I lower the sun visor and watch Mother through the mirror. I’ve never heard of Lorena, but Mom’s third husband, Vince Russo, had a brother named Vito. I haven’t seen Vince since Mom divorced him. I liked him and his family. He was a good guy, but that didn’t save him from getting the axe.
I look over at Lindsey, and her face has a slight green tinge. I don’t know if she’s sick or if it’s the dashboard lights. “Are you okay? Is Frankie okay?”
She smiles and glances over at me. “We’re fine. Everything’s good.”
To distract myself, I ask what I’ve been dying to know. “What about Jim?”
“What about Jim?”
It might not be my business, but I’m the only one looking out for Lindsey.
“I think he likes you.”
“Obviously, we’re just friends. He’s nice to me, and I like him, too.”
That’s nice, but what I really want to know is, “Did you tell him about the baby?”
She nods. “I told him. He said it doesn’t matter.”
Call me insane, but I find it alarming that a single young man is interested in a woman who is six months pregnant. “You can understand what he says?”
“Not always.” She laughs. “But I know what he means.”
“How?”
“Cuba,” comes the answer from the back seat. “We disembark in Cuba.”
“I’ve never been to Cuba,” Lindsey tells Mom as she glances in the rearview mirror.
“I visit all the time.” Mom sighs as if reliving fond memories of the one place I know for certain she’s never stepped foot in. “Cuban cigars are rolled on the thighs of virgins.”
I turn my head and look into my mom’s crazy eyes. “That’s a myth, Mom.”
She just gives me a blank look and says, “Connie has a fondness for scotch, Lucky Strikes, and her sister’s husband.”
I don’t know Connie, either. She might be as made-up as Lorena and Cuba.
“I told Bill she was no good.”
This is a new Patricia that I’ve never witnessed. It’s not Pleasant Fog Patricia, with her vacant eyes and pasted-on smile. It’s not Rattlesnake Patty, either. This is delirious Bat-Shit Pat. I’m not ready for Bat-Shit Pat. I turn back around. “Is she going to go back to normal? I mean, normal for her?”
Lindsey looks at me, then at the road. “A serious infection can affect the progression of Alzheimer’s, but I don’t think it’s nearly that bad yet.”
I should have seen the signs before she got this bad. I haven’t been paying as close attention to her since that day she asked me to kill her. I’ve allowed the standoff to go on for too long. I tell myself she’ll be all right. That everything will be okay. It’s just a little bladder infection, and we’ll get some antibiotics and be home before the end of Tic-Tac-Dough.
Unfortunately, I’m wrong. Mom’s UTI is serious enough that she has to spend the night in the hospital. Lindsey and I leave five hours after she’s assigned a bed and drive home in silence. I don’t want to blame Lindsey. I know she’s conscientious and methodical with Mom’s care. This is Mom’s fourth urinary infection, and she has always recovered. Still, I have a knot in my stomach the size of a soft pretzel and the urge to take it out on someone. Too bad Doug from Golden Springs isn’t around.
My mood goes further south when I walk into the big house, which feels more like a big oven. It’s after midnight, and the thermostat says it’s ninety-two degrees. The air-conditioning switch is in the on position and I hit it a few times with the side of my fist. “Come on, baby,” I plead. “Don’t quit on me now.” Surprisingly, cool air starts to flow from the vents. It’s either my magic fist or my pitiful begging.
The bedrooms upstairs are almost unbearable. I open the windows, but they’re heavy, and I have to wedge a fire poker in one casement to keep the window from sliding back down. Cool night air pushes through the screen as I get ready for bed.
There’s a little knock on my door just before Lindsey enters wearing a purple cotton nightgown that might as well be a muumuu. Her eyes are red and her face is blotchy. “I’m sorry, Lou Ann.” She blows her nose, then sticks the wadded-up Kleenex in her cleavage. “Maybe I should have made Patricia pee on a stick more than once a week.”
“It’s not your fault. We’re both trying to figure out what we could have done differently.” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll understand if you fire me now, but I’m really hoping you won’t.”
