A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (5 page)

“I’d like to ask you kids something.” Mom’s tone suggested a serious question.

Valerie put the bottle down. “Sure, Mom. What is it?”

“I wonder . . .” Even in the dim light, Valerie could see Mom’s face pinken. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is so silly.”

Russell reached over and caressed Mom’s arm. “Go ahead, Mom. You can ask us anything.”

Mom took a breath and kept her gaze focused on her plate. “I’ve been wondering if you would mind . . . if I dated someone.” She glanced at Russell, then Valerie, then back to the plate.

Mom had said the last few words so quickly that Valerie wasn’t sure she’d heard them correctly. “Did you say ‘dated’ someone?”

Mom bristled. “It’s not that implausible.” She reached for her wine.

“Well, of course not,” Valerie said. “You’re a very attractive woman. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“Why would we mind?” Russell asked.

After taking a sizable drink, Mom replaced her wine glass. “I know your father’s been dead for quite a while now, but it still sort of seems like . . . I’d be cheating on him, or not respecting his memory somehow.”

“Oh, Mom.” Valerie got up and hugged her from one side while Russell took hold of her hand from the other. “We wouldn’t think that at all.”

“I’m sure he would understand your desire for companionship,” Russell said.

Mom let her mouth relax into a grateful little smile. “Thank you, both of you.” She finally made solid eye contact with each of them. “I just don’t think I’d be comfortable doing it without your blessing.”

“All right, now for the good part.” Valerie sat back down but leaned toward her. “Who is it you’re thinking about dating?”

Mom’s lips crinkled in a way that appeared downright girlish. “He’s a gentleman I met at church through our seniors’ group.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Details,” Valerie said, “I want details. What does he look like? What does he do, or what is he retired from doing?”

“Oh, heavens, I don’t know that yet. I barely know the man.”

“Okay, but . . . you’ve seen him.”

“Of course I’ve seen him.” Mom stood and started stacking the dishes. “Now who wants some decaf?”

Valerie and Russell smirked at each other. Then she started helping Mom clear the table while Russell went out to his car to get his bags.

After he returned and had been upstairs for a few minutes, he called down to Valerie. “Hey, Pitchafit. Come up here a sec.”

Valerie found him at the top of the stairs, and he beckoned her to follow. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

He led her into his old bedroom. The first thing she noticed were the cobwebs—lacey veils dangling from the corners, extending from the curtain tops to picture frames, clinging precariously to the walls. Then she saw the dust. Thick, translucent felt coated every surface: the dresser, Russell’s old guitar case, his debate trophies on a bookshelf. Valerie kept her breathing shallow to avoid inhaling the filth.

“The whole upstairs is like this,” he said, heading toward Valerie’s old bedroom.

Her feet felt heavy, but a bizarre fascination spurred her on. Only one bulb in the overhead light fixture still worked, but it provided enough illumination to reveal another tomb-like chamber. Her heart sagged when she saw the yellow dullness of her frilly, once-white chiffon bedspread. Gone was the scent of her drugstore colognes, replaced by the smell of her grandmother’s attic when Valerie used to explore it on hot, summer afternoons. She longed to pick up the antique hairbrush on her vanity table or the little ceramic princess on her dresser, but the thought of touching anything in the room repelled her.

How could things have gotten so bad without her knowledge? “I had no idea.”

“I don’t think she’s been up here for years. I didn’t check the bathroom.” He crossed the hall and opened the door. “Ugh.”

The rank odor of mold assaulted her as she joined him in the bathroom. The toilet bowl had a brown coating where the water had once been, but it was dry.

“Ah ha.” He pointed to a corner of the ceiling above the bathtub where cracks, water stains, and a hanging flap of plaster suggested a serious leak. “That’s not internal, that’s a roof leak.”

“Great,” she deadpanned. “Welcome to my world, by the way.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks. “I
had
thought maybe you were exaggerating things, but after seeing all this, I understand why you’re so concerned.”

“She’s absolutely determined to stay here with no assistance from anyone but me, which is fine, up to a point.”

“And you’ve reached that point.”

“And then some. If she could still drive, it would be different. But just taking her shopping every week takes a big chunk of my time, not to mention all of the other errands and appointments. Then when you add the home maintenance stuff and the yard stuff . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “She used to be able to handle most of these things on her own, but just in the last year or so, she’s gotten really forgetful. Then she gets confused, and then she gets frustrated—”

“Do you think it might be Alzheimer’s?”

