Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

61. Tonight We Lose Susan

  Today is a very bad day for Susan. She is listless, and she has no appetite. She is already thin as a rail. She is on an IV, but it does little for her.

  I send my diagnostics to Dr. Sykes. She just shakes her head. “Soon, Carey,” she says.

  When the children get home from school, Garrett and Tabitha go in to see Susan.

  I take Tim aside. “You are afraid,” I say. He nods. “You are sad.” He nods again. “But I have known you since you were born, Tim. You are brave.”

  “No, I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m afraid.”

  “Remember you told me once from a book you read: Brave heroes are afraid like anybody else, but they do what they have to do anyway.”

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Tim, tonight you have to say goodbye to your grandmother.”

  Tim shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears, but they leak through anyway. I wait. Finally he opens his eyes and says, “Will you be there for me, Carey?”

  “Always,” I say.

  “It’s easier to be brave when you’re not alone,” he says.

  We go into Susan’s room. The children tell her stories. Garrett brings her supper. Millie sits in the corner, chipping in a story now and then.

  Susan drifts in and out of consciousness. When she is awake, she smiles at the children, though I sense confusion. I do not think she recognizes any of us. But she is glad not to be alone with her fears.

  Later that night, when Susan falls into a deeper sleep, Millie takes the children up and puts them to bed. I can see what is coming next, but I can do nothing to stop it. It is inevitable. While Millie is upstairs with the children, Susan makes a few gasping, choking breaths . . . and then she breathes no more.

  When Millie comes back downstairs, I grip her shoulders, shake my head, and then hug her. She cries. Finally she is drained. She goes to Susan’s bed, takes her hand, and kisses her goodbye while I send the doctor a message. “Susan Owens passed away at 10:27 p.m.”

  62. Today is Susan’s Funeral

  Susan’s funeral is attended by a massive crowd of all ages. Rachel Bean, one of Susan’s coworkers, observes to me, “No one has more mourners than a favorite teacher.”

  Luke and I stand near Millie, greeting friends and relatives, accepting their condolences. Garrett has taken Tabitha and other younger children downstairs and is watching them so they do not get restless. I look at Tim. “You can go downstairs, too,” I say.

  “Nah,” he says, “they’re doing kids’ games, boring stuff. Besides, Uncle Carey, we’re being brave, right?”

  “Yes, we are, Tim. You are very brave indeed.”

  As the crowd swells, I see a familiar face in the back of the room. At the same time Millie says under her breath, “Wayne.”

  I try to read her mood, but there are so many layers of conflicting emotions, I cannot tell which is in charge right now. “Shall I ask him to leave, Millie?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, he needs to say goodbye too. Please . . . ask him to come join us up front.”

  I thread my way through the crowd and up to Wayne. “Carey,” he says, “I’m so sorry for . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

  “Thank you, Wayne,” I say. “And I am sorry for your loss, too.”

  “She was . . .” He chokes up. “. . . the only mother I had left.”

  “I know, Wayne. Please, come join us.” He shakes his head. “Millie asked, Wayne.”

  I see surprise in Wayne’s eyes, and he follows me forward. When we get to the front, he says, “Millie, I’m so sorry.”

  Millie stands awkwardly in front of him, hands clasped behind her back. “I know, Wayne,” she says, “but she’s not in any pain now. She’s at peace.”

  “I should . . .” He nods toward the coffin.

  “All right, Wayne . . .” Millie says. “It’s good to see you here.”

  Wayne walks up to the coffin, and I follow him for support. The mortician has done an excellent job of making Susan look like her younger, healthier self. It would take very good eyes to recognize that her hair is a wig, or that her clothing is padded out so she looks less skeletal. Her frail state cannot be hidden in her face, however, but the mortician has done his best with makeup.

  Wayne stands by the coffin. He looks at her silently. At last, he whispers, “Goodbye, Mom.” He bows his head and cries.

  From his other side, Millie appears. She turns him toward her, pulls him close, and hugs him. They lean their heads together and cry on each other’s shoulders.

