Scrapbook of the Dead

Karen and Tracy were on to DeeAnn. They had enough medical background to know that she had way too many pills.

“What have you done, Mom?” Tracy said. “How did you get so many pills?”

DeeAnn stood and crossed her arms. “I don’t need to answer to you. For God’s sake, you’re my daughter.”

“Mom. You went to another doctor, didn’t you?” Karen picked up the bottles and looked them over. “Yep. That’s what you did.”

The room went silent as DeeAnn’s daughters took her in.

DeeAnn didn’t back down. “Look. I’m in a lot of pain. Doctor Flathers doesn’t seem to get it. I’m a big woman. Those little ole painkillers he gives me are just not helping.”

“What did he say about surgery?” Tracy said.

“He said he’d like to wait awhile and see if the disk slips back into place. In the meantime, he gave me a shot. Didn’t do any damn good. I have a life, you know? I’ve got to get back to the shop. There’s your dad, the house, my friends. I can’t function when I’m in pain.”

“Mama, pain is a funny thing,” Tracy said. “You know they’ve done all kinds of studies about it. Sometimes people get, I don’t know, used to their pain, but still take pills to numb it, instead of trying to develop a tolerance. Are you okay?”

“What the hell do you mean?” DeeAnn said. “I’m not okay. I’m in pain! I keep telling you that.”

“That’s not what she means, Mom. She means is everything okay . . . in your life?” Karen said.

DeeAnn was floored. Of course everything was okay in her life. Why did her daughters think it wasn’t? She turned and walked out of the kitchen to plop herself on the couch. She didn’t want to talk with her daughters about her life. What was there to talk about? It was the same as it ever was.

“Mom?” Karen followed her in the room. She was trailed by her sister. “I know you think of us as little girls. But look at us. We’re grown women. We’re educated. And we love you. We think you might have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” DeeAnn said.

“With the pills, Ma. The doctor said there’s no reason you should be in such horrible pain,” Tracy said.

“What the hell does he know? I’m going to get another opinion,” DeeAnn snapped.

“Okay,” Karen said. “You do that. And I’ll go with you.” She sat down on the couch next to her.

DeeAnn was confused—did her daughters think she was addicted to painkillers? Or addicted to pain? Or both? Was it all in her mind? Was she in pain? She sighed—of course she was in pain; it wasn’t in her mind. She knew that much. Why didn’t they? They didn’t know how it pinched at her and sent jags of pain through her lower half.

“I’d have thought that two nurses would be a bit more sympathetic,” DeeAnn said. “I’m a little surprised.”

“I am sympathetic,” Karen said, pushing her hair back behind her ears. “I also know how easily people get addicted to these things. You haven’t been yourself.”

DeeAnn felt something blooming in her chest. Was it fear? Was she addicted? “I’m not sure I know what you mean. I’m not addicted to anything. I’m as much myself as I ever was. I’m just getting older. I was even thinking about retiring before this happened.”

“Retiring? You? I can’t see that,” Tracy said.

“Well, baking is hard work. Physical. And my back has been bothering me for quite some time,” DeeAnn said.

“What would you do with yourself?” Karen asked.

“What does anybody do with themselves when they retire?” DeeAnn sighed. “I thought, I don’t know, I’d hang around with my daughters and maybe someday be a grandma.”

“Don’t look at me,” Karen said. “I’m not interested in kids right now.”

“But you and Adam?” Tracy asked.

Karen groaned. “Look. I keep telling you people, I like him. But I’m not looking for marriage. If I were, I think he’d be a great husband and father.”

DeeAnn sat forward.

“But I’m not. We’re just having fun right now. So don’t go making wedding plans, Mom.”

“Oh, I know things are different now,” DeeAnn said. “Women have a lot more options. And I think it’s great. I raised you both to be strong, independent women.” Her voice cracked. “And that’s exactly what I’ve got.”