Chapter Four

 

 

She sacked up the wilted orchids and dumped them in the large roll-away garbage bin at the edge of the drive. The grass-skirted dolls and thatched huts went next. She didn’t even flinch. She had to stop having second thoughts—she couldn’t go back, undo something that had been set in motion. Even her best friend was telling her to start fresh. Her marriage was over. She was not going on some extended cruise with a husband. She was starting out on her own. At sixty. There it was again, the mantra—she added, “get a grip.”

A quick shower, a change of clothes … she threw cosmetics in a bag, a hairdryer and five days worth of underwear. Then gathered an armload of jeans and tops, slipped into a pair of denim-colored clogs, and loaded the car. She’d run the station wagon through a car wash and get rid of the stale flower smell.

Today would be a good day to look at houses. She might look near downtown. Some of the houses near Old Town were great buys. And small. She was finished with this rambling five bedroom/four bath monstrosity. The house had always been a little too big for them—in the beginning there had been the hope of another couple children; but it simply wasn’t meant to be. She slipped behind the wheel, and started the car. Anything to get away from the house … and Ed … and memories.

She hadn’t backed all the way to the end of the driveway before her cell went off. She dug in her purse and checked the number. She was more than a little tempted to just not answer. Was she up to rehashing everything for Pam? No, not yet. But still, family was family. She flipped it open.

“You have to do something!” Shelly moved the phone away from her ear.

“Well, hello to you, too, Pam.” With Pam there was always a note of hysteria—just something a bit below the surface roiling away, ready to erupt.

“Shelly, listen to me. I just left Mom and Dad’s. You won’t believe it. Dad’s put newspapers on all the furniture—the chairs, even across the foot of the bed.”

“Calm down. Is he painting the house again?”

“Shelly, I’m not talking about painting. I think someone’s incontinent.”

“Come on, Pam. Someone’s wetting on the furniture?”

“It smells worse than urine.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. What could I do? I’m calling you.”

She hoped the groan was inaudible. Of course, Pam’s idea of taking action would be to call someone. Usually, she was the someone of choice. But not now. How could she handle one more catastrophe? “This is not a very good time, Pam.”

“Well, I don’t think things are just going to wait until they’re convenient for you. I’m telling you, he’s put newspaper on all the furniture. And the smell—you won’t be able to stand it.”

“I’m sure it’s just musty from being closed up.”

“Shel, you’re not listening—the house stinks! Somebody’s incontinent. Maybe both of them. And Mom … all she did was repeat the same old thing.”

“Which was?”

“‘It’s a good life, if you don’t weaken.’”

“Some truth to that.”

“She must have said it twenty times in a half hour. And I know she didn’t remember. Then she started in on ‘I’m crazy as a loon.’ She’d stop and ask me, ‘What’s a loon?’ I’d tell it was a bird that looked like a duck—I even drew her a picture—but two minutes later, it was the same question. Shelly, she didn’t know my name.”

“Did she know who you were? That you were her daughter?”

“No.”

“She masks so much when I call them. It never dawned on me, but she must mimic Dad. If he says Shelly, then she just repeats it.”

“Shel, I haven’t told you the worst part, but you need to see for yourself.”

Shelly absently wondered how much worse it got. Was this just melodramatic Pam or had their parents slipped— maybe to the point of needing permanent care?

“Where are you now?”

“On my way back to Tulsa.”

Shelly made herself count to five. Dump and run. Typical Pam. “How did you leave things?”

“Like I found them. I didn’t say anything. They won’t listen to me anyway.”

That was probably true. Not that Shelly could do better, but she would be more forceful.

“And you know Dad’s still driving. I don’t think he has a license anymore, and the registration sticker wasn’t on the tag. I think it’s expired.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go back there. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think. Shelly, they’re so pitiful. Mom … Shelly, she hasn’t taken a bath in six months.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, Shelly, you have to go back. You can do something. How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” There was muffled crying, and Shelly waited while Pam blew her nose.

“Five months, no, maybe six or seven.” The twice-a-year visit to see her parents had fallen to Shelly the last few years. Ed had been too busy.

With a little jolt, she realized just how busy he’d been. And what had kept him in Albuquerque. The months in between Shelly’s visits were Pam’s obligation. Neither child enjoyed being scrutinized by their cantankerous father. They were never quite good enough. But had she had blinders on? Had she missed these ominous signs of lives declining? Very possibly.

“OK, Pam. I have a few things here that I need to do first.” Understatement. Where would she find the time? But if things were that bad … “I’ll try to get a flight before the weekend.”

“This is so much easier for you to handle—you’re the one married to a doctor. Be sure Ed knows what to expect.”

“Ed won’t be able to go with me.”

“Shel, I think if you tell him what’s going on, he’ll make sure he’s there.”

“I’ll see.” Somehow, this wasn’t the time to go into the last twenty-four hours of her life.

“And Shel, in case you don’t know, Costco sells caskets and urns now.”

“What?”

“They are way cheaper than the local mortuary. I checked. You can get an urn for under a hundred. And they have overnight delivery.”

“Pam, Mom and Dad aren’t dead yet.”

“I think it’s best to plan ahead, don’t you?”

Shelly had nothing to say to that. They said their goodbyes and she sat at the end of the drive before turning toward the city. Costco? Could Pam be right? And overnight delivery? At the same time you purchased six months’ worth of toilet tissue, and a year’s supply of mayo, you could add a coffin to your bill? Simply too bizarre.

But home … newspapers on the furniture? Could it be that bad? Yes, she supposed it could. Perhaps her father had had a stroke. And her poor demented mother … If she was as bad as Pam made out, then the challenge of taking care of her would be too much for her father. She took a deep breath. Of course, she should have seen this coming—but now? The timing was rotten.

It was just one more thing to add to the list. She’d try to get a flight into Wichita on Thursday. And in the next four days, she’d call nursing homes. If things were desperate, then that was the only way to go. But she’d have a fight on her hands. At best, her father was obstinate. And proud. She’d suggested Meals on Wheels and he’d thrown a fit, saying he’d always refuse charity. No explanation could change his mind.

She’d had the discussion with him a hundred times about what he wanted to do once he was unable to care for himself or care for her mother. Fleetingly, she thought of asking Ed—out of habit? Because he would be able to take charge? Well, she’d have to get used to taking charge, now. There was no backup … unless she called Pam to meet her there. That might be best. Present a united front.

She turned onto I-25 and kept pace with the early-morning Sunday traffic. She’d lived in Albuquerque long enough to see it bloom to half a million people, its freeways having to be overhauled twice to meet the burgeoning growth. She took the I-40 loop west and exited at Sixth Street. She’d look around downtown just to see what was on the market and then get a room at the Doubletree. Patrice would have offered her spare room, but that wouldn’t give Shelly the alone time that she needed. A time to plan … examine where she was, where she wanted to go. No, she was not going home. In fact, the sooner there was a replacement for ‘home,’ the better.