The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

  “Oh, look at the cows in the kitchen,” said Sally, covering her cheeks with her French-manicured hands. “Cute, Ann. Wherever did you find paper like that?”

  “In one of the hundreds of books I pored through,” said Ann. “Country Elements, I think.”

  “And the furniture,” cooed Sally, “perfect.”

  “I wanted something simple,” said Ann, “something they would find comfortable instead of intimidating. The cherry in here is beautiful, of course, but it’s polished and sophisticated. I wanted furniture they could set their coffee mug down on.”

  “And you’ve certainly done that.”

  “Of course, it’s out of here the day my parents move out,” said Ann. “Can you imagine housing guests with this decor?” Sally chuckled.

  Ann showed her the bedrooms and bathrooms, which Sally agreed were more than adequate. And she also agreed with Ann that the quilted bedspreads and simple window treatments were as good a match with the bedroom furniture as what had been there before. “It works,” said Ann, walking back through the front door with Sally in tow. “They’ll be very comfortable. Now, how about a caramel latte?”

  Sally nodded her head enthusiastically and then, heeling like a well-trained dog, she followed Ann back into the big house.

  After Sally left, Ann called Mike and left a message, reminding him to meet her and the children at Tony’s for dinner at seven o’clock. She then called Nate and Lauren and left the same message on their cell phones. That would give them more than an hour after football and volleyball practice to shower and drive to the restaurant. Ann told Nate to give his sister a ride, if he wanted his exorbitant car insurance paid that month. Nate would be furious with her interference, but Ann didn’t give this a second thought. She had no time to go to the high school to fetch Lauren.

  At four o’clock, when Tony’s opened for the evening, Ann called to make a reservation. She recognized Tony’s voice. “It’s Ann,” she said.

  “Well, hello, Mrs. Barons,” said Tony playfully. “Where have you been? Are you eating at The Chart House?”

  Ann blushed. “Just once,” she said. “We went once, and the food was terrible.”

  Tony laughed. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a table for tonight,” said Ann.

  “I think I can arrange that.”

  “We need something off to the side,” said Ann. “We’ve got some news for the children and there may be some noise.”

  “Oh,” said Tony, “are you leaving them?”

  It was Ann’s turn to laugh. “My parents are moving in with us,” said Ann, “temporarily.”

  “In that case,” said Tony, “I’d better put you in the back room.”

  “I’ll see you tonight,” said Ann. “Seven o’clock.”

  “We’ll be ready,” said Tony before he hung up.

  Ann ran the bathwater and slowly took off her clothes. Naked, she walked into her closet. Hands on her slim hips, she glanced at her wardrobe. She chewed on her bottom lip; she had no idea what to wear. She walked back out of her closet and into the bathroom. She stepped onto her scale, already knowing she weighed 105 pounds. At five feet, five inches, she was considered very thin. Her doctor routinely advised her to gain ten pounds and warned her about osteoporosis, but Ann dismissed her advice. She would rather suffer a long list of ailments than put on ten pounds of blubber. She gazed at her reflection in the wall mirrors. While perimenopause was beginning to thicken the waists of some of her friends, Ann’s stomach was flat. Her breasts were circular, firm. Her muscular legs were void of fat, even her inner thighs. Her arms looked like they were cut from flesh-colored limestone. She spun around and looked at her backside. Her rear end was tiny and tight with no sign of flabby, disgusting cellulite, a miracle at her age.

  Ann walked up the two steps to reach her tub, and then stepped down into it. She lay back and let the bubbles envelop her. She closed her eyes and tried to predict the kids’ reaction to her news. Would they protest? Would they shrug and return to their dinners? Nate wouldn’t care; Ann couldn’t figure out what he cared about, if anything at all, except his independence. He had always been an independent child. As soon as he learned to walk, at eleven months, he wanted to be on his own. Ann used to chase him around the living room of their old house, both of them laughing as he increased his distance from her. He shunned his crib at two, preferring a “big boy bed” and a dark room for sleeping. There had been one episode of nightmares just past Nate’s fourth birthday that drove him into his mother’s arms. He cried out in the middle of the night, insisting on sleeping next to her and then moving his body into hers, attaching himself, so that they were more like one person than two. And while Ann had tried to whisper away his fears, she was selfishly grateful for the few months he needed her.

