The year She Fell (10 page)

“God, no,” Laura said, coming in with the hand-vacuum and heading for the peanut brittle crumbs on the carpet. Without Merilee, the house’s condition was beginning to deteriorate. “You never know what nuts lurk out there. If they get your real name, they can get your address—and you don’t want that.”

After long discussion, Mother settled on the screen alias of “WVbornandbred” and sent her note. “Now tell me,” she said over the noise from Laura’s vacuuming, “about this cache thing the young police chief was talking about.”

I clicked on the pull-down menu which listed all the websites I’d visited in the last ten days—then, as I got a glimpse of “alzheimers.net”, clicked it off.

“What was that, that list?” my mother asked pointing to the screen where it had been.

“Oh, nothing. The cache. It’s a history list of the sites visited recently—”

“That’s what Chief McCain was talking about. Checking the history to see if children are visiting porn sites.” Mother reached out for the mouse, but I slid it out of the way. “How does one do that? Just click on that?”

I shot an imploring glance at Laura. She turned out to be more web-savvy than I had imagined, and her actor’s sense of timing was impeccable. “Isn’t it under Options too, Ellen? You know, where you can set the history limits, and clear the cache?”

“Oh, right,” I said, trying to mask my relief. “Here, Mother. You just click Options and Web Preferences, and here’s where you decide how long a list of visited sites you want. And here, click this button and it clears the history list.” I clicked the button, and somewhere inside the computer, all those URLs for sites about mental deterioration in the elderly disappeared. “Now look.” I clicked on the pull-down arrow, and the history list came up blank.

.“This is fascinating,” she said, reaching up to pat me on the shoulder. “Thank you for teaching me.”

Laura had turned off the vacuum just in time to hear that, and I caught her surprised expression. I was just as disoriented, and had to re-examine my assumption that Mother’s mind was failing. This eagerness to learn something completely new certainly didn’t seem to indicate senility.

Mother was so involved in tapping away that she didn’t even notice Laura’s exit, or her return. But I did. Laura had the bland look that she wore whenever she’d done something wrong, and I saw a slip of paper in her hand. “We’ll go take care of the kitchen,” I announced to Mother as I rose from the chair beside her.

“That’s fine, dear,” she replied absently. “This historian man certainly is vociferous in his defense of that second lieutenant governor—- I quite disagree, and I’m going to tell him so.”

I have created a monster, I thought, following Laura into the kitchen. Next thing we knew, Mother would be engaging in flame wars and starting her own blog.

The kitchen was filled with the yellowing light of the June evening. Laura and Theresa stood at opposite ends of the old oak kitchen table, not speaking. I sighed inwardly. If either of them would just try to connect . . .

“Mother’s medications. I wrote down the name on each prescription.” Laura slid the piece of paper across the table, and Theresa reached over to pick it up. I glanced back into the hall, but there was no sign of Mother. Still I thought it best to turn on the water faucet to hide our discussion.

“Diuretic,” Theresa said, moving her finger down the list. “Blood thinner. Estrogen.”

“Anything . . . ” I couldn’t think of a good word and settled for one from the psychedelic era. “Mind-altering?”

“Nothing. It’s all standard stuff for a basically healthy woman of her age.”

Theresa balled up the page and tossed it in the trashcan. I hesitated, then dried off my hands and retrieved it. I couldn’t see Mother digging around in the trash, but there was no reason to take chances.

Shoving the page into my pocket, I said, “So if that’s all the medication she’s taking, and there’s nothing that could interact to cause . . . well, disorientation, what might we be dealing with?”

“Nothing,” Theresa said sharply. “I don’t see why you’re so certain that something’s wrong. She seems fine to me.”

“I have to agree.” Laura said this reluctantly, as if agreeing with Theresa made her nervous. “She did fade out on me once, but I’ve done that myself, when I’m bored or distracted in a conversation. And she’s probably always bored or distracted talking to me. And, well, she’s a bit forgetful. Other than that, she seems the same as ever.”

I shook my head. Maybe I was imagining more than the usual loss of focus that came with age. But—“You don’t think it’s strange that she’s accusing Merilee of theft?”

Laura brushed a few crumbs off the scarred oak tabletop. “Maybe that’s just to get rid of her. To give her a reason to fire Merilee. It’s not fair, but how do you get rid of old family retainers?”

“You give them a pension,” I said. “You don’t fire them. And why would she want to get rid of Merilee? She’s always done a good job.”

Laura shrugged. “Two domineering old ladies might get on each other’s nerves after twenty years or so. Maybe Merilee said something Mother didn’t like—say about that President Urich. Mother doesn’t like being rebuked. She might be angry enough to imagine some crime.”

I had to admit that made sense. Mother wasn’t one to take criticism constructively, and it was pretty clear that President Urich was a new favorite. “Merilee called him Mother’s ‘new boyfriend’, and I don’t imagine that went over very well.”

Laura’s perfectly arched brows went up a notch. “You don’t think . . .”

“No!” Theresa replied sharply. “Mother wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” Laura put on her innocent face. “No one says she has to start being a saint, just because she’s older. He’s a good-looking fellow—”

“She wouldn’t,” Theresa said flatly. “She never even dated after—after your father died.”

“After? Perhaps not.” Laura’s eyes glinted with speculation.

