Dying Wishes (3 page)
Authors: Judith K Ivie
I stared at her.
“You never told me that. Three years?”
Margo frowned at
the rabbit, who now hopped cautiously along the edge of the lawn, tearing out
great mouthfuls of grass as he went. “It’s not the sort of thing
a lady mentions
in polite company, as my dear mama used to
tell me.”
Margo had been raised
in true debutante style, the only daughter of two pillars of Atlanta society.
When her brand new husband turned out to be a serial cheater, Margo took
comfort in the arms—and bed—of the mayor’s son. That wouldn’t have been so bad,
but she chose to do it in her hostess’s bedroom in the middle of some la-di-dah
fundraiser, which provoked quite a scandal. Margo had been banished from the
family homestead to make her way in the world with nothing between her and
abject poverty but a generous trust fund. “I may be a black sheep, but I’m
still Daddy’s little girl,” was how she put it to me when we met at the
Hartford law firm where she,
Strutter
and I had
toiled briefly a few years back.
“Since when do I
qualify as polite company? I thought we were way past that stage.”
“For sure,” she
grinned at me, “and there are certain positive aspects to these hormonal
temperature swings, as John will attest.”
John
Harkness
is the chief of detectives at the Wethersfield
Police Department and Margo’s husband of two years. Despite their obvious
attachment to each other, I’d had my doubts that anyone could keep our
libidinous Georgia peach contentedly monogamous, but Lieutenant
Harkness
seemed up to the job.
“Such
as?”
I prompted.
“I’ll give you an
example. Television bores me witless, as you know, but John loves to watch the
ball games, and I like to keep him company. He usually winds up sprawled on the
couch while I tend to my nails or needlework or crossword puzzle in that big
chair under the lamp.”
“I know the one you
mean.”
“So the other
night, that’s what we were
doin
’ when a big old hot
flash rolled over me like a storm surge.
About the same time, Ortiz caught a good pitch and slammed the ball
right over the left field fence. Naturally, John got all excited and turned around
to tell me about it.” She giggled.
“Naturally.
For some reason,
they persist in thinking we care. So?”
“Well, there I was
in that big chair, naked as a jaybird, except for my Jimmy
Choos
,
and
fannin
’ myself with the
TV Guide
.”
I whooped at the
mental image. “I assume you distracted him from the game?”
“
Whoo-ee
, girlfriend.
Good thing that chair is well
constructed and roomy enough for two. So you see, there’s a silver lining to
this change of life thing,” she finished up as she drained the last of her soda.
“We both have a lot to be grateful for, and we both have husbands who will
be
wantin
’
their dinners before
too long.
So quick, what’s new with
Ginny?”
I was happy to
abandon the subject of my advancing years and eagerly filled her in on my lunch
conversation with Ginny Preston. “She had some surprising news, too. She’s
considering leaving Vista View to move to North Carolina and be near her
grandchildren.
Rog
says the winters are getting to
him, too. I hate to think of that happening. Ginny is the soul of sociability
and efficiency, and I know the residents will miss her. I will, too. Nothing is
really final,” I concluded, “but she and
Rog
seem
committed to going, even though they’d much rather stay in their house on Ridge
Road. She says she gets that feeling about a lot of the new Vista View
residents who are moving in. You know, it’s a great place and all, but they’d
really rather stay in their homes.”
“
Mmm
, but what’s the alternative? Being dumped like aging
baggage on your kids or some other resentful relatives? Avoiding that
eventuality is why most of the Vista View residents move in there to begin
with.”
I nodded. “It’s not
like the old days when children wouldn’t think of sending their parents off to
a nursing home. Now it seems as if they can hardly wait, but then, everybody
has full-time jobs, so you can hardly blame them. Maybe it’s the facility
classification that’s so unsettling. You know, Phase One, basically still good
to go. Phase Two, trouble ahead. Phase Three … well, strike three and you’re
out, right? It all seems so calculated.
Margo looked
thoughtful. “Maybe we should do it like the Eskimos do it. When Mom gets past
it, they stick her out on an ice floe to freeze to death or starve, whichever
comes first.”
“Oh, they do not do
that! At least, I don’t think they do. Do they?” I shivered at the thought.
“There’s no help
for it, Sugar.
Out with the old, in with the new … and on
with the dinner.”
On that note,
she and Rhett departed, and I went upstairs to placate Gracie.
Two
On
Friday evening Armando and I were due to meet my son Joey, his wife Justine and
my daughter Emma for dinner at
Pazzo
, a casual
restaurant a few miles from The Birches. It had been Joey’s suggestion, which
was unusual enough in itself. Coming as it did just weeks before my
birthday,
it made me suspicious of an ambush-style surprise
party. It had taken me decades to persuade my family members that I really,
really did not enjoy contrived festivities centered
around
birthdays and Hallmark holidays like Mothers Day, and I fervently hoped they
weren’t backsliding.
“Nope,”
Emma had reassured me before redirecting my anxiety. “He has news.” She wiggled
her eyebrows meaningfully. We were sharing a quick coffee break Thursday
morning on the back steps of the converted barn where she and her real estate
lawyer bosses, Jimmy and Isabel, had office space on the floor above Mack
Realty. Emma was a paralegal.
“You
already know this news?” I prodded.
“Not
from Joey. He’s making me wait along with everyone else for the official announcement,
but come on, Ma. What news would your recently married son consider momentous
enough to call a family meeting?”
“You
mean …?”
She
rolled her eyes. “So would you prefer to be called Nana Kate, or would a simple
Grandma do it for you?”
