A Slight Change of Plan (22 page)

“Oh, yeah.” I got up, went over, and gave her a kiss. “It’ll be fine, really.”

Oh my goodness. What had I gotten myself into now?

Alisa and I spent Sunday shopping, while Sam cleared out the rest of the boxes in the basement. Some of it was my stuff, some of it was his, but it was all put away in floor-to-ceiling shelves we had put up in the garage. I had two extra dressers from the old house that had belonged to Regan, along with some stray tables that had been scattered around that I had pushed into a corner and surrounded by boxes, so it was nice to discover them once Sam had cleared things out.

Monday a double bed was delivered, along with a love seat and recliner. I put together a kitchen cabinet thing, stocked it with a microwave and toaster oven, and put it next to the minifridge Regan found on sale at Home Depot.

It was a very good thing I didn’t have to worry about scheduling any “private time” with a pesky boyfriend. I never would have gotten it all done. Besides, the lingering anger gave me a boost of adrenaline that really helped.

That afternoon Regan came over and helped me hang drapes to cover the sliding glass doors in Mom’s new space. The patio off the basement was partially covered by the deck above, but plenty of sunlight managed to get through. Regan is very good at using the electric drill, and doesn’t mind
that I hate to use the level and always eyeball things, usually resulting in having to reposition the same piece of hardware four times.

She was all business until lunch. Then…

“How’s Tom?”

She was being social, trying on the “We’re adults and can be just friends” hat, instead of the “I’m your daughter and I can’t believe you’re dating” hat.

“We broke up. Well, not we. He broke it off. I pretty much just sat there in disbelief.”

“What a creep. You deserve so much better. Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Are you going back on that dating site, or are you going to take a breather?”

“I think I’m going to go out to dinner with my old friend Jake.”

We were out on the deck, eating chicken salad sandwiches on pita bread. She swallowed before speaking.

“And how, exactly, did that come about?”

“I met him for a drink, and then I ran into him at Gabe’s last week when I was there. Jake and Gabe have known each other since the shop opened. Quite a coincidence.”

She looked at me, looked down, and then stared off at my potted palm. “This was the guy who was the love of your life?”

“My much younger life, yes.”

“Oh. Because Edward asked about you.”

I felt a little tingle of excitement. “Asked about me how?”

“If you were seeing anyone. I didn’t think to mention Tom. Maybe I’m psychic. What should I tell him?”

“The truth. That I’m going out to dinner with an old friend.”

A pause. “Um, Mom, why is there a pot plant growing around your palm tree?”

I followed her gaze. Sure enough, there it was, about eight inches high. “Oh, that’s Cheryl’s. She planted them right when I moved in.”

“But that is a pot plant, right?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, it is. I should probably harvest it before it gets any taller. Don’t want the DEA copter to spot it on a flyby.”

“Harvest? You’re going to harvest it?”

“Regan, look at me. Are you shocked? You smoke. Or you used to. All three of you used to. I know because I could smell it on you. And I recognized the smell because I went to college in the seventies, when we all smoked. And I inhaled. All the time.”

She shook her head. “Is that what you are going to do with it? Smoke it? That’s just so high school.”

“Lately, it seems like everything in my life is high school. But I don’t think I’ll be doing any smoking, really. I’m just so proud of myself for being able to grow it. Usually I have a black thumb.”

“Well, the tomatoes look good.”

“They’re cherry tomatoes. And look, green peppers.”

“And more pot. Honestly, Mom, you’re not going to turn into one of those hippie-dippy types, are you?”

“No, honey, that ship has sailed. I can’t even remember the words to ‘Truckin’.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Wednesday I went down to Newark, had another exhausting, brain-bending day, and came home to a message from Jake asking when would be a good time for us to get together. He put a phone number in his e-mail, so rather than try to explain the situation with my mother via the written word, I called him.

“Jake, it’s Kate.”

“I’m so glad you called. I’ve had a lousy day. Say something to cheer me up.”

“The Mets didn’t lose last night?”

He laughed. “I’m a Yankees fan, but that was pretty good. How about dinner this weekend?”

So I told him about Mom.

“I know that things had never been easy between you when you were younger, and it sounds like it’s gotten a lot worse,” he said at last. “You’re a good woman, Kate,”

“Maybe. Or I could just be a crazy woman. The thing is, I don’t think leaving her alone at night is a good idea, at least not right away. So I was thinking about Sunday. Not dinner, but lunch. Maybe a picnic thing? Some green grass, find a lake somewhere? What do you think?”

“I think it sounds terrific. Call me again, though, on Saturday. If things get weird with your mom, we’ll do it another time.”

I didn’t want to do it another time, but I appreciated the fact that he was being sensitive, so I said good night and tried to mentally prepare myself for driving down to Cape May the next morning and seeing my mother again.

For your information, there is no way to mentally prepare yourself for something like that. You just spend the
night staring at the ceiling. And then you get up the next morning, drink too much coffee, and have to stop six times on the Garden State Parkway to pee.

But something happened that took away some of the doom of the morning. Just before I left, I got a phone call.

“Kate, it’s Edward. Regan told me about the situation with your mother. I’m so sorry. This sounds like it’s going to be a difficult stretch for you.”

“Yes, it is, Edward.”

“Listen, would you like me to drive down with you?”

I stared at the phone. “What?”

“It’s a long drive, yes? Sometimes having someone in the car makes the time go faster.”

“Edward, what an extraordinary offer. Thank you so much. But I’ll be fine, really.”

“Well, all right then. But please, if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t. Thanks again.” I hung up. I kept my smile all the way to Exit 82.