“Dr. Thaxton says no, it’s just normal aging.”

“Hmm.” He slid his fingers under his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “So that home helper was exactly what she needed.”

“And handsome to boot. Most mothers would have been eternally grateful for what I did, but not Helen Palka.”

“I wonder . . . not to criticize your business or anything, but I wonder if she was uncomfortable being around a handsome young man.”

Valerie chuckled. “Oh no, she loves that. No, I think if he’d been a health care provider, she would have been OK with it. But he was just an aide, and she does
not
want to acknowledge that she needs help.”

His look of frustration gave her a dismal kind of satisfaction. She had long wanted to commiserate—in person—with the only other human who could fully appreciate their mother’s intractability.

“Well, one thing’s for certain,” he said. “She needs to have someone come in to clean.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Let’s go down and discuss it with her.” He headed out of the bathroom. “If we go at her with both barrels, that’s got to have some impact.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

They went back downstairs and found Mom in the kitchen essentially washing the dishes before she put them in the dishwasher. “That blessed phone of yours has been ringing off the hook, Valerie.”

Valerie doubted anything could be more important than the conversation they were about to have, but she decided she better at least see who had called. There were three messages, all marked ‘Urgent’, and all from the Evanston Health Department.

Chapter 5

Valerie unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm system at the Evanston Mother Hubbard. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to ten. She’d managed to reach all of the employees who had worked that day and asked them to meet there for an emergency meeting at ten.

Her most reliable comrade, Pam, showed up first. She and Valerie exchanged greetings, then Pam cut to the chase. “What kind of food poisoning are we talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Valerie removed a little bottle from her purse and shook out a pain reliever. “All I know is that a couple of the moms discovered both of their kids had thrown up after they left here today, and they started calling other moms, and it turns out there were five kids who all threw up at about the same time.”

“Uh-oh.”

Valerie popped the pill into her mouth and took a swig of bottled water. “One of the moms, Laura something, just happens to be the niece of the Evanston health inspector. So she called him, and he called me. He said that if we don’t find the cause of the food poisoning, he’ll shut us down.”

Pam gripped the curls on her head. “Holy shit.”

“He’ll be here any second. He said he can help us narrow it down to the most likely causes.”

Once everyone arrived, Valerie gave them a quick overview of the situation. The health inspector, Bob Fetherling, a skeletal man with very closely cropped hair, proved to be quite helpful and even sympathetic. They retrieved the stinky trash bags from the dumpster out back, painstakingly removed each item, and set them on a table so Bob could get samples to test. He provided sturdy latex gloves, which made the job slightly less disgusting.

After about half an hour of the nauseating hunt, one of the teachers, Lateesha, said, “Oops.” Everyone looked at her and the tiny yogurt container she held upside-down. “This yogurt expired three months ago.”

“Let me see that.” Bob took the container and checked the date. “She’s right. Any chance you might still have some of these?”

“I’ll check,” said Melissa, another teacher.

While she went to the refrigerator, Bob held the little plastic suspect delicately. “Usually the live bacteria in yogurt will keep other bacteria at bay. But considering how outdated this is, there’s a good chance this is our culprit.”

Valerie took a breath that felt like the first one she’d had in hours.

Melissa returned with two four-packs of the yogurt, all of which had the same date.

“I’ll take this to the lab right now and call you as soon as I have the results,” Bob said.

Valerie and Pam decided to send the others home, with sincere thanks and the promise of overtime pay. The two women agreed they could resume the search themselves if necessary.

As they re-bagged the day’s waste, they discussed how the incident had occurred and, more importantly, how it could be prevented in the future.

“I think we’re just going to have to add backup checks so more than one person is checking dates,” Pam said.

Valerie agreed. “And we’ll need to monitor the process closely to make sure the teachers have enough time to make the checks. If they don’t, we might need to add staff.”

Pam stopped bagging. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll come to that. That would be a rather expensive fix.”

“Maybe, but what we definitely can
not
afford is another incident like this. I hate to sound like Chicken Little, but reputation is everything in this business.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Pam resumed bagging.