Another
woman probably would have turned cartwheels of joy at this development, but my
heart sank. Joey and Justine had been married only a few months, having done
the deed quietly and without family fanfare at a JP’s office. Their
relationship thus far had been stormy enough, to put it mildly, without adding
the strain of an infant to the situation.
“Oh, Emma.
Are you sure?”
She
paused before answering me. “Well, they slunk off to a civil ceremony right
after the Fourth of July, and we haven’t seen them since, just phone calls.”
Joey and Justine lived in Ware, Massachusetts,
an
hour’s drive from Wethersfield. “I’m betting that Justine’s more than a few
months gone.”
My
head swam with protests. “But Joey’s job takes him away from home so much, and
Justine just got that big promotion she’s been working toward for years.” Joey
drove big rigs for the supermarket chain where Justine had recently been made
an assistant manager. “They just bought a house. How on earth will they
manage?”
Emma
shrugged. “Like everybody else does, I guess. Joey may be a maverick and kind
of a flake about some things, but he’s got his head on straight about money.
You and Daddy made sure we both did.”
That
was true enough. My first husband Michael and I had gone separate ways amicably
after twenty-two years together. Each of us had remarried in the last few
years, and I was glad for all our sakes that we remained good friends. We’d
made plenty of mistakes, to be sure, but somehow both our kids had turned out
level-headed and hardworking. Hey, these days having offspring who weren’t in
jail and were gainfully employed were reasons enough to celebrate.
“How
are Michael and Sheila taking the impending announcement? I assume they’re as
suspicious as we are.”
Emma
squirmed uncomfortably. “Actually, I think the cat’s out of the bag already as
far as they’re concerned,” she hedged.
“You
think, or you know?”
She
put down her coffee and turned to face me, the hazel eyes so like my own
meeting mine. “Daddy drove up there last week to help Joey put in a couple of
thermal windows. Justine came home from work early and disappeared upstairs,
and Daddy told Sheila later that Justine looked as if she’s put on some weight.
Naturally, Sheila caught on right away.”
We
chuckled at the cluelessness of men about these things and went back to our
respective offices.
At
four-thirty I packed up my Vista View sales materials in preparation for the
morning and headed down Garden Street to the Wethersfield Green. Two minutes
later I pulled into the driveway of a snug Cape Cod style house tucked behind
the Silas W. Robbins House on Broad Street. Now a stunning bed-and-breakfast
cum
antiques showcase, the Robbins House
drew visitors from across the country to enjoy the meticulously restored
ambience of the Victorian structure.
Ada
and
Lavinia
Henstock
had grown up in
that house, the daughters of the Honorable Reuben
Henstock
,
Esq., and had retained ownership until two years ago, when my partners and I
sold it to its present owner. But that’s another story.
Their
new digs afforded them proximity to their lifelong home but in a setting that
was manageable for the octogenarians. The B&B owner benefitted from the
sisters’ knowledge of the house and town history. The arrangement worked well
for everyone.
Ada
answered
my knock quickly, as if she had been waiting for me. She opened the door wide
but held a finger to her lips and glanced nervously over her shoulder at the
staircase behind her as I gave her a hug.
“I
was hoping you’d come by before
Lavinia
awakened from
her nap, and here you are.”
Ada
was all but
whispering as she ushered me into the cozy living room that took up one side of
the first floor. A dining room and kitchen occupied the other side, and a full
bathroom was tucked behind the stairs.
“
Lavinia
may join us for tea, but I’m glad to have you to
myself for a minute or two.”
I
gave her my warmest smile. “Where’s Henry? He doesn’t usually let a visitor
into the house without an official greeting.” Henry was the
Henstock’s
pet mongrel, and his enthusiastic barking had given his owners and me more than
one bad moment in the past. Fortunately, John
Harkness
had taken it upon himself to improve Henry’s manners and had made a good job of
it.
“Snoozing
with
Lavinia
, I’m happy to say. He’s an old dog now
and getting quite deaf, which has turned out to be a blessing in many ways.”
I
could well imagine. I looked at my friend more closely. “You look as if you
could do with a snooze yourself. Are you feeling all right,
Ada
?”
“Fine,
fine,” she assured me, “but a bit concerned, I confess.”
Another
glance at the staircase.
“It’s
Lavinia
. She’s
not well, I’m afraid.”
My
dismay must have shown on my face, because she hastened to elaborate. “It’s not
physical, we don’t think. As far as that goes, she’s as healthy as a horse. In
a way that makes things more difficult.” She pulled herself together with an
effort. “Sorry, my dear, I’m dithering, and that’s not like me.
We believe
Lavinia
has had a small stroke, which would be good news, if it turns out to be true.
If not, her symptoms may be the onset of dementia, perhaps Alzheimer’s disease.
She’s had a lot of tests, and we have a follow-up appointment with a
neurologist next week.”
To
cover my shock I stood up and paced to the back window overlooking the sisters’
tidy back lawn and small kitchen garden. The tomatoes were in and staked, I
noticed. I cleared my throat as the full import of
Ada’s
words swept over me.
“Nothing
is certain yet, right?” I asked hopefully.
Ada
was a
couple of years older than
Lavinia
. “But if the news
isn’t good, how on earth can you cope with this?”
Her
answer, when it came, was straightforward as always. “I can’t,” she said
simply. “I’ve been struggling to come up with a solution for days now, some way
I can manage to keep things as they are until one of us passes on, but there’s
no way I can do it by myself, Kate. I’m going to need help, and I don’t know
where to turn for it.”
Then
Ada
Henstock
, whom I’d come
to think of as indomitable, put her face into an heirloom silk pillow and full out
blubbered. I was horrified. Without a clue in the world of how I could help, I
sat beside her, rubbed her back and waited for the storm to pass, my mind
racing.