“You’re not fired, Lindsey,” I say through a sigh. “Mom likes you more than any nurse she’s come in contact with.”
“She doesn’t accuse me of hiding her shoes and stealing her Pirate’s Booty.”
“There you go. She likes you more than she likes me.”
“No. She just takes her frustration and anger out on you more than she does on me, but she yells at me, too.”
“That makes you practically family, I guess. Lucky you.”
She wipes her fingers across her wet cheeks. “Sorry. I usually don’t cry so much. It’s Frankie.” She looks down and rubs her belly. “He makes me gassy, too.”
“Ahh, TMI. Even if we are practically family, we don’t need to share everything.”
She laughs and sticks out her hand for me. “Come here.”
I frown and put my hands behind my back. “No.”
“Come on.”
“Why? I don’t want to pull your finger.”
She laughs and moves toward me. “You’re so funny.”
I wasn’t trying to be funny.
Lindsey grabs one of my hands and places it on her belly. “Feel that. Isn’t that wild?”
Beneath my palm, I feel her whole stomach move, and something pokes out at my fingers. “What was that?” Startled, I pull my hand back and watch her stomach move again, pushing up on the side of her muumuu. It looks like a scene out of one of Lindsey’s alien movies.
“He’s running out of room and not very happy about it.” She rubs her stomach, and it moves again. “Jim says that means he’s going to be a handful, but I don’t think so.” Then I look up at her, and her face gets serious. “I want to ask you something, and you can say no.”
I never like it when a question begins that way. Usually it involves a raise or a loan.
“Would you come into the delivery room when it’s time?”
That’s the last thing I expected her to ask. “Me? I don’t know anything about babies.”
“You don’t have to. I’d just like someone to talk to and be with me when the baby comes.”
“What about Mother?”
“I’ll arrange for someone to come and sit with her.” She laughs. “Maybe Simon.”
“Mom would love that.” Strangely, her wanting me to be with her touches me. “I’d be honored to talk to you and be with you when Frankie enters the world.”
“Thank you, Lou Ann. You’re a good friend.” She breathes a sigh of relief and heads for the door. “And you’re a good daughter. I know you don’t hear it enough, but Patricia is lucky to have you.”
I’m tempted to list all the ways she is wrong, but I say, “You’re welcome, Lindsey,” because the knot in my stomach is gone and I think she and Frankie have something to do with it.
I crawl into bed and shut off the lamp. I’ve never felt a baby move inside the womb, and Lindsey’s right, it’s wild. There’s a real baby in there, and I can’t imagine giving birth to something that size. Obviously, women do it every day, but it’s not for me.
Sure, Tony and I talked about it in a general “someday” sort of way, but never seriously. Now I’m thirty-eight. I don’t have a boyfriend or marriage prospects. Giving birth looks painful and exhausting, and for all of that trouble, they make you leave with the baby and take care of it for eighteen years.
I can’t think of one good reason why I’d sign up for that. I come from at least two generations of women whose maternal instincts are wishy-washy at best. Personally, I’ve never heard the tick of a b
iological clock, and I’ve never had an urge to push a baby out of my vagina.
At my age, if I haven’t heard the clock or felt the urge, I think it’s safe to say it’s not going to happen.
I’m fine with that. Lulu the Love Guru is my baby. We’ve had our ups and downs, good times and bad, but I’m very proud. We’re going through a little rough patch right now, but I’ll figure it out. Mom and I are going through a rough patch, and I’m taking care of that, too. I’m the ringmaster. I can run both shows at the same time. I can do anything, and everything will be okay.
I fall asleep feeling better after my little pep talk and wake up radiating positive energy. Like I tell Lulu fans: what you project out into the world is what you will attract back to you. I meant it in terms of loving relationships, but I think it applies to life in general.
By the time I get downstairs, Lindsey’s already spoken to the hospital. Mom had a restless night but is asleep now and doing okay. Lindsey and I have breakfast at the table in the kitchen off paper plates. It’s a refreshing change. No formal settings or hand-washing old china and crystal.
“I’ll take the first shower,” I say as I dump our paper plates in the garbage.
