The Good Life

by Susan Kietzman

  “You have no idea,” said Sam as Eileen bent down to undo his seat belt. She then grabbed his wrists and planted her black tie–shoed feet shoulder-width apart on the driveway. “Swing your legs around now.” Sam quickly lifted his feet from the car floor, as if he had just stepped in something distasteful, and moved them in the direction of the door. Eileen dropped one wrist and used that hand to guide her husband’s legs over the metal trim and his feet onto Ann’s driveway. “Now duck your head.” And with Sam scooting himself forward, and Eileen pulling from outside the car, it took just thirty seconds or so to birth Sam from the car’s cavity. Like a newborn calf, he was unsteady on his feet. He took hold of the car door to regain his balance, blinking his eyes in the bright sunshine. Ann studied him a moment before walking around the front of the car to greet him. She hugged him quickly, careful to avoid the dollop of melted ice cream on his flannel shirt, and then stepped back to look at his face. It was as cold, white, and lifeless as a vacant ski slope. The muscles in his cheeks had gone limp, had simply abandoned their job of holding up his mouth. His deep blue eyes, formerly keen and focused—he had not needed reading glasses until he was fifty-eight—were watery and empty. “Who’s this young girl?” he asked, turning his face to his wife for clues.

  Eileen smiled and put her hand on Ann’s shoulder. “It’s Annie,” she said, “your daughter.”

  “Really?” said Sam, looking back at Ann. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Well, since Christmas,” said Ann. “We were at the farm last Christmas. How was your trip?”

  “Very good,” said Sam, “except for the fog this morning.” Ann looked at her mother.

  Eileen waved her hand dismissively. “It’s always somewhat foggy, dear.”

  “Let’s go inside,” said Ann. “We can get settled and then have a nice chat.”

  Ann was halfway to the guesthouse before she realized that her parents were not right behind her. She stopped, turned, and watched her father shuffle from the driveway onto the brick path, kicking the crushed shells onto the grass with his worn moccasins that never lost contact with the ground. When they finally reached the front door, Ann waited a dramatic moment before leading them inside.

  “Oh Ann, this is lovely,” said Eileen, following her daughter into the living room. “Isn’t this great?” she turned to ask Sam.

  “Swell,” said Sam, taking in the room with slow, deliberate head turns. “It’s going to cost me a bundle, so I’m glad you like it.”

  “I sure do,” said Eileen, kissing her husband’s cheek. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch while Ann gives me a tour.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having the grand tour myself,” said Sam.

  “And you shall have it,” said Eileen. “I just need to use the powder room.”

  “Oh well,” said Sam, sitting down hard on the couch.

  Ann waved her mother into the bedroom, half-closed the door behind them, and spoke in an urgent whisper. “Mom,” she said, “Dad didn’t recognize me.”

  “Don’t worry about that, dear,” said Eileen, rubbing her daughter’s arm. “He’s like that sometimes, especially after a long day. He mixes me up with his mother, of all people.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” asked Ann. “It happened on the phone a couple of weeks ago, and it’s happening again.”

  Eileen took a deep breath, sucking in her stomach, and then slowly exhaled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it at first. As I’ve told you, when you live with someone, change is gradual. It wasn’t until summertime that he really started going downhill.”

  “He seems pretty close to the bottom of the hill,” said Ann. “I wish I had known.”

  “And what could you have done, Ann? This is not a solvable problem. This is permanent.”

  Ann lowered her eyes. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

  “It’s just rotten luck,” said Eileen. “Nothing more than that.”

  “And you’ve been handling this, handling him on your own, for the last six months.”

  “Not anymore,” said Eileen, brushing away the stray gray strands of hair from her forehead with her fingers. “I can’t do it anymore. And that’s why I called Meadowbrook. When I talked to them in July, they said they’d be able to take us before Christmas. I figured I could take care of your dad until then. I’ve been doing it for forty-eight years.”

