Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  “Oh, yes, five. Well, they will surely keep me company at night.” We set the terrarium up on Millie’s old craft bench. Then Garrett goes upstairs to bring the down the food and supplies for the frogs and the plant food for the plants, while I turn to the matter of human food. It is time to make dinner.

  At last, I feel at home. Really at home. I can take care of my family.

  52. Today is a Bad Day for Susan

  Today is a bad day for Susan. She asks where Paul is, and this time she is not so easily distracted. “But where is he?” she says.

  I see the strain in her face. Tears will be coming soon no matter what answer I give, so I owe her an honest answer. “He is gone, Susan.”

  “Gone?”

  “He has passed away.”

  “But . . . I just . . .” She pauses. “This morning . . .”

  I shake my head. “He has been gone for eight years, Susan.”

  “But I don’t . . .”

  “I know. You do not remember. I am sorry. I feel so sorry for you, Susan.”

  There’s a long pause. She stares out at the garden. “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, you are, Susan.”

  “Like Paul’s mother.”

  “I am afraid so, Susan.”

  “Why, Carey?”

  “There is no explanation. I am sorry, Susan. This is just how it is.”

  She curls deeper into the chair and cries until Millie gets home. Millie walks through the door, and Susan looks up, eyes alight with hope. Once she recognizes who it is, though, she looks down again. “I thought it was Paul,” she says under her breath.

  Later that night, she is sure Paul is coming back. She refuses to go to sleep while she waits for him. Millie pulls me aside. “Couldn’t you just be Dad for a while?” she says.

  “I am sorry, Millie,” I say. “I promised her back when she was still healthy.”

  “But it would make her happy now.”

  “I do not think it would, Millie. I do not think anything will. Plus she is still too alert to be fooled by emulation. All I could be would be an echo. I can see her pain, but I do not think we can do anything for her except comfort her. Eventually she will fall asleep.”

  That is what we do. It takes nearly two hours past her usual bedtime for Susan to finally give up. I carry her into her new bedroom. Millie spreads out a pad, and I set Susan on the bed after. Millie checks Susan’s diaper, changes it, and straightens out Susan’s nightgown. She pulls the blanket over Susan and tucks her in. As she kisses Susan goodnight, I see tears on Millie’s cheeks.

  This is a time of tears. I cannot do anything for Susan, and I cannot do anything for Millie that will stop their tears. But I will be here to share them.

  53. Today Wayne Changes Course

  Anna and Vishal have moved back to Michigan to help with Susan, and to see her while they still can. Their boys have moved out, and Anna and Vishal both have virtual jobs which can be performed from anywhere. So they bought a house in town, just a short walk away, and Anna helps out often.

  Wayne has also moved closer, though he has not said what new work he has found. Today he brings the children home early. They have spent the day at a robotics show down in Kalamazoo, so he brings them back on the way to his home. The children come running into the house talking excitedly about all the robots. “And there was a robot dog,” Tabitha says, “and there was a robot that told stories.”

  “And Dad showed off his new robot,” Tim adds; but Garrett shushes him.

  Before I can wonder at that, Susan asks, “Where is your daddy? I haven’t seen Wayne in so long.”

  Garrett says, “He’s outside.”

  Millie looks surprised. “What?”

  “I was supposed to tell you, Mom. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “I’m just the messenger, Mom. Don’t shoot me.”

  Millie turns to me, pain in her eyes. “Carey, could you go out there? Tell him that I’m glad he and the kids had a good time, but this visitation is over?”

  “Millie,” I say, “if he wants to talk, maybe you should.”

  “I’m not interested,” she insists.

  So I go out. Wayne is parked in the driveway, windows down, enjoying the fall air. “Hello Carey,” he says as I walk up to the car.

  “Hello, Wayne.”

  “So she sent you to send me away?”

  “Yes, she did, Wayne.”

  “And if I don’t go away, are you going to make me?”

