In the Neighborhood of Normal

by Cindy Maddox

  “Yes, ma’am.” The doctor’s attention was completely on Mish now. “We can drill and insert a catheter and evacuate as much blood as possible, then hope your body will absorb the rest.”

  “Or?” Mish asked.

  “Or we do a craniotomy and open the skull.”

  “I want that,” Mish said immediately.

  “But the risks at your age,” the doctor began.

  “Life is full of risks,” Mish said with a wave of her hand. “I’d rather die…”

  She paused, searching for the word, and Claudia panicked. “Mom, no!” she said, lunging forward.

  But Juliann surprised herself by putting a hand on the woman’s arm. “Let her finish.”

  Mish smiled. “I’d rather die trying to live than live afraid of dying.”

  Juliann wasn’t sure if that made sense, but she liked the way it sounded.

  “Legally, we will have to discuss the risks of surgery with you. You may not survive the surgery. And if you survive, you may still have permanent limitations. You will have to sign saying you understand these risks.”

  “Yes,” Mish agreed. “There’s one other thing you need to know.” She paused again, searching. “I’m a—a—bacon and eggs gal. I don’t have time for sugarcoating.”

  He looked her in the eyes for a moment before answering. “I understand. So I will say this: the odds are not in your favor. I can’t promise anything.”

  “Life ain’t the shopping channel,” Mish said.

  The doctor exchanged looks with Bobby and Claudia, but it was Juliann who interpreted for them. “It doesn’t come with a money-back guarantee.”

  ***

  Mish felt jittery. Nervous. Not about the surgery. What would be, would be. She wanted to live but wasn’t afraid to die. She was anxious because she had some things she needed to communicate and didn’t know if she’d have time. Or the words.

  For someone who’d lived her life speaking her mind, it was incredibly frustrating to have to think so hard to find the words. Her brain was moving in slow motion, and sometimes the words just wouldn’t come out. But this was important. It couldn’t wait. She took a breath to begin, but the door slid open again. Pastor Jeff.

  She smiled and reached out a hand. He moved to get close to her, and Juliann flattened herself against the wall to let him through. After leaning down and kissing her on the cheek, he said, “They told me only three visitors are allowed at a time, so I won’t be able to stay long.”

  Juliann ducked her head. “I’ll wait outside.”

  “No!” Mish corrected. “Claudia—sorry, hon. Can you—?”

  Claudia clearly looked hurt but Mish couldn’t worry about that now. Claudia clutched her big purse to her chest and walked out.

  “Can somebody fill me in on what’s happening?” Jeff asked.

  Mish looked first at her son, then at Juliann. Better to let her communicate. She didn’t trust Bobby where Pastor Jeff was concerned. She nodded her permission at Juliann. The girl gave Pastor Jeff a quick summary of the situation, and when Jeff turned back to look at her, his eyes were full of tears.

  “We need to talk,” Mish said. “In case I don’t make it.”

  “Now, Mother, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Bobby began, but Mish interrupted.

  “You heard the doc. Not much time.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. This is not the way she wanted to do this, but she didn’t have a choice. When she opened them again, she got straight to business. “For funeral, no psalm…psalm…” Why can’t I remember the blasted number? “The shepherd one.”

  “No 23rd Psalm,” Jeff finished. “Got it. What else? Any special readings?”

  “Poems.”

  “Fine, do you have a favorite poet?”

  “Juliann.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious! You’ve never even heard any of my poetry!”

  “One of yours. One of mine. Promise?”

  Juliann stared at her for a few seconds, then shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You’re not going to die. The surgery will fix everything, and you’ll stay around to help me for a long time. You can beat this.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Promise me you’ll try,” she begged.

  “I promise I’ll try. You promise you’ll write me a poem if—if—” Mish reached out her hand. Juliann took it and nodded. “There’s coconut in the fridge.”

  Juliann looked confused.

