Waiting to Exhale (22 page)

When she started getting phone calls from the police in the middle of the night because they found Daddy roaming up and down the streets in his pajamas, she had to change the locks so he couldn't get out. For the last six months or so, his motor skills have deteriorated so much that he can't put his clothes on or take them off. Sometimes he doesn't understand what she says, so she tries to talk in short sentences. Daddy knows he has this disease, but there's nothing he can do, because he can't control his behavior anymore.

"Ma, we've gotta do something," I say.

"I know. But he said he doesn't want to go to any nursing home-he's as clear as the sky about that-and I don't want to put him in one."

"What about a nurse? I'll help pay for a full-time nurse."

"Do you know how much it would cost? Twelve hundred dollars a month. You don't have that kind of money, and neither do we."

She's right, but I can't sit around and watch them deteriorate like this. At the rate they're going, Ma might be the one to go first. She's tired. She's been caring for Daddy now for two years, and it's obvious she can't keep doing this by herself. If I thought quitting my job and moving in with them would help, I would. But Ma doesn't want me to do that. Last year, I offered to take a leave of absence, but she wouldn't have it. "You've got a whole life ahead of you," she said. "Don't stop living because of us. We'll manage."

"I'll think of something," I say.

"I better go check on him," she says, and gets up.

I look around the house, which she's "childproofed" because Daddy's always losing his balance or getting mad for no particular reason and destroying things. She keeps the hot water turned off in the bathrooms because he almost scalded himself once trying to brush his teeth. And he's always hiding things in the strangest places: his wristwatch in the toilet bowl; his favorite coffee cup under the bed; books he can't read anymore underneath dirty clothes in the laundry basket. For some reason, he likes silver. When Ma first noticed her good salt and pepper shakers were missing, then the serving trays and her sterling teapot, she asked him about it and Daddy said he didn't know where they were. Even when she found forks and knives and spoons in the pockets of his winter coats, he insisted he hadn't taken them.

He comes out of the kitchen with Ma. She's holding his hand. She told me once that one of the things that helps is human touch. She ushers him to the couch and goes to get some clothes out of the dryer. As soon as Daddy sees her leave the room, he gets up and starts pacing. "What time is it?" he asks.

"One-thirty," I say.

"I've got to go. I'm late," he says, and heads for the door.

"Wait!" I yell, and jump up.

"Don't scream," my mother says, and rushes out of the laundry room toward the front door. But Daddy's already outside. "If you scream," she says, "it only makes it worse."

We both run outside, and since Daddy can't walk very fast, we catch up to him easy. But he won't let us touch him. "Get away from me!" he screams, and pushes me and my mother away with a strength I didn't know he still had.

"We just want you to come back in the house, Daddy," I say as softly as I can.

"Come on, Fred, it's gonna be okay. They're waiting for you at work. Your boss just called." "He did?"

"Yes, and you need to get dressed. I've got your uniform all laid out for you."

"Is this a trick?"

"No, Daddy, it's not a trick," I say, and hold out my hand. He looks at me like he doesn't trust me, and looks at my mother. He takes her hand. This hurts, until I make myself remember that this is part of the disease and not my daddy's will. We head back to the house, both of us holding him by the arm, and when we get inside, Ma locks the front door with her key. Daddy goes into the bedroom, and she follows him. I feel useless and don't know what to do, so I go into the kitchen.

Daddy'd put mayonnaise on every single piece of bread and stacked them all on top of each other. He'd put some instant coffee in a plastic container and mixed the sugar and coffee creamer in with it. He'd taken out a can of frozen juice and put it in a plastic Baggie. I don't touch anything, because I don't want to upset him. I leave everything where it is. I hear Ma say it's time for his medicine, and it doesn't sound like Daddy's putting up a fight.

When I walk back out into the living room, she's turned the TV on and is pouring him a double shot of whiskey.

"That's his medicine?" I ask.

"It works," she said. "It settles him down. You'll see."

So I sit there and watch my daddy drink his whiskey, and I watch him watch TV for close to an hour before I realize that he's closed his eyes and is sound asleep.

"This is what I do all day," my mother says.

"Don't worry," I say. "I'll figure out something. I can't stand to watch you and Daddy live like this. And I won't."

I end up washing clothes and cleaning up, and I want to take them shopping or to a movie or something, but because of Daddy, we can't. And we can't very well leave him at home by himself. Ma turns the TV to Nickelodeon, a kiddie channel. "He likes this," sh
e s ays, and goes to start dinner. Daddy wakes up, we watch Inspector Gadget and then Looney Tunes. He doesn't utter a single solitary word. When I ask him if he's enjoying the programs, he just sits there, as if he can't hear me or like I'm not here.

We eat dinner, which is pretty uneventful, and Ma gives him his real medicine and reads him a bedtime story. He likes it, because I hear him laugh. He falls asleep before Ma finishes the story. It's only twenty minutes after eight when she comes out of her bedroom with her pajamas on. Now her chest is flat. "I'm going to bed," she says. "You don't have to spend the night, baby. If you've got something better to do, go on home. It's not as bad as it looks."

"But I want to spend the night."

"Then let the couch out. If you hear your daddy stumbling around out here, just don't say anything to him and he'll go on back to bed."

"I won't," I say, and give her a hug and kiss good night.

