“Nate took him for a ride.”
There was little he enjoyed more, Sam said as Nate buckled him into the passenger seat of his BMW, than a car ride. While summertime was best, when he could roll down the windows and let the rush of wind fill his ears, wintertime had its benefits as well. The heater kept the car comfortable enough for occupants to go coatless, Sam explained as they drove out the driveway. That in itself was a luxury. The only problem with winter drives was the reflection of the sun on the snow. It was damn-near blinding. Nate took his sunglasses off his face and handed them to his grandfather. “What’s this?” asked Sam, putting them on.
“My sunglasses,” said Nate. “They will help with the glare.”
“I’ll say,” said Sam. “These are nifty. Are they Foster Grants?”
“Oakleys,” said Nate, taking a spare pair out of the pocket on the side of his seat.
“Marvelous,” said Sam, looking out the side window. “With these on, I could drive forever.”
“Where do you want to go?” asked Nate, turning the car onto a side street narrowed by six-foot snowbanks on both sides.
“Anywhere,” said Sam.
Nate drove through the farmland north of town. Sam talked for a half hour about his upcoming transfer to company headquarters. In his mind, Meadowbrook was a corporation, not an extended care facility, even though Eileen had done her best to give Sam a comprehendible, friendly description of their new home. She described Meadowbrook as a network of people their age, supported by community helpers who would ease their burdens as they sailed into old age. From that, Sam deduced he had been promoted by the company and was finally given the responsibility and respect he deserved. Eileen did not correct him. In fact, no one corrected him much anymore because it didn’t matter. If he thought it was Tuesday instead of Thursday; if he thought he was twenty-seven instead of seventy-two—it didn’t matter. The only things Eileen concerned herself with were his safety, which was Number One in her book, and his happiness. “Look,” said Sam, pointing at the side window. “The children are playing in the field.”
“Wave to them,” said Nate.
Dutifully, Sam raised his hand in acknowledgment. “I hope they’re not cold,” he said.
“You know kids, Gramps,” said Nate, turning to look at the vacant snow-covered field. “They never get cold.” Nate drove around what he called the Northern Expanse for another twenty minutes, until Sam fell asleep. Nate liked watching his grandfather sleep. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed and his tired brain resting.
Ann poured herself a glass of wine and took it to the living room, where she sat on the couch and flipped through Noble and Robertson’s proposal for her sunroom. She was impressed, as usual, with their thoroughness and excited about the prospect of building such a grand and unique addition to her home. Half of the room would be glass. It would be a bear to heat in the winter and that would be the first thing Mike would point out. But Peter and Tim suggested solar panels for the roof of the main house, which would certainly help. Plus, with that much glass, the room would act like a large greenhouse, attracting and then holding the sun’s warmth. She had to decide about the flooring. While she had originally wanted South American tiling, Peter and Tim suggested she go for something warmer, either a hard wood with a large area rug, or some kind of special covering that would allow the sub-floor to breathe, yet not have the look or feel of indoor-outdoor carpeting. Ann was leaning toward the wood, even though it was more expensive. Then again, in a $200,000 sunroom, what did it really matter?
“I thought I might find you in here,” said Eileen, walking into the living room. “Do you want company?”
“Sure,” said Ann, moving the paperwork from her lap to the coffee table.
Eileen sat down and Ann shifted her body so she could look at her mother. “So,” she said, “are you just about ready?”
“I think so,” said Eileen. “I can’t fit any more in our bags. And I seem to have accumulated some more things in the last few days. Thank you, Ann, for the beautiful cashmere sweaters for your dad and me.”
“Well, you’ve been a trouper to do it all yourself,” said Ann. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?”
“You’ll have a lot to contend with when I’m gone,” said Eileen. “And Selma, bless her heart, helped me wash and iron everything, so we’ll be all set when we arrive at Meadowbrook.”
“You’re still planning on stopping for the night, though,” said Ann, sipping her wine.