  “There’s coconut in the fridge,” she repeated. “Use it.”

  Juliann and Jeff exchange confused looks. She’d have to let Juliann figure that one out on her own. She looked back at Bobby. “Now. Let’s talk about will.”

  “Who is Will?” Bobby asked.

  “Will Jorgens? From church?” Jeff supplied.

  She rolled her eyes. “My will. Don’t have time for lawyer. I have to trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust me, Mother. Why would you even say something like that?”

  She knew she’d offended her son, but she didn’t have time for that either. There was a time for worrying about feelings and a time for getting things done. “I left some for Livie and some for the church.”

  “I know,” Bobby said. “I’m the executor of your estate, remember? Those two bequests come off the top, and the rest goes to me as your only child.”

  Mish held up a finger. “One change.” Bobby looked sideways at Jeff and Juliann. Clearly he did not want to be having this conversation in front of the others. She didn’t care. “My house.”

  “What about it?”

  “Trust,” she said.

  Bobby let out a heavy sigh. “You can trust me, Mother.”

  She covered her eyes so she could think clearly. Words were getting harder to come by. “House. Trust!”

  “Excuse me,” Jeff said carefully, casting a leery glance at Bobby. “Mish, do you mean you want the house put into a trust?”

  She let out a deep breath. “Yes. Trust.”

  “Okay,” Bobby said. “That’s easy. But I need to know your end goal. Who is the trustee? What is your long-term plan for the property?”

  “Juliann and her mom.”

  Bobby let out a huff of disgust, just as she knew he would. “You want to leave the house to complete strangers? I mean, it’s your house, and you can do what you want with it. And your estate is plenty big so I’m not complaining about the money. I just don’t understand why the hell you would you do that for people you barely know.”

  Mish looked at Juliann, who looked terrified. She tried to communicate with her eyes, but it wasn’t working. “No, Mish, you can’t do that. We don’t need your house. We’ll figure out a way.”

  “Trusty!” Mish insisted. “Trusty!”

  It was Jeff who again figured out what she meant. “I think she’s saying she wants Juliann and her mother to be trustees, not owners of the house.”

  “Yes!” She was so relieved someone was finally understanding her.

  “For how long?” Bobby asked.

  Mish thought for a moment. “Ten years. No rent.”

  “And then what?” Bobby demanded.

  “Give the house to…to…”

  “To whom, Mother?” Bobby prompted.

  “The shelter.”

  “What kind of shelter? Animal shelter?”

  Mish shook her head, but the pain was so bad when she did that. She had to remember not to move her head. But there was so much to remember. Too much. She had to go on. She looked at Juliann, knowing that the girl was the only one who could explain. Mish couldn’t. She didn’t want these to be her last words. So she mimed the event that symbolized it all. She pretended to light a match and then threw her hands up and let out a “whoosh.”

  The girl began to cry. “A women’s shelter. Because of Floyd,” she whispered. Mish gave
her a small nod.

  Bobby was staring at Juliann now. “Why would she want to give money to a women’s shelter for my dad?”

  Juliann looked to Mish again, clearly looking for permission. Mish closed her eyes and gave her one more nod. Juliann took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and looked Bobby straight in the eye. “Not for your dad. Because of your dad. Your mother wants her house to go to the women’s center for domestic violence because of your dad.”

  Mish saw the deep furrow between her son’s eyebrows. She was sorry he was finding out this way. But he needed to know the truth. About his father. About his mother. About himself. Before it was too late.

  “I don’t understand. My dad yelled, and okay, he got pretty angry sometimes. But he was never violent.”

  Juliann swallowed hard. “Yes, he was. Floyd was emotionally and physically abusive to Mish. You can try to deny it if you want, but I know the signs.” Her voice started shaking, but she kept talking. “I know because I have grown up in an abusive household. I have seen my father terrorize my mother. I have seen how she covers for him. That’s why Mish took us in—to save us—because she knows how it feels.”