  63. Today I Am a Kidnapper

  “Carey, did Mom take her vitamins this morning?” Garrett asks.

  I step toward the comm screen to answer, but Millie puts her hand on my chest. “Don’t you dare answer,” she says. “Garrett, I’m not feeble minded. If I say I took my vitamins, then I took my vitamins.”

  “I just want to be sure, Mom. After Grandma . . .”

  “I know, but that was Grandma. This is me. And that’s you, and you’ve got college to deal with. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. Tell him I’m fine, Carey.”

  I reply, “She is healthy, Garrett, although emotionally she is upset. She does not like this questioning.”

  “Carey . . .” she says.

  I continue, “And she does not like me pointing that out.”

  “All right, Mom,” Garrett says. “I just worry.”

  “Thank you, son. I love you too. But I’m doing just fine. Your brother and sister count my vitamins every day.”

  “What about Dad?” Garrett asks.

  “Yes, he calls too.” But her tone is disapproving.

  “Mom,” Garrett says, “this is ridiculous. When are you and he going to get back together?”

  She replies, “That’s none of your business, Garrett.”

  “What do you mean? You’re my Mom and Dad. Of course it’s my business. After Grandma’s funeral, I thought . . . You belong together. Everybody knows it but you.”

  “Maybe everybody should mind their own business,” Millie says. “Now why don’t you get to class already? I don’t want to be an excuse for low grades.”

  “All right, Mom.” Garrett kisses his fingers and presses them up to the screen. “I love you.”

  Millie repeats the gesture. “I love you, son. Now, get to class.” When the comm screen clears, Millie looks at me. “Thank you for lying to him, Carey.”

  “I did not lie,” I say. “I told him as much as I could within my privacy protocols, so as not to worry him.”

  “Then thank your damn privacy protocols. At least they’re good for something.”

  “But Millie, did you take your vitamins?”

  “Yes, I did,” she says. “My mind is fine, Carey. The doctor says it’ll be decades before I have any symptoms.”

  But she will have symptoms. The genetic markers are there, the same as Susan. Unless researchers develop a new treatment, someday Millie will develop Alzheimer’s. Anna is more fortunate. The treatment will work for her.

  “You must tell them sometime, Millie,” I say. “Your children are very bright. They will figure it out.”

  “I know they will,” she says. “Already they treat me like a prisoner, with the three of them checking up all the time to make sure I’m safe. Four of them, I should say: Wayne too.”

  “Yes.” I do not state the obvious, but Wayne still cares for her and worries about her. Millie knows. Pointing it out only upsets her.

  She sits down. “Carey, what am I going to do?” she says.

  “I do not know what you mean, Millie.”

  “Carey, I don’t mean to complain, but . . .”

  “But you feel trapped,” I say. “For so many years, your life has been about caring for Susan in her illness. Now that she is gone, the center of your life is gone. And you feel guilty. Like you should be sadder. But that is wrong, Millie. You have been grieving her loss for years now. You should not feel guilty. It is natural that you f
eel relieved. Ready to move on.”

  Millie nods. “Moving on . . .” She sighs. “I miss Mom, but . . . I like my life. I have few regrets. I have three beautiful children. I’m not happy how it turned out, but for a time, I had a good marriage. I have friends. But now I have just this big house. In a few years, it will be so empty with them all off to college. Just you and me—unless you move on, too. I don’t want to feel like a prisoner, like I’m trapped, ticking off the days until . . .” She looks out at the garden. “There are so many other things that I wanted to do. Not just teach. I love my students, but I want to see more of the world. So many things I never got to do.”

  And now she fears she never will. She cannot bring herself to say it, so she changes the subject to how Garrett is doing in school. But as I prepare lunch, I cannot stop thinking about her sadness. And that night, I start making plans.