“Oh yes,” said Eileen. “I’ve got a small bag packed for the hotel.”
“You are so organized,” Ann said. “You always have been.”
“As are you. You keep your house immaculate—Nate’s room aside.”
They both laughed. And then Ann held her wineglass out in front of her. “Would you like some?”
Eileen hesitated. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
“I’ll be right back,” said Ann, getting up from the sofa and setting her glass down on her Great Horned Owl coaster. While Ann was at the bar, her back to the room, Eileen glanced at the sunroom proposal and spotted the bottom line. She smiled and shook her head.
“What’s funny?” asked Ann, returning with the glass of wine.
“Nothing,” said Eileen. “It’s been a long day.”
Ann took another sip from her glass. It was almost empty, but she resisted the urge to refill it at the bar. While she was a long way from giving up alcohol altogether, she was trying in earnest to drink less. And she had been mostly successful in the five days she had been living according to her new, self-imposed regimen of just two glasses a day. She’d slipped and poured a third the other night when Mike shared some stock option news, but had been on track since. It was harder than she thought it would be, even as she gradually accepted the idea that she might have a problem with alcohol. God knows she didn’t need the calories, but she still craved the buzz, the off switch.
Eileen took a sip of wine. “I can’t thank you enough,” she began.
Ann held up her hand. “Please, Mom,” she said. “Let’s not do this. It’s been fine having you here. I’m glad we had the room to do it.”
“But it hasn’t been easy,” said Eileen, setting down her glass. “Our living here has been a huge disruption to your life.”
“It’s okay,” said Ann, leaning over to give her mother a brief hug and breathing in the faint vanilla scent of her childhood. Alongside the salt, pepper, and vinegar, the bottle of vanilla had always been in the counter in their farmhouse kitchen. Her mother baked every day: for Ann, for the Grange, for the church, for shut-ins, and for emergencies. Ann could remember one particular summer day that a car she did not know approached the house, its tires kicking up dust from their desiccated dirt driveway. It was hot that summer, with little rain, and her mother hadn’t turned on the oven in several days, instead serving cool meals and lemonade to the overheated farmhands. Yet, she was able to send the occupants of that car—a family from the city out for a country drive who had missed the turn leading back to the interstate—on their way with a tin of oatmeal raisin cookies, her own recipe, with an extra splash of vanilla. Life on the farm seemed so easy, so peaceful and honest compared with the life she had created after leaving it.
“We’ll head out first thing in the morning,” said Eileen. “I think that’s the best way. There’s no sense prolonging our good-byes.”
“We’ll say our farewells tonight then,” said Ann. “You can’t just drive off without a proper farewell.”
“Farewells are difficult,” said Eileen, picking a piece of lint off her pants.
Ann put her hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s going to be okay, all of it,” she said. “Dad will get the care he needs. You will meet people. You will have a new life that will include freedom and friendship. You deserve that.”
Eileen looked at her daughter. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Ann squeezed her mother’s arm and then picked up the sunroom
proposal. “Do you want to see the plans for our new sunroom?” asked Ann. “I want to ask your advice about flooring.”
Eileen scooted over closer to her daughter and listened attentively as Ann explained the pros and cons of hardwood versus carpeting.
Lauren’s lasagna was delicious. In fact, it was the main topic of conversation at the dinner table, taking the place of anyone talking about Eileen and Sam’s imminent departure. Lauren had so much to say to her grandmother, but she didn’t know how to say any of it. Nate wished he could be alone with his grandfather. The more people in a room or a discussion, the more confused Sam became and behaved. Ann, feeling oddly ill at ease in her own home, was close to tears. And Mike, sensing the tension but unwilling to acknowledge it, ate as quickly as possible, even though Ann had already lectured him once about wolfing his food. “I’d like another piece of lasagna,” he said, chewing the last bite of his first piece.
“I’m sure you would,” said Ann, dabbing at her left eye with her napkin.
“Pass your plate down to me,” said Eileen, picking up the silver spatula. “Whole or half?”