I had not seen my mother in eight years, although Laura had often shown me pictures. I was totally unprepared for Rose in the flesh. She was very thin, her thick gray hair pulled back tight against her scalp, and her face was pale and lined. She looked so much older than I’d expected that my jaw dropped open. I closed it slowly and walked into her room.

She was sitting beside the bed in a chair, her hands, clawlike, on the armrests, her eyes fixed on the television. Her jaw was still as strong as I remembered, even if the flesh around it was sagging.

“Hey, Mom.”

She turned to look at me. Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I forced a smile. “Good to see you, too, Mom. Didn’t Laura call and tell you what’s been happening? I’m here to take you home with me until we can figure out what comes next.”

She snorted. “Going home with you? I don’t think so.”

I threw my purse on the bed. “Well, Mom, I’m sorry, but you don’t have a choice.”

Just then a very pleasant-looking woman breezed in. “Hello, Rose,” she said. “I see your daughter is here. How lovely. We just have a few papers to sign, and off you can go.”

My mother looked back at the television. “I’m not going home with her,” she said, with some finality.

The woman turned to me and held out her hand. “I’m Gretchen Mars, the social worker here,” she said as we shook hands. “Your mother has been quite a delight.”

I grinned. “Yeah, that’s Mom, all right. A delight.”

Mom shot me a look. Gretchen shrugged. “Some of our residents adjust better than others,” she conceded, “but considering the fact that your mother never wanted to be here in the first place, I think she did quite well.”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Mom said, very loudly, “because there was no need. I just fell. People fall all the time. It was that quack in the hospital who sent me here, instead of sending me home where I belong, trying to get more money. Sure, I know Medicare pays for it, but that’s no reason to put healthy people in places like this.”

“Now, Rose,” Gretchen said, “if you remember, the first few days you were here, you were very weak and could barely walk across the room.”

“Why should I start walking marathons now? I get around my house just fine. You people and your obsession with exercise is insane. Old people sit; we don’t sprint.”

“You also had a few problems with remembering where you were,” Gretchen said gently.

“That’s what happens to a person when you put them in a strange place,” Mom growled. “If you had let me go home, I’d have been fine.”

“When I spoke to your daughter,” Gretchen continued, foolishly thinking that she was speaking to a person you could actually argue with using logic, “she said you had been forgetting things for quite a while.”

Mom shrugged. “Of course she’d say that. She hates me. Has for years. Just look at her; she’s radiating evil as we speak.”

Radiating evil?

“I meant your other daughter, Laura,” Gretchen went on gamely. “Even Laura said you’d been having some problems.”

Mom turned and fixed a cold eye on Gretchen. “Laura would never say anything against me.”

Gretchen smiled brightly. “No one is against you, Rose. We all want what’s best for you.” She handed Mom a clipboard and pen. “Just sign at the bottom, and we can get you out of here.”

Mom took the clipboard and stared at it. “I’m not signing anything without my lawyer looking at it first.” She reached over to set it on the bed, then resumed her television watching.

Gretchen looked at me. “Somebody needs to sign the release,” she explained. “It just says we’re no longer responsible for her care.”

I grabbed the clipboard and scribbled along the bottom.

Mom cackled. “There you go, putting your name to something that you haven’t even read. I thought you were supposed to be so smart.”

Gretchen grabbed the form gratefully. “It’s a standard release, Rose. Saying that we are no longer responsible for your well-being, and that you will be going to a residence deemed safe and well monitored.”

“I do not,” my mother said loudly, “need to be monitored. I am quite capable of living by myself. I have for the past twenty-two years, ever since my youngest child moved out and left me alone.”

“Mom, that was when Laura got married,” I said.

She sniffed. “Whatever. I’ve been doing quite well without anyone’s help for this long; I certainly don’t need help now.”

Gretchen grabbed Mom’s hand and shook it. “It’s been a pleasure, Rose. I’ll send a wheelchair in to take you out to your daughter’s car.” To me, she rolled her eyes. “Bring your car up to the doors at the end of the hall. And, seriously, good luck.”

I took a deep breath as Gretchen left. Then I reached over and grabbed the paper bag holding Mom’s things. “I’ll see you in the car,” I told her.

I made it to my car and sat there for a few long moments, staring out the window. My mother had never been an easy woman, not even when she was young and happy with Dad. I remembered her being beautiful, and when she would get into one of her rages, where harsh words as well
as pots, dishes, and furniture would be hurled around the house, my father would always hug me and whisper, “Lucky your mother is such a looker, or I’d have to trade her in for a quieter model.” Then we would laugh together and wait for the storm to subside.

When he died, I know she was devastated, not only to lose her husband and number-one fan, but I’m sure she hated having to work, not to mention raising her children alone. I was fifteen then, and, like all teenagers, disliked her on principle. I spent a lot of years away from home during college and law school, and our times together were always short and not very sweet. We had done some mending of our relationship while I had been married to Adam, but by then her attention had moved to the kids. I felt like we never connected as two adults. The woman I had just left seemed like a total stranger.

I started the car and drove up to the double doors. Mom sat in her wheelchair, her purse clutched tightly to her chest, and I listened as the nurse read off a series of instructions; then she handed me a folder filled with notes. Mom sat heavily in the front seat and struggled with her seat belt. By the time I got around to the other side of the car, she was breathing heavily.

I looked at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just catching my breath.”

We drove in silence the twenty minutes from the rehabilitation center to Mom’s development. I pulled into her parking spot and turned to her. “We need to decide what you want to bring up with you. You won’t need lots of clothes, but we’ll need other things, your checkbook, address book, things like that. Then we’ll stop at the post office and have
your mail forwarded. Do you know who was collecting your mail for you here?”