  Lauren was more verbal, more needy, than her brother. In high school, she had become more circumspect, preferring to confide in her friends, Ann guessed, than share secrets with her. But before that, as late as seventh grade, Lauren chatted eagerly about everything from boys and who liked who to teacher personalities and homework. And Ann had just as eagerly listened, often spending several minutes with Lauren sitting on her bed before Lauren became silent with fatigue. Lauren still opened up to Ann, rarely. But mostly, Lauren—and Nate—chose to talk, eat, and spend most of their time with their peers. They’re normal teenagers, Mike and her friends told her. But Ann felt discarded and discredited nonetheless.

  Ann decided to dress casually, in moss green suede pants and a black and white striped angora sweater. She took some new black shoes out of a box in the back of her closet and slipped them on her bare feet. As if the shoes had been hand-sewn to conform to every contour, the soft Italian leather gently clung to her skin, from her narrow heel to her lacquered big toe. Back in the bathroom, she applied her makeup and then rubbed cream into her hands before reaching for the ring she removed to bathe. Women could barely keep their eyes off the six-carat diamond and sapphire trade-up engagement ring Mike had bought her when she turned forty; their gaze ping-ponging from her face to the ring, face and the ring. She looked at the ring and then herself in the mirror one last time before turning out the light.

  Tony’s was crowded, but, as promised, a table was ready when Ann walked through the door. It was just before seven when she sat down. Five minutes later, Mike joined her. “I had a four-hour meeting today,” he said, sitting down and loosening his tie. “I’ve never needed a drink more.”

  “I beat you to it,” said Ann, holding up her glass of champagne.

  “Are the kids coming?”

  “Yes,” said Ann. “At least, I hope they’re coming. I left messages with both of them.”

  Mike ordered a scotch, which arrived just as Nate, glaring at Ann, and Lauren, ponytailed black hair still wet from her post-practice shower and dressed in jeans and a button-down pink oxford cloth shirt, approached the table. Mike took a long drink. Lauren gave her parents a tight smile, then sat down. Nate stood behind his chair. “That’s blackmail,” he said to his mother. “Ordering me to drive my sister around in exchange for insurance payment is blackmail.”

  “Sit down, Nate,” said Mike, putting his white cloth napkin in his lap. Mike was increasingly ordering Nate to sit. Nate had grown six inches in the past year, and while he was nowhere close to Mike’s height, he was closing in.

  “I’m serious,” said Nate, yanking his chair out from under the table and flopping down onto the seat. He jerked his head to coax his blond bangs out of his eyes, a frequent maneuver with results lasting only seconds. Ann had stopped riding him about cutting his hair, heeding Mike’s advice to pick her battles. Big or small, she seemed to lose all of them. “She’s a big girl. She can find her own rides.”

  “And you’re a big boy,” said Mike. “So you should understand that you, too, can find your own rides. Your car can certainly sit in the garage until you’re mature enough to pay for it.” Nate knew a threat when he heard one. His father would ne
ver follow through, but it nonetheless hung there, fouling the air, until Nate took a sip of water from the glass their server just filled.

  “I’m Mario,” he said. “Would you like to hear the specials?”

  “No,” said Ann. “I’ll have poached salmon and a house salad with raspberry vinaigrette on the side.”

  “And I’ll have a Caesar salad and tortellini Alfredo,” said Mike.

  Ann frowned and said, “Call nine-one-one when you put in that order.”

  Mario smiled agreeably. “And for the young lady?”

  “I’ll have what my dad’s having,” Lauren said. “I’m starving.” She put her napkin in her lap and straightened the flatware at her place setting.