  Today I become a kidnapper. It is nearly a week later, and all the paperwork has arrived: new passports for Millie and Tabby and Tim, travel papers for myself, health certificates, everything we need for modern travel. I have transferred all of my funds into an international account, accessible almost any place in the world.

  This morning I nudge Millie’s bed. “Get up, Millie,” I say.

  She turns over, opens her eyes, and looks up at me. “Carey, what’s wrong?”

  “I am kidnapping you, Millie.”

  Her eyes pop wide open, and she sits up. “What?”

  “You are right. You need to escape. Garrett has a new life; but Tim and Tabby need to get away, too. You have all lived with grief for so long, and you all need a change. But they worry so much, they will argue. They will try to postpone this. We are not going to give them a choice.”

  “What do you mean, kidnapping?”

  “All the papers are filed. Plane tickets are purchased, ready to go. We are going to see the world.”

  “I have to tell Garrett. And Wayne.”

  I shake my head. “You do not have to tell anyone. I will tell them once we are out of the country, and it will be a fait accompli. Our first stop is London. Anna has made arrangements for us to stay with her in-laws.”

  “It figures big sis would be in on this with you.”

  “Absolutely. It was my idea, but she took to it immediately. She made the initial plans, I just carried them out. After London, we have tickets to Australia.”

  Millie’s voice turns wistful. “I always wanted to see Australia.”

  “I know,” I say, “and we will.”

  “And after that?” Millie asks.

  “Wherever you want. It’s your world. Let’s go see it.”

  After Australia, we go to Venice. Millie is disappointed. The canals have been cleaned up greatly since the early twenty-first century, but that has brought in even more tourists. She says it just is not the dream she grew up with. But Tabby and Tim enjoy it. Tim wants to spend all day in gondolas.

  From there we go to Switzerland, which is like stepping back in time a century or more. The Swiss have a strong sense of tradition, and some ways never change there: still hiking the mountains, still blowing the alpenhorn, some still milking their own cows. Another Swiss tradition is their fondness for well-engineered machines, and I am popular there. We visit an engineering school to let the students look at my works and compare techniques from forty years ago to those of today.

  After that, we go to Paris, then back to London, and then to Brazil. It is while we are in a hotel in São Paulo, wondering where to go next, that Millie looks in an online journal and laughs. “What is so funny, Millie?”

  “How can we pass this up?” she says. “I found a Natural History Museum expedition that’s looking for volunteers for frog cataloguing.” She looks up and smiles. “In Belize.”

  64. Today We Return to Belize

  Our entry into the country is almost uneventful this time. Belize changes slowly, but even Belize changes. Automated assistants are still only tools of the elite, but they are far more common today than when I was last here.

  When I show my travel papers, the customs agent’s eyes grow wide, and he smiles up at me. “Carey Owens?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “The Carey Owens? The original?”

  “There may be another,” I say.

  “But not another mechanical!” he replies. “Please, can I take a picture with you?”

  I agree to let the man take a picture. As soon as I do, other agents and other locals appear, all asking for pictures. I have to raise my voice to be heard over them. “I do not understand,” I say. “How do they all know me?”

  “You are famous, Mr. Owens,” the agent says. “Everyone here has seen Master of the Mechanicals. It is a movie about Rodrigo Pineda, and how he helped you out.”

  “Rodrigo?”

  “Yes! He has brought jobs to Belize. Opportunities. They say he may be Governor-General someday.”

  “Good for Rodrigo,” I say, and I make a note to see Master of the Mechanicals. I wonder how the film will represent me.

  The agent looks at my travel papers, and he stamps me with a barcode that indicates I am authorized to operate everywhere in the nation.

  From there we have a delay. The Natural History research team is out in the field. We could hire a driver to take us out there; but we are unsure of their precise location, and we know that they will be back to stock up on supplies in four days. One of the drivers we contact looks at us and says, “Four days? We might get there only to miss them on their way here. I’ll be happy to take you on the tour, but to go search for the expedition? I think you should wait. Slow down. Enjoy Belize.”