  Ann put her hands on her hips. “Have you had any help?”

  “Here and there,” said Eileen, looking out the glass sliding door at the woods behind the house. “Our friends have been wonderful. For the most part, we’ve just been doing less. He’s best at home.”

  “How did you get out, to get groceries, or get your hair cut?” asked Ann.

  “He went to day care when I needed some time off,” said Eileen. “But he’s been more agitated in the last month or so. Remember, I told you he tried to escape.”

  “Yes, I remember,” said Ann, a searchlight in her brain, sweeping for the facts.

  Eileen smiled slightly at her daughter. “We’ll be okay,” she said. “It’s so good to be here.”

  “It’s good to have you here, Mom,” said Ann, accepting a hug.

  “Now, let me use the bathroom and then we can get down to the business of unpacking. I never feel at home until my suitcase is empty.”

  “The bathroom’s right there,” said Ann, pointing to a doorway in the corner of the room. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” Ann walked back into the living room, where her father was tracing the plaid pattern on the couch with his right index finger. Ann lingered a moment, then moved quickly and quietly behind him to the kitchen. She moved as close to the stove as possible, so that her father couldn’t see her if he turned his head. She lifted the lid of the soup pot, closed her eyes, and inhaled.

  “Now what smells so good?” said Eileen, a few minutes later, as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “I must be hungry.”

  “Chicken noodle soup,” said Ann, again lifting the lid to show her mother the diced carrots, celery, and onion simmering around bite-sized pieces of chicken and egg noodles in a clear yellow broth.

  “You were always a good cook,” said Eileen, “and you were sweet to make it—and to remember that it’s your father’s favorite.”

  “I didn’t make it,” said Ann, replacing the lid. “Believe it or not, I hardly ever cook now, Mom. But Selma, your caregiver, is supposed to be wonderful in the kitchen.”

  “Is she here?” asked Eileen, peeking through the space under the cabinets into the living room, as if she’d missed seeing her on the way in.

  “She was here a while ago,” said Ann. “Maybe she had to run out for something.”

  Together, they walked back into the living room. Eileen sat next to Sam on the couch and Ann sat in the chair facing them. She looked at her father’s face, both familiar and foreign, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

  “Everything looks so fresh and clean,” said Eileen.

  “Yes,” said Ann, happy for conversation. “I’ve redone it.”

  Sam looked at Ann. “When will the others arrive?” he asked.

  “Who?” asked Ann.

  “Don’t tell me they’ve canceled,” said Sam, switching his gaze to Eileen.

  “No one’s canceled,” said Eileen, patting his hand.

  Just then, Selma came breathlessly through the door carrying a baguette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot the bread.”

  “No trouble,” said Ann. “Come in and meet my parents.”

  Eileen stood and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Selma.”

  “And you, too, Mrs. Sanford,” said Selma, shaking it.

  “Please, please call me Eileen. You’re awfully nice to be here with us.”

  “That’s my job,” said Selma. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  �
�Well, if that’s your soup I smell, I know we will,” said Eileen. “This is my husband, Sam.”

  Sam scooted forward on the couch cushion, readying himself to rise. Selma approached him and set her hand gently on his shoulder. “Please stay seated,” she said.

  “Have we met?” he asked, searching her eyes for signs of recognition.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “But it’s nice to meet you now.”

  “When do we eat?” he asked. “I’m as hungry as a black bear in spring.”

  “Soon,” said Selma. “I’ll go check on things in the kitchen.”

  Silence filled the open space. “Well,” said Eileen, after a moment. “I’m going to grab a few things from the car and start unpacking.”

  As soon as her mother turned to go, Ann stood. “Let me help you,” she said.

  “I’m fine,” said Eileen, calling over her shoulder as she walked to the door. “I’m just going to get my duffel bag. I’ll get the other bags after lunch.”

  “What can I do?”

  Her hand on the doorknob, Eileen called to her daughter, “Stay with your dad. It will take him some time to adjust to these new surroundings.”