  “There goes your waistline,” said Ann, taking a sip of her drink.

  “Ann,” said Mike, “she’s just come from a two-hour volleyball practice.”

  Lauren, who wore a size six contentedly, made eye contact with her dad, a mirror image.

  “And I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries,” said Nate.

  “I’m sorry, young sir,” said Mario. “We don’t have cheeseburgers.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Nate. “It’s the twenty-first century and you don’t have cheeseburgers?”

  “Can you check in the back?” asked Mike. “See if they can make him one. If not, bring him a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “If they can make meatballs,” said Nate, folding his arms across his chest, “they can make a burger.”

  “Good point,” said Mike.

  “Yes sir,” Mario said, and then left the table.

  “So,” said Ann, “how was everyone’s day?”

  “Perfect,” said Nate sarcastically. “All the teachers praised my work, and I got three touchdowns in football practice. How about you, Ann? Yummy massage at the spa?”

  Ann took a sip of her drink. She tried to remember when Nate had first started calling her by her first name. It was in the last year or so, before he had his license, because they were in the car together and it had begun as a joke. And it seemed appropriate then, funny even. He used her name differently now, when he called her anything at all.

  “That’s enough, Nate,” said Mike. “How was your day, Lauren?”

  “Fine, Daddy,” she said. “I got a B+ on a math test.”

  “Good girl,” said Mike, looking at the menu even though he’d already ordered.

  “Good girl?” said Nate, flipping his hair that had fallen back into his eyes. “You blow a gasket every time I get a B.”

  “Shall I stock up on gaskets?” asked Mike, looking across the table at his son. “When do report cards come home?”

  “Next week,” said Lauren, at the same time Nate said, “I don’t know.” Nate shot his sister a look.

  “Just before Thanksgiving,” said Lauren softly, finishing her sentence.

  “I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving,” said Ann, jumping into the conversation. “We’re going to have some very special guests.” Nate and Lauren looked at their mother.

  “Your grandparents are arriving at the end of the week. They’ll be here for Thanksgiving and for some time afterward.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Nate, his hazel eyes boring into his mother’s matching set.

  Ann savored the last few bubbles of her champagne and then set her glass down on the table. She pushed the words through her lips. “Gramps and Gran are coming to live with us for a while,” she said. “They need temporary housing until the spring, when they can move into an assisted-living facility.”

  “What?” said Lauren. “When did you decide this?”

  “Thanks for asking our opinion,” said Nate, refolding his arms across his chest.

  “And what is your opinion?” asked Mike.

  “Gran and Gramps living with us twenty-four/seven, parading around the house in forty-year-old but ‘perfectly good’ bathrobes and mismatched slippers? What do you think?”

  The remark about slippers was in reference to their visit with Ann’s parents last Christmas. Her father had come into the room on Christmas morning with a sheepskin slipper on one foot while the other was unsuccessfully crammed into Eileen’s penny loafer. They had all laughed, thinking Sam had done it on purpose. And because he was adept at concealing and compensating for his disease, no one had questioned it.

  “They’re going to live in the guesthouse,” said Ann. “You’ll only see them at Sunday dinner.”

  “Since when have we had Sunday dinner?” asked Nate.

  “I don’t even know them,” said Lauren, reaching for her water glass. “And now they’re living with us?”

  “You will get to know them,” said Ann.

  “I don’t think so,” said Nate.

  Ann unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap. Mike checked his BlackBerry. Mario arrived at a silent table with their dinners, including a cheeseburger and fries for Nate.