“We’ll also need to send a note to the parents explaining what happened
and
what we’re doing to prevent it from happening again. And I’ll call the parents of the kids who got sick and apologize personally.” Valerie checked the date on an empty juice box, which didn’t expire for another ten months. “Those poor kids. I can’t help wondering if I could have prevented this . . . if I hadn’t been so absorbed with Triple-H.”

Pam frowned sympathetically. “I know what you mean. I’ve been asking myself the same thing. But we’re human beings, and our employees are only human. There are bound to be mistakes now and then.”

Picking up a broken pink barrette, Valerie imagined the little wearer. “I know. But when it comes to the safety of our children, I feel like there’s no room for error.”

“Yeah,” Pam said softly.

They bagged in silence for a while, but Valerie’s conscience jabbed at her. It could have been so much worse. What if those kids had gotten seriously ill? Then what?

As they took the bags back out to the dumpster, Pam asked, “How was the dinner with your brother?”

Valerie recounted what she and Russell had discovered upstairs at her mom’s. “Honest to God, it was like a haunted house. We were just about to discuss it with her when I got the call from Bob. So I don’t know whether Russell talked her into letting a housekeeper come in or not, and he leaves first thing in the morning.”

Pam held the door for Valerie as they re-entered the building. “Well, at least you’ve got a sibling who cares. My sister never even calls on holidays, so I’ve got no illusions about her helping with Mom. Who, by the way, admitted to me just tonight that she’s been having some dizziness.”

“When was the last time she had a check-up?”

“A check-up? Ha! Try never. She thinks they’re a waste of money.”

They removed their gloves and began washing their hands. “Same thing with my mom. And my dad, before he died.”

“Why is that? They raised us to be careful about our own health, and then they refuse to take care of theirs.”

“I think it’s a generational thing.” Valerie dried her hands. “They grew up believing you didn’t go to the doctor unless you were
really
sick. Especially if you weren’t too well off, and my parents both came from poor families.”

“Hmm. My dad’s family did all right, but my mom’s was pretty poor.”

“I think it’s another example of the Great Depression mentality. But when it came to taking care of us, they pulled out all the stops. They had to keep up with what the Joneses were doing with their kids.”

“Right.”

“I think we’ve earned a truffle, don’t you?” Valerie asked.

“Definit—”

Valerie’s phone rang and she hurried to her purse to answer it. It was Bob again.

“Ms. Palka?”

“Yes.”

“This is Bob Fetherling. I just wanted to let you know I’ve decided to allow you to remain open while we’re awaiting the test results.”

“Oh, thank you.” She gave Pam a thumbs up.

“But we will need to get together tomorrow so I can go over your food-safety procedures.”

“Sure. You name the time.”

“Well, we could meet over lunch.”

“Uh, sure. Where would you like to go?”

“I’ve always liked The Comfort Café. They’ve got the cleanest kitchen in town.”

Ugh. Never mind that everything they serve there is a heart attack on a plate. At least it’s a clean plate!
“That would be fine. Shall we say noon?”

“Great. See you then.”

“Bye.” She hung up the phone. “That was the health inspector. He said we can stay open, but he wants to meet with me to go over our safety procedures. Unfortunately, he wants to do it over lunch at The Comfort Café.”

“Ew,” Pam sneered. “The Come-fart.”

“Yeah.” Crossing her arms, Valerie started to chew on a fingernail until she remembered the expense of her manicure. “I also have the queasy feeling Bob Fetherling just asked me out on a date.”

“Ha! That’s what you get for being heterosexual.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You can easily get rid of him.”

“How?”

“Just invite him over for dinner and serve yogurt.”

The following Saturday, Valerie stared like a zombie at the to-do list on her home computer while she sipped her third cup of coffee. The events of the past week—the food poisoning, the awkward lunch with Bob Fetherling, and the finalization of her divorce—had left her feeling like a wrung-out sponge that had scrubbed one too many pots.

A maple tree’s kelly-green leaves dancing in the sunlight drew her gaze out the window. It was the kind of day that reminded her of being a girl sitting in the back yard, making clover necklaces. Her hand rose to her chest to feel the gold puffed-heart necklace Greg had given her on their first anniversary. She knew she should stop wearing it, but she couldn’t bear to remove it yet. If only she’d put more emphasis on making time for him. If only she’d read those goofy articles about how to keep your man happy in bed. If only she’d truly
wanted
to do those things . . .