It's hard falling asleep. And my daddy doesn't wake up during the night. As hard as I try not to, I keep wondering why he had to get stuck with this stupid disease in the first place. Why couldn't God have given him some other affliction, one that wouldn't wreak havoc with his mind? My daddy has always been a strong man, the one man I respected, the one man I looked up to, the one man I expected all the others to live up to. I've always been his little girl, and I'm still his little girl. And what about my mother? What's she gonna do when he's gone? How's she gonna survive? Her whole life has revolved around my daddy.

In the morning, I feel somebody standing over me, and when I open my eyes, it's Daddy. He's smiling at me. The same way he used to smile at me when I was little. "You want to know something?" he says.

"Yes," I say, and sit up.

"I love you," he says, and thumps me on my head. "Don't you ever forget that," he says, and heads for the kitchen.

When I get home, I have one message. From Bernadine. She said that Savannah's been here over a week now, that she found an apartment right down the street from me and wants me and Gloria to meet her, so try to keep Wednesday open so we can go to happy hou
r s omewhere. I know I have to go to Casa Grande that day for a presentation, but I figure I'll be home long before six. I call her back, and Savannah answers.

"Hi," I say. "This is Robin."

"Hi," she says. "Well, I've heard a lot about you, and I hear we're almost neighbors."

"Don't believe anything nasty Bernadine tells you about me. When do you move in? And where's your place?"

"I move in tomorrow. It's a complex called the Pointe."

"I'm less than five blocks from the Pointe! This is too much. We'll definitely be neighbors!"

"Good, because I don't know a soul here except Bernadine."

"Well, now you know me. I'll get on your nerves, so let me warn you in advance. Bernadine said you're working for KPRX. That's cable, right?"

"Yep. Channel 36, and I start next Monday."

"Then let's have lunch sometime. My office is only about three or four blocks from there."

"All right," she said.

"Do you like to go out? You know, party?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Well, the Ebony Fashion Fair is in three weeks. You want to go?"

"That's not really my cup of tea. I've been to one, and it was nice, but once was enough."

"I hear you. Well, there's some other things going on. But do this. Get my number from Bernadine. And call me."

"I will," she said. "Will we see you on Wednesday?"

"Jtist name the place. ... So are you adjusting to Phoenix?"

"There doesn't seem to be all that much to adjust to."

"You're right. This is a dull place to live. What made you want to move here anyway?"

"This job. And it can't be any deader than Denver."

"Well, I hope it works for you."

"Me too. Hold on, and let me see if I can get Bernie for you. She's helping John junior paint the solar system on his bedroom walls and ceiling."

"What?" I ask, but she'd already put the phone down.

"Hey, girl," Bernadine says a few minutes later.

"What are you doing?"

"I bought the boy this stencil called Night Sky. When he goes to sleep at night he'll feel like he's outside on a camping trip. But painting it on the ceiling is a bitch. My neck is about to fall off. We're almost finished, thank God."

"I don't get it, Bernie."

"When you turn the light out, it looks like a real galaxy. Stars and constellations and stuff. Now I'm trying to find that damn Milky Way. You might want to think about getting one, since you're so into the stars."

"Go to hell, Bernadine."

"Anyway, it's about time somebody heard from your black ass. When you're being wined and dined, nobody hears from you. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just got back from Tucson, visiting the folks."

"How's your daddy?"

"The same."

"What about your mother-how's she holding up?"

"She's hanging in there. But I've gotta figure out a way to get her some help. It's sad, girl. She can't keep doing this by herself. Daddy's too big for her to be lifting and holding him and stuff. He's almost like a baby."

"Isn't there any way to get him a home nurse?"

"I don't have the money. And they don't have that kind of money, either."

"Well, can't you put them on your insurance?"

"I already thought of that, but no."

"Then what can you do?"

"I don't know," I say, and change the subject quick. "Anyway, Wednesday's good for me. And Savannah sounds nice."

"You'll like her. She's almost as crazy as you."

"Cool. So how's everything going with you?"

"It's going. My lawyer had me hire a private detective."

"For what?"

"To check John's shit out. He is one sneaky motherfucker, you know that?"

"Yeah, I knew that."

"No, you don't know. Anyway, this guy's already found out shit I can't even begin to believe."

"Like what?"

"Like John's got property all over the fucking place. You know he sold the company, right?"

"No, I didn't know that," I say. But I was lying. Gloria had told me everything, including that shit he pulled closing all their bank accounts and Bernadine writing that check to herself that John can't do anything about except pay it. Bernadine always gets around to telling me everything anyway, so I figured I should act surprised.

"Yeah," she says. "He actually thought he could get away with the shit, but my lawyer knows what she's doing. We had the child support and custody hearing, and my lawyer got it continued until we find out everything. The judge was pissed."

"Why?"

"Because John's financial statement is packed full of lies, and the judge didn't want to be bothered. Anyway, my lawyer filed some kind of motion that stops him from selling any of his assets, freezes the shit, and if he tries to do anything with it before we reach a final settlement, his ass'll be in big trouble."

"So when will you know how much you're gonna get?"

"I don't know. We go back to court in six weeks. The judge ordered him to pay me eighteen hundred a month for now, plus he has to pay the mortgage, car payments, and insurance."

"What about the kids?"

"Until we go back to court, he gets to see them every other weekend and two evenings a week. I'm sick of seeing his ass already. I won't let him come in the house. I make him wait outside in Ris car."

"Good. How long do you think the whole thing'll take?"

"I don't know, girl. It could be weeks, months, and then again, it could be years. It depends on what they find and how long it takes 'em to find it."

"Get out of here!"

"I'm serious. This whole process is deep, girl. And John had the nerve to offer me three hundred thousand."