  “Your grandparents need us right now,” Mike said to his kids after their plates were set down in front of them and Mario had retreated to the kitchen. “I know you have your friends and your activities. We all do. And, for the most part, we can carry on. We will have to make an effort every now and again, however, to spend some time with our guests. Remember that most of the burden will fall on your mother, not on you.” Ann forced a smile. “Everything is going be the same, basically,” said Mike. “They’ll live in the guesthouse. We’ll live in our house. It couldn’t be a better arrangement.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Ann got a large, extra-hot, fat-free caramel latte at the Coffee Now drive-through on her way to the mall. She had her nails touched up and bought a dozen Godiva chocolates and six Gerbera daisies before racing to the salon for her weekly bangs trim. When she arrived home, she jogged down the path to the guesthouse. She put the chocolates, which she had temporarily stored in her car cooler, in the refrigerator, and set the flowers in the cute white milk-jug vase she found at T.J.Maxx, and then placed them on the living room table. She took a quick look around to make sure everything was in order. The caregiver, Selma Jackson, drove in just as Ann was walking out the front door. Ann jogged to the driveway to greet her. “Good morning, Selma,” said Ann cheerily as soon as Selma opened the car door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Barons,” said Selma, meeting Ann’s gaze.

  “Today is the big day.”

  “Yes, it is, Mrs. Barons.”

  Ann looked into the backseat of Selma’s 1994 Ford Taurus and saw several cloth bags filled with food. “I see you did the grocery shopping.”

  “Yes,” said Selma, easing herself out of the car. Standing, she put her hands on her lower back and leaned back briefly before righting herself. “It doesn’t matter if I’m in a car five minutes or five hours,” she said, explaining, “my back is not was it used to be. Too many hours on my feet in too many hospital rooms.” She was shorter than Ann expected, and slighter, making Ann wonder if she could handle a man her father’s size. But she was younger looking than her sixty years, with barely a wrinkle on her brown face and clear dark brown eyes that didn’t require glasses. She reached for Ann’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m fine with the telephone, but I don’t feel like I really know a person until I have a chance to look them over.”

  Ann took her hand and shook it. “Yes,” she said. “I completely agree. Are you all moved in? I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier; I had to run some errands.”

  “Yes. And as soon as I get these groceries in the house, I’ll change into something more presentable. I thought I’d make chicken noodle soup. After traveling today, your parents will want something easy to digest,” she said.

  “That sounds delicious,” said Ann, hands pressed against one another in front of her chest.

  Selma looked at the man’s watch on her wrist. “I expect they’ll be arriving soon.”

  “Yes,” said Ann, looking at her Rolex. “You should officially be on duty in about an hour. My mother called from the hotel thi
s morning. They’re right on schedule.”

  The pleasantries behind them, Selma turned her attention to the groceries sitting on the backseat of the car. She opened the door of the car and grabbed the handles of four cloth grocery bags, two in each hand. “Well, I’d better get started then,” she said, pushing the car door closed with her right foot. Ann watched with pride as Selma trudged along the path with the bags and disappeared into the house.

  Ninety minutes later, Eileen pulled their Ford station wagon into the driveway. Ann, who was on the phone in the kitchen, hung up and ran out the back door as soon as she saw the car. Eileen waved through the windshield as she shifted into PARK. Ann opened her door. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Hello,” said Eileen, lifting herself out of the driver’s seat. “We’re fine. Your father wanted to stop at the dairy thirty miles back for ice cream.”

  “Oh,” said Ann.

  “We’ve had quite a morning,” said Eileen, giving her daughter a hug. “Ice cream was just the ticket. Your father has always loved ice cream, vanilla ice cream. We had it every afternoon in the summer when you were growing up. Do you remember that?”

  “How could I forget,” said Ann, wrapping her arms around her mother’s sloping shoulders. “It’s taken me a thousand trips to the gym to work it all off.”

  Hands on Ann’s bony arms, Eileen took a step back and looked at her daughter. “You’re too thin, dear,” she said. “Next time, I’ll bring some back for you.”

  “I never eat it,” said Ann, shaking her head.

  “Well,” said Eileen. As she launched into a colorful description of the acres of farmland they drove by, Sam, still imprisoned in the car, fiddled with the door handle. Unable to lift it, he knocked on the window. Remembering him, Eileen walked around the front of the car to open the door for him. “It’s not easy to work these handles, honey,” she said.