She wanted to find someone new, especially if it were a guy who sparked her passion the way that nurse Keith had. But who had time to go hunting? Running two businesses scarcely left her time to breathe, and, frankly, she liked it that way. She hated all that B.S. about how women should keep all of the various components of their lives in perfect balance. None of the successful women she knew could do it. She had long known her life was out of balance, but better that than getting bored. Or, worse, having time to ponder what she wanted far more than a career but couldn’t have: children.

She directed her attention back to the computer. There were lots of reputable websites that offered matchmaking services these days, but something about that approach turned her off. Too . . . techy somehow. Where was the magic? The serendipity? On the other hand, was she being a Luddite? She’d always prided herself on her ability to adapt quickly to new things. And her cousin Bruce, who had the personality of a doorstop, had met his wife that way. Granted, she resembled a possum. But she was nice,
very
nice. “All right, chicken shit. It couldn’t hurt to check one out.”

She had just Googled “dating sites” when she heard a faint meow. She hadn’t seen Sylvester all morning. Had she ever let him back in the house last night?
No, I didn’t!

She dashed to the back door. When she opened it, the clammy July air enveloped her. “Sylvester,” she called, competing with the heavy buzz of grasshoppers. “Here, Sylly Billy.” She stepped out onto the warm deck in her bare feet and continued calling as she circled the house. She rounded the corner of the garage and heard the meowing again. “Come to Mama, sweetie!” The cries got louder, but they seemed to be coming from above the eaves. She shielded her eyes with her hand, peered up, and saw Sylvester perched on the edge of the roof.

“Syl
ves
ter! How did you—?”
Ah, yes.
He’d climbed the oak tree in the back yard again. The branches reached just close enough to the house for him to jump from the tree onto the roof. He’d done the same thing two summers ago, and Greg had to bring him down.

A surge of perspiration stung her upper lip and forehead. How was she going to get him down? Greg. She could call Greg. This would be a great excuse to talk to him! No, she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want him thinking of her as a pathetic, sniveling female who had to run to a testosterone producer whenever she faced a challenge. No, she could do this herself. She’d seen Greg go up on the roof a million times, and the garage was only one-story high.

She looked up at the cat, whose pupils were huge despite the sunny day. “Hang on, sweetie.”

She ran back into the house, put on a pair of tennis shoes, and went out to the garage. She opened the garage door and grabbed her sunglasses out of her Beamer. The aluminum extension ladder hung on brackets on the garage wall, a little higher than she would have liked, but she managed to get it down. She carried it around to the side of the garage, extended it, and firmly secured the feet on the ground. Sylvester mewed continuously.

“Mama’s comin’, Sylly Billy.”

The backs of Valerie’s legs felt a little tingly as she went up the ladder, like the time in her childhood when they climbed onto the roof of Julie Fordam’s house to watch fireworks. But that had been in the coolness of twilight. This roof radiated heat like a baking sheet covered with gritty crumbs.

She approached Sylvester, who cowered and appeared ready to bolt. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She moved very slowly. “Mama’s gonna get you down.” She gently scooped him into her arms, and his quivering caused the back of her throat to tighten. “Oh, poor baby.” She nuzzled and scratched him for a few seconds before she prepared to descend. She could hear some neighbor kids splashing in their pool and wished she were with them.

Returning to the ladder, she realized she’d have to hold Sylvester with one hand in order to keep her other hand free to hold onto the ladder. She secured him under her left arm, turned around, and used her right hand to grasp the top of the ladder. She placed her right foot on a ladder rung, but a rippling sensation began in her legs, and her chest muscles tightened like a python. Stepping back up onto the roof, she tried to breathe deeply. Sylvester wriggled and meowed. “It’s okay, honey.” She scratched behind his ears. “Mama will get you down.”

This is ridiculous. You had no trouble getting up here. You know you can do this.

She took one more deep breath and placed her right foot on the ladder again. Her solid determination gave her strength, but Sylvester didn’t seem to share her confidence. He wailed and squirmed, and the ladder began to slip to the right. A vision of herself lying on the ground in agony shot through her brain. She tried to step back up onto the roof, but the force of her efforts shoved the ladder even faster. She was going down! Instinct compelled her to release Sylvester and grab for whatever she could. Her fingers skimmed the gutter as gravity took full control. The brick siding on the garage blurred past as she plummeted in what seemed like a never-ending free fall. Her left leg buckled in the most excruciating pain she’d ever known, and the sunny day went black.