  Ann sat back down in the chair facing the couch, her father, and the string of saliva hanging from his chin. She looked at the floor. Forcing her eyes to his face, Ann said, “So, Dad. How was your drive?”

  “Fine,” answered Sam. “How was yours?”

  “I didn’t have a drive,” said Ann.

  “How did you get here then?” asked Sam.

  “I live here. This is my house.”

  Sam smiled at her. “You’re putting me on.”

  “No,” said Ann.

  After a moment, Sam again shifted his bottom to the edge of the couch cushion. “Well, I’ve had a nice stay,” he said, “but I’ve got to get home now. My wife will be looking for me.”

  Alarmed, Ann stood and put her arms out in front of her, to give herself time to think, to stop him from moving. She called for Selma, who appeared from the kitchen just as Sam, who was more off the couch than on, slid to the floor and covered his face with his hands. “Leave me alone!” he shouted in a raspy, warbled voice.

  “What is it, Dad?” asked Ann, frozen in place.

  “They’re out there again,” said Sam, pointing at the large living room window. “They’ve followed me here!”

  Ann glanced at the window and saw nothing but clear glass, the grass, and the back of her house. “Who, Dad,” she asked urgently, “who do you see?”

  Selma stepped forward and touched Sam’s arm. “I’ve got some cookies,” she said gently. “Come into the kitchen with me.”

  “What about them?” asked Sam, breathing hard and again pointing at the window.

  “They won’t bother us,” said Selma. “They don’t like cookies.” Sam looked at Selma, back at the window, and then back at her. Her smile ran around her face in a circle, from the edge of her mouth through the tiny laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and back down to her to soft brown lips. “Let’s get something to eat,” she said. Sam slowly shifted to his hands and knees and then used the couch, with Selma holding on to his free elbow, to lift himself off the floor. Ann watched as he followed Selma into the kitchen. She helped him sit at the table before reaching into the end cupboard and pulling out a red tin. Ann watched her take two oatmeal cookies from the tin, put them on a paper napkin, and calmly set them down in front of Sam. The incident was over, but Ann’s chest still thundered. Moments later, Eileen walked through the front door carrying a duffel bag. Ann followed her mother into their bedroom, tears and terror in her eyes, and told her what she just witnessed.

  “Honey, honey,” said Eileen, rubbing Ann’s back. “It’s okay. Well, I mean, it’s not okay. He’s not okay. But we can handle this.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” said Ann, holding on to her mother. “I don’t know how this happened. Why it happened.”

  Eileen pulled a tissue from the pocket of her dress and handed it to her daughter, who accepted it, took a step backward, and blew her nose. “What happened out there, what you just saw, is what the doctor calls hallucinations. Your father sees things—people mostly—that aren’t there. He imagines things. Remember I told you about the kitchen staff at the Lutheran church? These flashes of fantasy are, unfortunately, happening more frequently,” said Eileen, “but thankfully they don’t last terribly long. And I’m getting better at distracting him. It sounds like Selma did the same thing.”

  “Yes,” said Ann. “She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. But how can we change this, Mom? What did the doctor say about that?”

  “The doctor thinks this is partially the disease, and partially a side effect of his medication.”

  “Can we change the medication?”

  “We have fiddled with it, here and there,” said Eileen, lifting her duffel from the carpet to the bed. “But, in the end, the good outweighs the bad.”

  “What is the good?”

  “He can move. The tremors in his hands and feet are under control. The rigidity that struck his entire left side has softened.”

  “Good God,” said Ann, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Well, yes,” said Eileen, unzipping her bag. “I would imagine it’s terrifying.”

  “And is that why he drools?” asked Ann. “The medication?”

  “He drools because he’s lost the use of some of his facial muscles,” said Eileen, taking three sweaters out of her bag. “Plus, he can have a hard time swallowing. I always carry a handkerchief with me.”

  “Well,” said Ann, taking another step backward, “you must be hungry. Would you like some soup?”