  I look at him and read his mood. “You will not do that, Wayne. If she insists, you will leave.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Because you want her to be happy,” I say. “You still love her.”

  Wayne’s voice starts to crack. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to an MCA empathy net,” I say. Then I add, “Is that a joke? I hope it was a joke. I am trying to learn how to make them. Millie could use jokes these days.”

  Wayne laughs. “It wasn’t a good joke, Carey. But sometimes you laugh just because the joke teller made the effort.” He leans his head against the window frame. “Carey, I know she’s upset.”

  “She has plenty of reason to be upset, Wayne. Not even counting you.”

  He looks up, concerned. “Susan’s getting pretty bad?”

  “Yes. Millie is stressed all the time now.”

  “But hey, she has you there to make everything right.”

  I detect a bitter edge in his voice. “Wayne, I am helping. Would you begrudge her whatever help she can get?”

  “No, but damn it, I could help, too. Lots of help, if she’d just let me. Carey, I have good news, and she needs to hear it. I can’t stand that she’s hurting like this. Please, Carey, you have to talk to her.”

  I look into Wayne’s eyes, and I see tears welling up. I need not remind him of his contributions to her pain. He knows. She knows. Everyone knows. But if she would let him help, it would help him as well. “All right, Wayne. I cannot promise, but I will try.”

  I go back into the house. The kids still cluster around Susan, and Millie is making soup. I walk up to Millie and say in a low voice, “He hasn’t left, Millie.”

  Millie drops the spoon into the pot. She reaches for it, but I grab her hand before she can burn herself. As I reach in, pull out the spoon, and hand it back to her, she whispers, “Why not?”

  “He needs to talk to you. I have never seen him this upset.”

  “Maybe I don’t need to talk to him.”

  “Millie, I think you do.”

  “Don’t play those empathy games with me!” she says. But then she puts down the stirring spoon and turns down the heat. “You come with me. I’m not going to be alone with him.”

  “He is not a threat, Millie.”

  “I am not going to be alone with him. So you come with me, or I don’t go.”

  “All right, Millie.” I follow her out. Garrett’s eyes follow us, but the other two children haven’t noticed our conversation.

  When we get outside, Wayne opens the door, steps out, and leans back against the car. “You could have come alone, Rana,” he says.

  “Didn’t want to,” Millie answers. “And don’t call me that.”

  “Millie, please. Hasn’t this gone on long enough? I told you I was wrong. I’ve apologized every way I know. I’ve done everything you and the kids need.”

  Millie nods. “I know, Wayne.” She sighs. “I know. But . . . things with Mom . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Millie.” Wayne reaches out to Millie; but she flinches, and he drops his hand to his side. “I wish you’d let me help. I wish . . .”

  Millie shakes her head. “It’s a bad time, Wayne. It’s too complicated. It’s been too long. Too long since you . . .” She squeezes my hand. “You almost lost Carey.”

  “I know,” Wayne pleads. “I made a mistake. But we fixed Carey. And now . . . finally . . . I’m fixing my career.”

  Millie looks up
at that. “Timmy said you had a new robot.”

  “Uh-huh,” Wayne says. “That’s why I was at the robotics show. Not just for the kids, for my job. I have a new job, Millie.”

  “That’s great!” Briefly, Millie’s eyes light up. She is excited by this. But when Wayne catches her eye, she looks away, and her voice grows subdued. “What is it?”

  “Berends Controls,” Wayne says. “They’re a smaller shop, but that means they have fewer levels of bureaucracy to complicate every decision. I flat-out asked Mr. Berends if it bothered him that I’d driven MCA into the ground. He told me, ‘Son, I did my research. That’s not how it went. You were just the one left holding the bag.’”

  Again Millie seems excited; but again she resists showing it. “So . . . you’re building androids?”

  “Not yet. Berends says he wants to start small, see what we can do with simple robots. There’s a lot I can do for him there. And the pay . . . I can have more for you and the kids.”