I wondered what she was trying to imply. But she wouldn’t get far in that direction. Theresa was right. Mother adored my father, and seemed to have put away any thought of love after he died. “I’m sure President Urich is after her money, not her body.”

“Creep,” Laura muttered.

It was my fault that Laura now suspected this man of trying to seduce Mother’s money. After all, that’s what I’d been intimating. “Oh, come on, that’s his job. It’s all college presidents do anymore—raise money from rich alums.” I brooded for a moment. “Look at it from his point of view. Here’s this poor woman whose daughters have all left, and she’s got this big old house none of them want, and all this money they didn’t earn—why not suggest she do some good with it?”

“I don’t want her money,” Theresa said.

“I don’t need it.” Laura might not have meant to sound one-upping, but this earned her a sharp look from Theresa.

I knew I was supposed to weigh in with something like
I neither need nor want Mother’s money
. But I couldn’t quite get the words out. I hadn’t taken a vow of poverty like Theresa, or just signed a seven-figure contract like Laura. We’d grown up as the richest girls in town, and no matter how long I lived on a middle-class income, I never quite got used to worrying about the bills and retirement accounts. I did rather long for a fraction of Mother’s money, just in case . . .

But I didn’t say that. I said, “Mother can leave her money where she pleases. I just want to make sure she’s, well, doing it in sound mind. So let’s tell her that we’re ready to discuss this estate planning, even meet with her attorney, tomorrow.”

“You tell her,” Laura said, with her usual abdication of responsibility.

“We’ll all tell her,” I said firmly. “Right now. I’ll speak the words. You two can just follow me and nod.”

Simultaneously, Laura and Theresa tried out a nod, and for just a moment, they both smiled at the silliness of it. But then Theresa’s face fell into its customarily serious lines. “Don’t make Mother feel incompetent. There’s no evidence of that.”

Exasperated, I replied, “I’ll be the soul of tact.”

So we all trooped down the hall to the den. The evening sun had descended below the mountains, and the room was dark except for pale glow of my laptop screen. Mother was hunched over the desk, so engrossed in whatever she was typing that she didn’t hear us enter.

As Laura flipped on the overhead light, I cleared my throat. “Mother, about that estate planning. Now that we’re all here, maybe tomorrow we can meet with Mr. Wampler and go over your—”

Mother jerked spasmodically. I’d never seen her move that way, and alarmed, I crossed the room towards the desk. I was only a few feet away when she turned, sweeping her arm clumsily into the cords dangling from the laptop. I flinched in anticipation, and barely got there in time to grab the computer before it fell.

Mother was all apologies, unprecedentedly flustered at the sight of the phone cable dangling off the corner of the desk. She got up from her chair and backed away. “I’m so sorry, dear! I was startled, and I’m afraid—oh, is it broken?”

It’s just a computer, I told myself, and forced a smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.” I set the laptop back on the desk and hit the power button, relieved as the screen turned blue and the familiar desktop appeared. I reached for the phone cord—and found the plug still attached to the modem jack. Mother had yanked it right out of the modem card, and I needed that, as there was no wi-fi in this old house..

She was hovering at my shoulder. “Is that a problem?”

“Just a minor one,” I said. Actually, it meant I was going to have to replace the modem. That would be an adventure. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find a compatible one here in
Wakefield
, and besides, I’d never opened up a laptop before. But I couldn’t live without email, not with Sarah off at camp with her own little notebook. I forced a smile. “Really, Mother, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Can we still get on the Internet?” she asked.

“Well, no, not until I get one little part installed. But I’ll get that tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m glad. I was just beginning to get the knack of it.” Mother smiled and added, “Now what was that you were saying about meeting with my attorney?”

CHAPTER FIVE

The attorney’s office was on the second floor of the bank building, which meant he got most of the town’s trust and estate work. He greeted us with a pleasant reserve that didn’t quite conceal how eager he was to get more work on this important estate.

It was an old-fashioned office, with worn leather chairs grouped in an arc around the desk. It looked just the same as it had many years ago, when Mother brought us here and signed the papers that made the six-year-old Theresa our sister.

I glanced over at Theresa, wondering if she remembered that day. Just like then, she was sitting in the last chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze steady on our mother. The last two days must have been hard for her—all that worldly stimulation after so long in a place of quiet and peace. I could almost feel her tension radiating across the room. Impulsively I crossed to the seat next to her, sat down, and reached over to touch her cold hands.

Her fingers curled. Just for a second our eyes met, and I could see the effort it was taking her not to pull away. Had she always been so resistant to touch? Or was that the result of her year in the cloister? I didn’t know. And that meant I didn’t know her.

“Mrs. Wakefield.” The attorney came out from behind his desk, a folder in his hands. “Here is your latest will. You’ll remember you updated it just last year.”

Mother took the folder and opened it on her lap. “Well, I’m likely to make some changes in it, now that my daughters are all here.”

“What sort of changes?” I asked, trying to sound only mildly interested. “I know you and Daddy set up some trusts.”

Mr. Wampler’s eyes lighted up. “Yes, the family trusts are key to the estate planning.” He went off on a long lecture about taxes and generation-skipping and probate, while I fought the urge to reach over and take the will from Mother’s restless hands.