“Whole,” said Mike at the same time Ann said, “Half.”
“We’re celebrating tonight,” said Eileen, picking up a whole piece and sliding it onto Mike’s plate. “He can start his diet tomorrow.”
“It’s awfully good lasagna, Lauren,” said Mike. “You’ll make someone a good wife someday.”
Lauren gave her father a weary look, but held her thoughts. When would he learn what she was interested in, what she might become? He scolded Nate every marking period, always asking the same question: How was he ever going to get into a decent college with a 2.95 GPA? With grades like that, Mike’s only choice would be to bring Nate into the company through the maintenance department. It didn’t seem to matter to her father that Lauren’s GPA was 3.67, which was more than adequate, even for a competitive town like the one they lived in. Of course, it was competitive everywhere, Mike often told his children, always making eye contact with Nate. More and more people were climbing the ladder of success, and every one of them would be happy to step on the fingers, shoulders, and heads of those less eager as they ascended. While Nate wasn’t compelled by such images, he did use his father’s “hopes and dreams” speeches as cafeteria lunch table entertainment.
After Eileen’s Black Forest cake dessert, also made by Lauren, Mike raised his wineglass. Lauren looked at Nate, smiling with her eyes. “Here’s to Eileen and Sam,” he began. “We’ve enjoyed having you here. From your mouths, we’ve heard wisdom. From your minds, we’ve gathered knowledge. And from your hearts, we’ve experienced kindness and love. May your journey be swift and easy and may your new home bring you happiness.”
Eileen raised her glass and said, “Hear, hear. Thank you, Mike.” She set her glass back down on the table, twirled its stem, and then took a deep breath. “I really don’t know where to begin,” she said. “Sam and I are so grateful for everything you’ve done. I know it’s not easy having near strangers come live with you. You’ve been so accommodating and so loving.” Eileen looked at Lauren and smiled. “I know Sam and I will be okay in our new home. I know it’s the right place for us. But I shall miss you all very much. You will be in my thoughts and prayers every day. I thank God for your kindness.”
While Eileen and Lauren struggled to remain composed, it was Ann who wept openly, then left the table. “Why is that woman crying?” asked Sam, who had been quiet until then.
“I’ll check in a minute, after she’s had a moment to herself,” said Mike. “In the meantime, Eileen, can I have another slice of that great cake?”
Ann was standing at her cappuccino machine in the kitchen, making herself a decaf, vanilla latte, when Mike walked in from the dining room. He stood behind her and encircled her upper body with his arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She turned and faced him, and then rested her head against his chest. “How do you know? Because it hasn’t been okay, not for some time. And the only people who seem to be able to make it okay are driving out of our lives forever tomorrow morning.”
“It is not forever, Ann,” said Mike. “We can visit them, more often than we have in the past. And you—and Lauren—can go anytime you’d like.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“That is not all bad,” Mike said. “We are a strong family. Your parents have helped us to see this. But now it’s our turn. We are out of practice, Ann, on how to be a family. We—all of us, but you and I in particular—are sluggish, rusty from sitting too long on the bench.”
“Is it too late?” asked Ann, tilting her head up to see as well as hear Mike’s answer.
“No,” said Mike, kissing her forehead. “But only if we are serious in our efforts.”
After dinner, Lauren lay on her bed and looked at the ceiling instead of her history notes, the test tomorrow occupying only the back of her mind. She sighed, rolled over, and lay on her stomach, which ached. She had eaten a lot for dinner, but was sure the pain wasn’t related to food. Tears again gathered in her eyes. She jumped when her cell phone vibrated her entire abdomen. Lazily, she sat up and pulled the phone out of her jeans pocket. It was Josh. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay,” Lauren lied.
“They leave tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” said Lauren, sliding off her bed and sitting on the floor, “in the morning.”