  “Slow down,” Millie says, and nods, half smiling. “I think we can do that. Thank you.”

  I suggest to Millie that we could go visit Caye Caulker, but she continues walking as if she has not heard me. It is a way she argues sometimes: She simply ignores any statement she does not wish to argue about, as if it were never made. I can sense that she understood me though. She does not want to go there because the memories of happier times will only make her feel sad about her life today.

  So we check into the Bakadeer Inn—Paul’s favorite hotel on his trips to Belize—and we find ways to enjoy the country. On the first day we tour nearby Mayan ruins. They are nearly unchanged from our last visit. The human eye would not detect the slight weathering that I notice, barely enough to measure. Tabby and Tim delight in the odd statues with the frightening faces; and they laugh when I try to emulate the statues.

  The second day, Millie decides she wants to go dancing, and we go out to a local club. Most of the tourists are younger than Millie by two decades; but the locals welcome her and the children, and once again I am a curiosity that everyone comments upon. I dance with Millie as I have at two Owens weddings. I also experiment with emulating locals for some of the faster dances, but my emulation net cannot keep up as it once did. I am awkward. Millie smothers a laugh. It is good to see her laughing, even if it is at my misfortune. Tabby, of course, has been in dance classes for years, so she is thrilled to be on the dance floor. In the end, Tim and I spend much of the night in chairs by the wall, commiserating over our lack of dance skills.

  When we get back to our hotel, the evening clerk waves us over to the desk. “Mrs. Stockwell,” she says, “you have a visitor.”

  “What?” Millie asks.

  “He says he is Mr. Stockwell. His papers confirm that. He is at the restaurant one block over. Is there trouble here? Should I summon the police?”

  “No,” Millie says. “Children, go up to the room, please.”

  “But Mom . . .” Tim says. “I want to see Dad!”

  “Me, too!” Tabby says.

  “You heard me,” Millie says. “You’ll see him soon. Now march!” As the children reluctantly head down the corridor, Millie turns to me. “Please.” We step away from the counter, and she continues, “Wayne followed us down here. How could he know?”

  “Millie, he has been calling and worrying about you. I
have kept him informed.”

  “But here . . .” She looks at the hotel door, as if Wayne might walk through at any moment. “He could have come to any of our stops, but he came here. Carey, please, could you go talk to him? Find out what he wants?”

  “I can,” I answer. “But I think a more important question, Millie, is what do you want?”

  Her answer makes me think she is avoiding the question again. She looks down at her hands and says quietly, “Carey, do you think a frog remembers being a tadpole? Or is that part of its life too far gone?” I am still trying to make sense of her questions when she continues. “Carey, I don’t know how much time I have left. It’s not better to be safe if I’m sorry too. I think if you believe him . . . I think I’m ready to try happy. I want to try for happy. Do you think that . . .” She trails off.

  “All right Millie,” I say, “go on up to the room. I will talk to Wayne.”

  I watch Millie go, and then I head down the block to the restaurant. I find Wayne sitting at a table.

  “Hello, Carey,” he says. “I guess this is a no?”

  “It is a maybe, Wayne,” I say. His eyes light up. “We must talk.”

  “Have a seat,” Wayne says, and I sit. He stirs his drink with a straw. It does not look touched at all. The ice is melting. “How’s she doing, Carey?”

  “She is doing well, Wayne. She is enjoying her travels.”

  “No, Carey,” he says. “How is she doing? The Alzheimer’s.”

  I shake my head. “I am not her doctor, and I cannot discuss what I might know through empathy.”

  “I know that!”

  “But I can tell you what I have observed. She has no symptoms that I can determine. She takes no medicine other than vitamins. She is healthy for her age and in good shape, and she watches what she eats. She exercises. She is doing as well as she can possibly be. If she suffers from Alzheimer’s, I am not aware of it. Susan was much older when her symptoms surfaced. Case studies show symptoms at Millie’s age are extremely rare.”

  Wayne sighs. “That’s a relief. But still, all this travel must be tiring.”