeked into hers, small with a single bed and a dresser covered with family photos. Emm wondered if he was in any of them. His room, across from the bathroom, thank goodness, was a little bigger, but there was still barely space for a bunk bed, one night stand, and two dressers. Bruna set his suitcase on the lower bunk. “The kids like the top one,” she explained, “now that they’re old enough to climb the ladder.” Did she think Emm would feel bad about displacing a great grandchild from the bottom bed?

Bruna opened the drawers of one dresser, and the closet. She’d already fetched all the clothes he’d left behind when he was rushed off in the ambulance as well as his toiletries and pills, which were now on his own shelf in the bathroom. His radio was on the nightstand. “Your house is in bad shape,” she commented. “Much worse than I remember from my last visit.”

“Well, that was a long time ago. Very long.”

Bruna emptied Emm’s suitcase, stowed it in the closet, and turned out the light. He pulled back the quilted spread, relieved to see plain blue sheets on the bed, but looked warily at the top bunk. He didn’t relish trying to sleep with a child bouncing overhead or crawling into bed with him after awakening from a bad dream. How often did one of them spend the night up there?

***

Emm awoke to the smell of food, a good, familiar smell. He went to the bathroom, sighed when he saw the clean sink, and pushed his walker to the kitchen. Bruna had set two places, opposite each other, at one end of the big table. She pointed to the chair that would be his from now on. As she dished out the food, Emm smiled in recognition. Maple-cured bacon casserole, Izora’s speciality.

“When did you learn how to make this?” he asked, breathing in the sweet-salty aroma.

Bruna looked puzzled. “I made it all the time after Mother died. You don’t remember?”

Emm shook his head and closed his eyes before taking the first bite, the better to focus his senses on the taste. His daughter gave him seconds without having to ask if he wanted more. “Now that I think of it, you loved helping your mother in the kitchen. You were like her shadow.”

“I was happier being with her than playing with my friends. What else do you remember about Mother and me, especially from when I was very little?”

Truthfully, Emm couldn’t recall much of anything good, but he saw no harm in making up positive memories if it made Bruna happy. “You were the oldest girl, so your mother fussed over your hair and clothes. With your dark brown eyes, your best color was light blue. Everyone told your mother blue was for boys, but she stood her ground. She was right. You looked so pretty. And you were always well behaved. All you had to do was gaze at people with those peepers, and they were mesmerized. They stopped criticizing your clothes and praised your manners.”

Bruna looked thoughtful. “Being well behaved mattered then. Nowadays, children are supposed to be independent. At least, that’s what I aim to teach them.” She smiled. “Only so far, none has shown an interest in learning to cook for themselves They’re happy to leave it to me.”

“I hope they say thank you.” Emm did and congratulated himself on his decision to live here. He’d regain his strength in no time. His eyes opened wide when Bruna brought out dessert, a dense cake topped with shaved chocolate swirls. She told him it was a butterscotch torte.

“I’m sure I don’t remember your mother making anything this fancy.”

“She didn’t have time to fuss. Nor did I back then. It was hard enough to feed everyone the basics.” Bruna cut them both generous slices. “It’s a luxury to bake treats for the family now.”

Emm ate three mouthfuls before telling Bruna the cake was delicious. She blushed. “I’m glad you like it, Father. I enjoy baking. It will be nice to have another regular customer.”

Bruna cleared the table and served them tea. She put lemon wedges and the sugar bowl next to Emm. “What do you think you’ll do all day while I’m at work?”

Emm hadn’t given it any thought. For the past several weeks, his days had been taken up by physical therapy and the hospital’s other routines. Before that, at his house, he’d filled up the hours reading the newspaper, preparing plain meals, and napping. He couldn’t remember what else occupied his time. Nor, he suddenly realized, could he remember what kind of work his daughter did. Rather than admitting this lapse, he simply said, “Tell me what your day is like.”

He gathered that she was an elementary school teacher, left for work at 7:30 and was home by 5:30. That meant Emm would have ten glorious hours to himself. Bruna would feed him breakfast and dinner and prepare whatever he liked for lunch. She offered to bring books from the library, and once Emm felt up to it, he could catch the bus there on the corner. It was only two stops away. She asked if there was anything else he needed to keep him busy during the day.

Emm shrugged. “Not really. I sleep a lot.”

“That’s not a problem while I’m at work. But I’m giving you fair warning. One night a week, one of the kids sleeps over, to give their parents a break. And on weekends, the house is busier than a downtown bus station. All the Benbows, along with their children and grandchildren, hang out here.” Bruna did a mental tally. “Fourteen—well fifteen—if everyone shows up.”

Emm’s vision of a restful existence, all meals provided, began to fray. Bruna would pay more attention to everyone else in the family than to him. That’s what she’d done for the past thirty plus years. It was silly of Emm to expect that things would suddenly change. He stood; Bruna stood too. Emm wondered whether she was going to give him a good night hug or was waiting for one from him. The second hand on the kitchen clock ticked five times. “Thank you,” he said at last and headed down the hall, eager to enjoy a night of solitude while he could.

“Don’t forget to take your blood pressure medicine,” Bruna called after him. “The label says you’re supposed to take it at bedtime.”

“I know,” Emm called back. In fact, he’d forgotten, having grown used to a nurse’s aide bringing the pill to his hospital room. Nevertheless, it irked him to be reminded, as though his daughter had become his mother. From now on, he’d show Bruna he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He wasn’t a baby. Nor was he a patient any longer.

***

Two days later, Bruna brought Jonah home for a sleepover. Emm guessed the child was about five. He couldn’t recall which of his children’s children he belonged to and was too embarrassed to ask. Jonah, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to pepper Emm with questions. How old was he? Did he like baseball? Could Emm drive a motorcycle? Was he going to die? Soon? At Bruna’s suggestion, Jonah called Emm, “Great Gramps.” Emm had no idea whether the boy’s other great grandparents were alive.

Right after dinner—macaroni and cheese, a gingerbread cake Jonah helped decorate with raisin eyes and white chocolate chip buttons—Emm pleaded fatigue and crawled into the bottom bunk. In fact, he wasn’t the least bit tired, and lay awake, listening to Bruna and Jonah in the living room, setting up the train set and crashing cars. An hour later, his daughter helped her great nephew get ready for bed and climb the ladder. She tucked him in and kissed him good night.

The minute she left the room, Jonah prattled on about a child at school who had taken another child’s lunch and had to miss recess. Emm pretended to be asleep, snoring as loudly as his roommate at the Kingsbridge Home. Soon, Jonah began to snore for real. Emm spent a sleepless night. He couldn’t wait to get back to bed the next morning once Bruna took Jonah home and herself to work. Emm didn’t even bother to read the newspaper first. He dreaded the weekend.