  “That’s nice, Wayne,” Millie says. “But money doesn’t change anything.”

  Wayne holds his hands out from his side. “Then what will, Millie? What will?”

  “I don’t know, Wayne.” Millie bites her lip. “This is all too complicated for me right now. I have so much else to deal with.”

  “I know,” Wayne says. “I just wish . . . Please, Millie.” Wayne swallows. “I want to help. I want . . .”

  Millie turns and paces away. “Nothing’s changed, Wayne. This is how it is and this is how it’s going to be.”

  Wayne follows her. He clasps her shoulders; but she turns, angry, and he pulls his hands away. He says, “Millie, down in Caye Caulker I promised for better or for worse. I won’t break that promise. I’m here for the long haul. But, damn it, I’ve had enough worse. I need some better.”

  “I’m sorry, Wayne,” Millie says. Do I detect a touch of sympathy there? “I’m sorry you’re hurting. But I can’t take that chance. Better safe than sorry.”

  Wayne frowns at that. “Is that it? Better safe than sorry? Everybody’s sorry sooner or later. You can’t avoid it. But what about better safe than happy? Because that’s the risk you’re taking right now. You can stay safe, or you can take the chance and we can be happy again. I can help you. Please, Millie, take that chance. Let me help you with Mom. We can get through this together. We were always stronger together.”

  “Goodbye, Wayne.” Millie turns and goes back into the house. Wayne looks at me. Without a word, he gets into his car and drives away.

  I stand in the driveway, again facing a problem that I cannot fix.

  54. Today I Am Lola

  Today Susan does not recognize me. Instead she sees her friend, Lola. All the latest research agrees with how I was first programmed: Arguing with her delusions will not make her happier, and going along with them can make her peaceful. So after a little effort tuning it in properly, my emulation net turns me into Lola, who has been dead the past six years. Susan and I spend the day having cookies and tea, until she falls asleep. When she awakens from her nap, again I am Carey.

  55. Today Susan Throws a Tantrum

  Despite all that Susan has lost, she still loves her music. She still sings some days. Her frail voice is still harmonic.

  But today she sits at her piano and looks at the keys, and she begins to tremble. She reaches out her hands, but she hesitates. She looks at the sheet music on the stand; but I am sure that her vision is too far gone to read it.

  She tries to strike notes; but even my poor ears can detect the dissonance as her fingers hit random keys.

  She tries again, but the results are even worse.

  She smashes the keys, first with her fingers, then with her fists. Tears flowing, she lowers her head to the keys. Then she looks up, seizes the sheet music, and crumples it. She throws it across the living room. She reaches for a picture that rests on the piano, and she hurls it toward the glass patio door. With skills learned from Luke, I easily catch the picture.

  Susan’s emotional level swings to that of a small, frightened child who lashes out in fear. She struggles to her feet, knocking over the piano bench. Susan is stronger than Mildred was at this stage. I have to restrain her to protect Millie, who sits in the corner, watching and crying. I hold Susan until she collapses in tears. Then I carry her to her bed, and soon she is asleep.

  56. Today Susan is Angry

  Today Susan is angry. She does not throw a temper tantrum like she had last week, and she is more aware of everything around her. Too aware, perhaps. That is the source of her anger. “I hate this house! I hate this bed! I hate these goddamn diapers! I hate you all! Why don’t you leave me alone? Let me die!”

  Millie flees the room, and the children follow to comfort her. I sit with Susan, watching her, making sure she does nothing to hurt herself. I wonder if we should order bed restraints.

  57. Today Susan’s Mood Improves

  Today Susan’s mood is better. For the first time in months, she sings, though she forgets most of the words. Millie feigns cheerful spirits, but she is relieved when it is time for her to leave for work. After the door closes behind her, Susan asks me, “Who was that nice girl? I like her.”

  58. Today I Understand Friendship

  Throughout Susan’s illness, Luke continues to visit. Some days Susan recognizes him, and she asks about the circus. Some days she does not know who he is, but she is polite and gracious.