“Frankie wants the first shower.”
“Tell you what, I’ll race you and Frankie for it.”
“No fair.” Lindsey laughs. Her phone rings, and she’s still smiling as she looks at the number. She holds up one finger and answers. “Hello, this is Lindsey Benedict.”
I lean a shoulder in the doorjamb and fold my arms over my chest.
“Yes. Okay.” She puts a hand on her belly and looks down. “When?… I have to look at her history to be sure, but I believe that is correct. What are you giving her?… Yes.” She glances up at me. “We will. Yes.”
“What’s up?”
Lindsey hangs up and answers, “Patricia’s temperature spiked again.”
“Didn’t they just say she was doing okay?” I push away from the door, and my hands fall to my side. “That was only an hour ago.”
“The cultures just came back from the lab. The infection is worse than we thought and has spread to one or both of her kidneys.” Lindsey holds up a hand before I can ask any questions. “The doctor ordered stronger antibiotics and an ultrasound of her upper and lower tract.”
That doesn’t sound good, and a familiar knot of anxiety replaces any optimism I woke up with.
* * *
I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked back into Mother’s hospital room, but it wasn’t a cannula in her nostrils or another bag hooked to her IV machine. Her eyes are closed, and her dark hair starkly contrasts with her pale cheeks and white sheets. She looks smaller, older, and more fragile than when I left her last night. My heart sinks, and I grab onto the raised bed rail. “Mom.” I watch her chest move up and down as her vital signs scroll across a monitor. “Mom.”
Her eyes flutter open, cloudy and unfocused.
“Mom. It’s me. Lou Ann.”
She blinks a few times, and her eyes focus on me. I take that as a good sign. The cloudiness is probably because of her high temperature. Lindsey is looking at Mom’s chart at the nurses’ station down the hall. I’ll ask her about it when she comes to the room.
“Where did you go?” Her voice is scratchy.
I reach for a cup of watery crushed ice. “I went home for a few hours.”
“I need you to get me out of here.”
She opens her mouth, and I spoon-feed her a little ice. “I will when you’re a bit better.”
“I’m fine.”
I give her more ice. “Have you watched any of your shows?” I ask to distract her.
“I don’t have a remote.”
“It’s right here.” I show her the combo remote control and speaker hooked to her bed rail. “Do you want me to find you something?”
“No.” She studies it intently, like she’s trying to figure out how it works. “Don’t turn it on.” She might look worse than she did last night, but she is making a heck of a lot more sense. She pushes the minus sound button, then gazes up at me. “Get me out of here.”
“Let’s wait to hear from your doctor first.”
“He’s in on it. They’re all in on it.”
“What?” Confused, I put the ice on a bedside tray.
“Wynonna’s doing their dirty work.”
I blow out a deflated breath. I don’t ask what “dirty work” means because I don’t want to know what Wynonna is stealing now.
“That bitch is stealing my underwear.”
My head snaps back. Bitch? Forget that she doesn’t have underwear anywhere near this hospital; my mother said “bitch.” No way that just happened. No way I heard that right.
“I saw her give my black lacys to that other bitch with the red hair.”
Again? The woman in bed looks like my mom. Her voice sounds like my mom’s, but I’ve never heard a curse word pass my mom’s lips. Not once, let alone twice in the same conversation.
Lindsey comes in and tosses her tote bag on a chair. “How ya doing, Patricia?”
“Who are you?”
Lindsey doesn’t seem fazed that Mom doesn’t recognize her, but it reminds me of the first night at Sutton Hall and scares me shitless.
“I’m your good friend Lindsey.” She takes Mom’s hand and smiles.
Mom yanks her hand away. “You’re in on it with the rest of them.”
“I’m here to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“You’re huge! Huge people are sneaky bastards.”
I glance at Lindsey out of the corner of my eye. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was forewarned before I came in.” She puts her hands on the bed rail. “Patricia isn’t quite herself yet.”
“You’re sneaky like that bitch Wynonna!”