“Can I drive you to school tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Josh. “I just thought you might need to talk.” Lauren smiled at the phone. Josh had always been nice to her, even and especially when Nate had not. He told Nate this was because he had three sisters; he understood females. And when his sisters were unhappy, they made him unhappy. Keeping them content was his way of secretly controlling them. Nate didn’t understand this strategy, but Lauren did. She loved his kindness almost as much as she loved his handsome face. Plus, her grandmother had been right: Judd Acker wasn’t ready for a relationship with anyone but Angel. Three weeks after the breakup, they had reunited. Most said it wouldn’t last, that the second time was never as good as the first, but Lauren didn’t care one way or the other. “That’s so nice of you,” she said. “What about Nate?”
Josh cleared his throat. “I’ve talked to him about you.”
“What did you say?” asked Lauren, sitting tall, her heart suddenly alive.
“I told him I liked you, and I wanted to take you out, and I hoped he didn’t have a problem with that.”
“Oh my gosh!” said Lauren. “What did he say?”
“He just kind of shrugged,” said Josh. “Then he said if I broke your heart, he’d kill me.”
“Really?” asked Lauren.
“I think he was kidding,” said Josh. “Sort of.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said, “for talking to him. That took a lot of courage.”
Josh hesitated for just a moment. “You’re worth it, Lauren.”
“So are you,” Lauren responded.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” said Josh. “Sleep well.”
“Good night,” said Lauren.
The next morning, Eileen, Sam, Lauren, and, remarkably, Nate, gathered in the driveway at first light. The car was packed, had been since the previous afternoon, and Lauren’s chocolate chip cookies sat in Eileen’s red tin on the front seat. Two travel mugs—another gift from Lauren—filled with steaming black coffee, stood tall in Eileen’s cup holders. It appeared everything was in place for the journey. Resolved not to cry, Lauren hugged and held on to her grandmother. “I’ll call you,” she said. “You can solve my social problems long distance.”
“Every fifteen-year-old girl would love to have your social problems,” said Eileen. Lauren laughed.
Nate extended his hand to his grandfather, who took it and pulled Nate in for a hug. “You are my best friend,” Sam whispered in Nate’s ear. “Good luck in the Air Force.”
“Thank you,” said Nate, choking up. Nate hugged Eileen and Lauren hugged Sam, and then Nate helped Sam into the car and buckled his seat belt. Eileen sat down behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.
“Call when you get there,” said Lauren.
“I will, my dear,” said Eileen. “I’ve got your number.” Eileen put the car in gear and slowly rolled forward. She put her hand out the window and waved. Nate and Lauren walked behind the car several paces as Eileen drove around the bend to the end of the driveway. She tooted the horn, then pulled the car out of sight. Lauren immediately began to cry. Before he had time to think, Nate took a step toward his sister and wrapped his arms around her.
CHAPTER 22
Ann took a towel from the stack next to the water fountain and wiped the moisture from her face as she walked through the Lifecycles to the treadmills. She checked her watch, by habit more than interest; she already knew she was right on schedule. She’d done thirty minutes on the Precor, twenty minutes of weight work, and would finish with a twenty-minute run at a nine-minute-mile pace on the treadmill. Even though the five treadmills were occupied, Ann walked directly to number four, the newest and most reliable of the bunch. She’d signed up for it and had no problem asking its occupant to get off. She bent down to retie her running shoes, then stood right next to the woman, who was apparently engrossed in a cooking show. Ann tapped her on the shoulder, and the woman turned her head, looking surprised. Ann raised her wrist and pointed at her watch. The woman looked at her own watch, smiled, and held up three fingers. “Please?” she said too loudly, overcompensating for her headphones. Ann looked at her watch again. She waited a moment, and then held up three fingers. “Thank you,” shouted the woman.
To pass the time, Ann went to the matted area next to the treadmills. She lay down and immediately began doing sit-ups. She counted out two hundred and then stood and returned to the treadmill. The woman, sweating heavily, was standing next to the machine spraying the handles and console with the disinfectant supplied by the center. The television had been turned off. “Thank you,” she said.
The Good Life Page 36