  And some days, like today, she is angry that there is a stranger in her house. Today she screams, “Get out! Get out of here! Go!” And she throws her coffee cup at him.

  Luke catches the cup easily, of course. Then he quickly exits through the front before Susan can get further upset.

  It takes me nearly an hour to calm Susan down. In her anger, she has soiled herself, but she does not want me to touch her diaper. After several minutes of gentle pleading, I finally convince her to get into bed and let me bathe and change her. I also quietly give her a sedative. Dr. Sykes has increased her sedative prescription twice in the last month.

  When Susan is finally asleep, I go out the front door. Luke is waiting for me. “I thought you would have called a taxi by now,” I say.

  Luke tosses me the coffee cup. “I had to give you this,” he says. We start to juggle, a lazy, simplistic routine with only one object.

  I stare into Luke’s face; and for the first time, I recognize fear there. Or at least worry. “This is not easy for you. You do not have to visit.”

  Luke shakes his head. “It’s never easy. You forget where I’ve been living. This isn’t my first time through this, not even my tenth. It’s never easy, and no one should go through it alone.”

  Then he catches the cup, hands it to me, and adds, “Not even you.”

  59. Today Susan’s Medicine Fails

  Today Dr. Sykes visits to check on Susan. Before her mind started to go, Susan had named myself and Millie as co-advocates for her, so the doctor tells me what she has learned. “The palliative medicines are starting to fail,” she says. “She’s building up a tolerance.”

  I check my notes on the medicine. “If you increase the dosage, she will start to have other problems.”

  “Yes,” the doctor says. “Liver probably won’t take it, and there’s a small rate of cancers induced. I recommend we wean her off the meds and let nature take its course.”

  “I cannot approve that, Doctor.”

  “Yes, you can,” she says. “I’ve seen the advocate directive.”

  “Legally I can,” I agree, “but this is not a decision I can make without discussing it with Millie.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Sykes says. “All right, a few more days won’t matter either way. You have my recommendation.”

  Millie is late getting home that night. She and Wayne have met to discuss some financial issues related to Garrett’s college fund. Garrett is doing well enough in school that he may be able to enroll early, so they want to make sure they can afford that. So it is quite late when
she gets home.

  I do not want to upset Millie with the issue of Susan’s medicine, but she insists. “Carey, I’ve had a long day and I know you’re trying to be considerate, but I can tell that the news is bad. It’s not going to be any better in the morning, is it?” I shake my head. “I was sure about that,” she continues. “So you can tell me now, or you can let me go without sleep all night, wondering what you’ve got to tell me. Please, tell me now.”

  I tell her. She listens carefully, attentively, tears rolling down her face. When I’m done, she says, “Please, sign the papers. It’s the right thing, but I can’t.”

  The next day, I contact the doctor. She sends over the papers, and I sign to wean Susan off the medicine and let her die in the natural course of events.

  60. Today We Spend the Weekend Together

  Today is supposed to be Wayne’s weekend with the kids; but without Millie ever asking, he has given up his weekends so the kids can spend more time with Susan. Garrett makes Susan lunch and brings her tea. Tabitha curls up with her on the couch. Susan thinks that Tabitha is young Millie, and she takes comfort from her presence.

  Tim hides in his room all day, only coming down when he must. Even a few minutes with Susan makes him cry now. When Susan and Millie do not need me, I join him in his room. We play games, but his heart is not in it. “Uncle Carey . . .” he says, but he does not finish his thought.

  “I know,” I say, “it is sad and it is frightening.”

  “I feel . . .” He feels guilty like he should be down helping, but he is terrified at the same time. But he is too young, too emotionally unaware to understand these reactions. So he is reluctant to admit them.

  “I know, Tim.” I wish I could say something to make him feel better about going downstairs, or to make him feel better about staying upstairs; but he cannot feel better, none of us can. So I stay with him to give him what comfort I can.