Lindsey lifts a brow and groans. Now I’m really scared. The last thing we need is for Lindsey to be the new Wynonna. “It’s Lindsey. Remember?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my memory!” she yells. “You’re in on it with the sneaky people.”
“Lou Ann is here to help you,” Lindsey assures her. “We’re both here to keep you safe from sneaky people.”
“Then get me out of this goddamn place. They’re listening.” Mom points to the remote. “They hear everything.”
“Is she going to be like this forever?” Last night she’d been bat-shit crazy, but in a great mood. Today she’s still bat-shit, but her eyes have turned to slits like a snake’s.
“Her temperature is still spiking at a hundred and two.” Lindsey turns her attention to the vital-signs monitor. “The bigger issue is, her oxygen level dropped to the low eighties this morning.” She points at the screen. “It’s back up to ninety-three, which isn’t great but is about normal for her.”
“What made it drop?”
“She’s not taking deep enough breaths. Her lungs are clear, so the best guess is hallucinatory anxiety.”
“I need a shotgun, a carton of smokes, and some fucking jerky.” Scratch what I said about making more sense.
I take a step back just in case the woman who looks like my mother levitates and spews soup. “Has she had the kidney scan yet?”
“Not yet. She’s a little too riled up.”
“Yeah.”
“She was given Tylenol in her IV just before we got here. It shouldn’t be too long before her temperature drops and she’s back to normal,” Lindsey predicts.
“Shouldn’t be too long” translates to another hour before Mom’s temperature lowers enough that she quits fighting the hospital staff. She persists in cursing her archnemesis, Wynonna, but I’m fine with it as long as neither Lindsey nor I are her target.
I sit in a chair beside her bed while she sleeps, answering emails but mostly watching treasure hunters on Oak Island and unsolved murders on Cold Case Files.
There’s good news and bad news regarding the results of the ultrasound. The good: the infection only spread to one kidne
y and the antibiotic should clear it up with no problem. The bad: Mom has cystocele, meaning her leaky bladder sags and can’t empty all the way. There are no good options for a seventy-four-year-old Alzheimer’s sufferer who has nerve damage in her urinary tract. We have the choice of a catheter or nothing. Both have risks and issues, and I’m going to leave it up to Lindsey to decide what’s best for Mom.
Lindsey and I leave around seven and return to a house that is even more stifling than it was the night before. This time, though, no amount of begging or pounding appeases the AC gods. My cotton sundress sticks to my back, and a bead of sweat slips down the side of my neck. I lean forward and press my forehead into the old plaster wall, bracing myself for another long night ahead.
“What are you doing?”
I turn my head and look at Lindsey. “Feeling sorry for myself.” She’s changed from her tight scrubs into a maternity wrap dress with yellow flowers on it. It looks like she might be wearing a little makeup, too. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Jim’s picking me up, and we’re going to a movie. I’ll have my cell on me if the hospital calls.”
Again, why is a young guy taking a very pregnant girl to the movies? It seems weird, and I open my mouth to give her my opinion, but I close it again. She’s an adult capable of making her own decisions and she didn’t ask for Lulu’s advice. Still, I’m going to keep my eye on Jim.
“Frankie’s getting popcorn with extra butter tonight.”
“And air-conditioning.”
She rubs her stomach. “Wanna come?”
I’m almost tempted. “What’s the movie?”
“Welcome to Hell 666: The Return of Satan.”
“I thought you gave up horror movies.”
“I tried, but I can’t go cold turkey. You should come and get out of this house.”
“No, thanks. Not even for cool air.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not even for popcorn.”
Jim shows up in a green car with a dent in the right front fender. I don’t know what model it is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was manufactured in the last century.
I wave them goodbye and start looking around the house for an electric fan. I don’t find one in any of the rooms or closets, and I’ve rummaged through the attic enough to know there isn’t one up there. The best solution I can come up with is a freezer baggie filled with ice. I put it on the side of my neck and sigh luxuriously, when my phone rings in my dress pocket. I don’t recognize the number and immediately assume it’s the hospital with more bad news. “Hello?”
How Lulu Lost Her Mind Page 19