  Jeff moved closer to Juliann, then turned to face Bobby. The message was clear. It was two against one. “I have seen the bruises,” he began. “I didn’t recognize them for what they were. And Mish lied to me about them, tried to cover for your father. I’m ashamed to say I believed her story, when I should have known better. What Juliann is saying is true.” He looked at Mish, and she gave him a sad smile. He turned back to Bobby. “Please. Honor your mother by honoring her wishes. She needs to do this. It’s—like—” It was his turn to search for words, and Mish’s turn to supply one.

  “Redemption.” She looked at Bobby, tried to tell him with her eyes how much she loved him. He still looked shocked. “Don’t become him,” she whispered. “Please. My sweet boy. Please.” And finally he broke. The sob that escaped him reminded Mish of when he was a young boy and his 4-H calf died. He had cried so hard she thought the ground would shake. And suddenly her son was at her side, his tears falling on her arm, and he cried, “Don’t leave me, Mama! Please!”

  She patted his head. Her sweet son, smelling like hay and sunshine and little boy. She kissed his head and tousled his hair. He’ll grow up to be a fine man.

  It was her last thought as the darkness closed in again.

  17.

  Juliann pushed the orange mac and cheese around her plate. God, she hated this stuff. For some reason her mom thought that anything Juliann had liked as a child was “comfort food.” She couldn’t remember ever liking the flavor. As a young girl she had only liked the straight little lines of pasta because she could stack them or use them to perform math equations.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital, but her mom had insisted. They needed to get the dog home, and there really wasn’t anything they could do at the hospital while Mish was in surgery.

  Bobby stayed to sign paperwork, leaving Juliann to walk back out to the waiting room with Mish’s pastor. Juliann was not at all in the mood to have an uncomfortable conversation with Jeff, but she didn’t know how to get out of it. After they talked, she wished she’d found a way, because their talk just confused her more.

  He told her about the woman Mish met in the diner, and how Mish believed she was on a mission to “follow the love.” He thought that somehow people were getting Mish’s phone number to take advantage of her, and he wanted to know how Juliann met her. She explained that she had just written a phone number down wrong, but she did acknowledge that, yes, Mish had come out to meet her without even knowing who she was. And how many others had been texting Mish? As far as Juliann knew, there was the girl who wrote to Mish for advice, and the dick pic guy. Pastor Jeff also knew of somebody named Ethan. But nobody seemed to be taking advantage of her, so what was all this about?

  The day they first met, Mish had mentioned Jesus sending her, and of course she had talked about following the love several times, so what Pastor Jeff said made sense. But what did all this mean for their relationship? Did Mish really care about her, or was Juliann just some kind of mission project or something? She wasn’t exactly sure why, but it made her really sad to think Mish did all that for her just because she thought Jesus wanted her to. She wanted Mish to have done it because Mish wanted to, not because she was following some, like, misguided sense of responsibility.

  And as if that weren’t enough, she’d gone and taken care of Juliann and her mom, even though she was in crisis herself. Juliann still couldn’t believe what Mish had done. If Mish died, they would have a free place to live—for ten years!

  If Mish died. Just thinking that phrase made her want to puke. It was all too much to take in.

  She gave up on the mac and cheese and went looking for the dog to see if she could coax her into eating. The dog was curled up on the end of the sofa, which she seemed to have claimed as her own. “You can have that seat for now, but you’ll have to move when Mish gets home. That’s where she always sits.” The dog looked at her with sad eyes. She set the plate on the floor but the dog didn’t move.

  The phone in her pocket buzzed and she automatically pulled it out to check it. But it wasn’t her phone. Her phone was in the other pocket. This was Mish’s phone. She had forgotten to return it after calling Jeff.

  She wasn’t sure if she should look at it. When they were on their trip, she had permission. Now it felt more like an invasion of privacy. But it was clearly a text from that girl who always asked for Mish’s opinion. And suddenly she had an idea.