  “I’m just going to unpack this duffel and I’ll be ready,” said Eileen, putting several cotton turtlenecks into an empty bureau drawer. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Oh, I can’t stay,” Ann lied. “I’ve got a few things to take care of at the house.”

  “Will we see you for dinner?”

  “Of course,” said Ann, backing out of the bedroom. “I’ll come and get you.”

  “Come back anytime,” said Eileen. “We’re here all afternoon.”

  “Okay,” said Ann, over her shoulder. She flew out the front door and jogged up the path to her house. In her own kitchen, Ann locked the door behind her, then raced to the sink to wash her hands. She dried them on a fresh towel from her linen drawer and made a mental note to change her kitchen hand towels every day. She scooped two spoons of coffee into her cappuccino machine and grabbed some skim milk from the refrigerator. Her father was in another world. She steamed the milk for her coffee, wondering how her seventy-two-year-old mother had been taking care of someone in that condition. Thank God for Selma. She seemed more than capable. Ann took her drink to the island and pulled the stool out from underneath. She sat there, staring out the back window at the guesthouse, glad for the seventy yards between her parents and herself.

  After a few sips from her mug, Ann called Mike. When she got his voice mail, she hung up and called his secretary. If anyone could find Mike, it was Peggy. At fifty-five, Peggy had more energy than anyone in the office, Mike included. And she was unusually loyal to Mike for a woman not interested in seducing him. Mike depended on her for booking his travel, his meetings, and his manicures, putting the right people through on his phone, finding the perfect gift for Ann, ensuring his long days didn’t get any longer, and, on some days, making sure he ate lunch. Plus, she knew how to keep her mouth shut. And for this he paid her three times the salary of the other Dilloway executive assistants. “Yes, Mrs. Barons,” said Peggy. “And how are you today?”

  “Fine, Peggy. Do you know where he is?”

  “In a meeting,” she said. “It’s scheduled to run another hour. My guess is it will go over.” Ann sighed. “I can text him, Mrs. Barons.” Mike, Ann knew, would not consider her father’s condition an emergency, so she asked Peggy to tell Mi
ke to call her as soon as he could.

  Next, Ann called Sally, who answered the phone on the third ring. “Sally, it’s me.”

  “Hello, darling,” said Sally. “Where have you been? We missed you at the gym this morning.”

  “I exercised here,” said Ann. “My parents arrived today.”

  “Yes, yes, of course they did,” said Sally. “And how is everyone?”

  “Terrible,” said Ann. “My father is completely out of it. I don’t know how in the world he got this way. Last Christmas, he seemed fine.”

  “What do you mean by ‘out of it’?” asked Sally.

  “He’s gone, Sally, mentally and physically,” said Ann, massaging her forehead. “He has no idea what’s going on. He drools constantly. Sally, he didn’t know me when he saw me.”

  “Oh God,” said Sally. “You poor thing. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ann. “I had no idea what I was getting into. My mother didn’t tell me any of this.”

  “Do you need a cappuccino?” asked Sally.

  “I just had one,” said Ann.

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  Ann thought about Sally’s offer. On the one hand, she would love Sally to keep her company. They could talk about Ann’s problem and Sally would provide enough sympathy to quell—temporarily at least—Ann’s anxiety. On the other hand, Sally wasn’t completely trustworthy. If Ann wanted her innermost feelings spread all over town, she could do it herself. Still, Sally was always so affirming. Ann was just about to invite her when she heard her mother tapping on the back door. “I’ll have to call you back,” she said, hanging up the phone. Ann walked to the door and opened it. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” said Eileen, crossed arms holding her thick wool cardigan sweater in place. “We’re fine. Your father fell asleep on the couch, so I thought I’d sneak over here and have a chat with you. You looked like you were in shock, honey.”

  “Well, yes,” said Ann, closing the door behind her mother and pulling a chair out from underneath the kitchen table so she could sit.