  Hi I’m a friend of Mish. Can you tell me how you got her number?

  Who’s Mish?

  The owner of this phone. How did you get her number?

  She gave it to me at a party but her name isn’t Mish.

  What did she look like?

  Pretty with brown hair and blonde highlights, great fashion sense. That’s who I’ve been texting.

  Juliann almost laughed.

  Actually, you’ve been texting an 82yo woman named Mish with no fashion sense.

  WTF??

  Trying to figure this out. How old was the girl?

  IDK maybe 20 or 21.

  And she just gave you this number?

  Juliann waited while the girl typed a long response.

  Yeah, she was really cool and I was asking her where she shopped, and advice on clothes and stuff. I kind of thought I was bugging her and was ready to stop but then she said she had to run but I could text her when I needed advice. And she gave me this number. Why would she do that?

  Juliann wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed obvious to her that the pretty girl was trying to get rid of the other girl and gave her a fake number. But she thought it would be rude to say so directly.

  IDK. Do you think it was on purpose?

  There was a long pause and Juliann wondered if she said the wrong thing. Finally, the response came:

  Yeah, probably.

  Juliann could imagine how she felt. The girl obviously thought she had been friends with somebody much higher up on the social food chain, only to discover that she had been ditched. Juliann knew how it felt to be on the outside, looking in.

  For what it’s worth, I agree with Mish. You have good taste.

  Thanks but how old are you? Am I texting another 80yo?

  LOL I’m 16.

  I’m 18. So have you seen everything I sent her?

  Just this time and the time with the royal blue jacket, black leggings, and boots. Loved the boots.

  Those are my new favs from a consignment shop.

  Srsly? I’ve never been to one.

  OMG they’re the best. Maybe we could go together sometime.

  Juliann smiled. It was weird, but she felt kind of connected to this girl. Maybe it was because they both accidently found Mish. They exchanged names and
numbers, and Juliann explained that Mish was sick so Juliann was busy and might not answer right away.

  But I’m not ghosting you, K?

  K, thanks. I guess I’m kind of glad that girl gave me the wrong number.

  The statement reminded Juliann of what she needed to be doing. She said bye and clicked out of that conversation then looked through the text history on Mish’s phone. She was about to solve a mystery.

  ***

  Jeff took a detour on his way home, stopping at his favorite scenic overlook for a few minutes. It wasn’t the highest spot around or the most dramatic—it was just green pasture, rolling hills, and a hint of mountain behind—but somehow it soothed him.

  He got out of the car and sat on the large rock he thought of as his resting rock. He recited the psalm he had learned as a boy. “I will lift up my eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” But neither the verse nor the view was going to do anything for him. There was no help coming from the hills, regardless of what the psalm said. There was no help for what ailed him.

  He was tired. Tired of the relentless pressure of weekly sermon preparation. Tired of questioning if he even believed what he was preaching. Tired of petty grievances. Tired of knowing he was on call 24/7. But mostly he was tired of the loss. He was tired of burying people he had grown to love.

  Grown to love. It was a strange phrase. His love for his people had grown, certainly, but he had grown too. His heart had grown to make room for so many. He had grown in order to be able to love that many, that much.

  And it sucked. Loving was highly overrated. He was still reeling from the news about Carl, and now he might lose Mish. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for any of it. But death would come, of course, if not soon then soon enough. Death would call “Ready or not, here I come,” and he would once again find himself sitting beside a grieving family as they chose the casket for their mother, and he would agree that yes, she always looked good in blue.

  The sound of tires on gravel startled him, then he swore under his breath because his quiet spot was about to be invaded. He started to wipe his tears but stopped. Maybe whoever it was would decide to leave the crying crazy man alone. He felt the presence of the man behind him, as the wind brought the soft scent of aftershave. “How did you know I would be here?” he asked without turning.