“And we think that’s not healthy,” Marian said, grabbing her purse and taking both boys by the hand.
“I don’t care what you think,” I replied.
“This isn’t over, Dad,” Charlie said as he gathered his things to leave. “We’re going to have to put you in a home. It’s done. We’ll go look at some places next weekend.”
Mandy walked over and tried to kiss me on the head. I jerked away from her touch. She looked like she was going to cry, but Charlie just shook his head, grabbed his keys, and said, “We’ll call you later.”
Then all of my Judas children and their offspring followed him out.
They didn’t need to call me later. As a matter of fact, it would be just fine if they never called me again.
chapter
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17
I had been calling Bruce all night and again as soon as I got up this morning. But Bruce was like me. He had a cell phone only because as a retired attorney, he still did some consulting from time to time and his clients needed to get in touch with him. But outside of work hours, Bruce didn’t keep his cell phone on. He wasn’t answering his home phone, either, so I was two seconds away from getting in my truck and heading back over to his house.
I decided to try his cell one more time. Thankfully, this time he picked up.
“This is Bruce.”
“Hey,” I said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
He chuckled. “I had a hot date. We went down to the casino. Right after you left, Helen showed up and kidnapped me.”
I heard giggling in the background.
“I need to talk to you,” I said, cutting him off before he started going into details about his latest conquest.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I have a legal question.”
“And I have legal answers—for two hundred and fifty dollars an hour,” he laughed.
“I’m serious, Bruce.”
My tone made him turn professional. “Whoa, buddy, okay. Tell me what’s going on.” Bruce could be a ball of fun, but when it was time to handle business, he would get real serious.
I rushed the words out. “When I got home yesterday, my kids were here and they announced they were going to sell my home and put me in an assisted living facility.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious, and they think I’m crazy. They think I have dementia or Alzheimer’s or something.”
“You got old age,” Bruce said without a trace of laughter.
“Exactly. That’s what I tried to tell them.”
“I mean, you’re depressed, but that’s understandable.”
“I know,” I said, pacing back and forth across my living room. A deflated yellow balloon from my birthday celebration drifted in front of me. I lifted my leg, stomped on it, and made it pop. “All I know is they’ll have to put me in the ground before I let them put me in a home.”
“Okay, calm down, big guy. Give me a minute, Helen,” Bruce said, his voice away from the phone. I heard some rumbling as if he was moving around. “Now, tell me,” he continued, “why do they think they even have the right to take your home?” He was in his official capacity now.
I sighed as I plopped down in my recliner. “Well, when Elizabeth got sick, we gave Marian a power of attorney so she could handle all of our business affairs.”
“So did your POA give her the right to sell your house?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I snapped. My temple was throbbing. The lack of sleep, coupled with my rage, had to have my blood pressure elevated. I stood and began the trek around my living room again.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Bruce asked.
“I just signed the dagblasted thing!” My pacing quickened, as if moving faster would bring me clarity.
It was his turn to sigh. “Now, how long have you been my friend, Ollie?”
“A lifetime.”
“And what have I always told you?”
I stopped right in front of the last family photo we’d all taken. Jeremiah was still a baby and sitting in Elizabeth’s lap. I was smiling, oblivious to the fact that my kids would one day grow up to stab me in the back. “Always read the paperwork,” I replied. “But I didn’t think that applied to my own child.”
“Well, calm down,” he said. “The first thing you have to do is find that paperwork.”
“I don’t know where that thing is.” I moved down the hallway to my bedroom as if being there would help me remember what I’d done with our copy of the paperwork.
“Do you think Marian will give you a copy?”
“Not unless it’s in her favor.”
Bruce paused like he was thinking. “Well, in order for it to be valid, she has to have it on record. But you need to go find it and see if she has the right to sell your house. I know in some cases a doctor has to deem you not competent, but if you gave her autonomy in terms of rights, then you might be in for a fight.”
I fell down onto my bed. I didn’t have the strength for a fight, especially against my own children.
“I just can’t believe this,” I said.
“Neither can I,” replied Bruce. “But let me know if you find the POA statement and I’ll look over it. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Before hanging up, I thanked him and promised to keep him posted. I stopped pacing and tried to think. I couldn’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday. How was I supposed to remember where a piece of paper was? Where would our copy of that document be, if we even had one? Then it dawned on me that maybe Elizabeth had put it where we put everything else.
I marched over to the closet. I felt around the top shelf until I found what I was looking for.
I threw the large brown shoebox onto the floor, silently cursing myself and my lack of paying attention all these years. My lackadaisical attitude toward matters pertinent to our home used to drive Elizabeth crazy. But I didn’t care to know any of the details required to run our household. I just wanted to bring home my check, turn it over to her, and then go watch Gunsmoke. She took care of all things domestic. So it was just a natural extension for her to handle the finances as well.
After a while Elizabeth had stopped fighting me over my disinterest and we fell into a comfortable pattern.
I dug through the box. Our birth certificates and wedding certificate was there, along with our insurance information, but no power of attorney.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” I moaned as I buried my head in my hands. “Why would they do this to me? To us, because this is our history.”
After Elizabeth died, Marian had really stepped up to the plate and taken over where her mother had left off. I’d been so grateful. I just never had any idea that she would betray me like this. And I’m sure Elizabeth didn’t, either.
I picked up the box that held all of our important papers and began stuffing everything back in. I stood and walked back to the closet where we’d kept these papers stored for the past thirty years. When I went to place the box back on the shelf, I noticed another box with pictures sticking out. I pulled it out and began sifting through it.
The baby pictures of our children brought a smile to my face. I fingered the black-and-white photo of Elizabeth and me standing in front of our house. It was marked June 12, 1963. We had been so proud to get this home. I’d worked overtime at the plant for two years to get the money for the down payment. And I’d toiled over the years to pay it off. I’d gotten into the construction business so that I could figure out how to remodel and expand the house myself. I loved this house, not just because of the sweat and blood that I had put into it, but because it signified my life with Elizabeth. And just like that, it was going to be snatched away . . . just like Elizabeth had been snatched away.
My gaze drifted over to the torn pages from Elizabeth’s old Bible. I don’t know what happened, but a heaviness overcame me and I did something I hadn’t done before. Something I hadn’t even done on the day she died—I s
obbed and sobbed and sobbed.
“Oh, Elizabeth. I miss you so.”
I don’t know how long I sat there crying as if I’d just this moment lost Elizabeth. I wanted this nightmare to be over. How could you love a person so much that when they died, you felt like a piece of you had died as well?
Do you, Ollie Lane Moss, take this woman, to have and to hold?
My mind drifted back to the vows we’d taken before Elizabeth’s uncle, a Methodist minister. From that day on, I called her my rib. How did a person live without their rib?
In sickness and in health?
Thoughts of Elizabeth caused the tears I had been so adept at keeping at bay to flow until my tear ducts had run dry. I sat in a nostalgic cloud for a few minutes until I had my answer.
. . . Till death do you part?
How does a person live without their rib?
They don’t.
chapter
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18
The gravel crinkled underneath my tires as I navigated down the long, winding path that led to the back of the cemetery. I could navigate this path in my sleep. I’d come here so many times. My truck could get here on autopilot.
I’d been driving around Houston for the past three hours—just driving and thinking. As always, Elizabeth clouded my thoughts, but for some reason the image forefront in my mind was the first time that we met.
I watched in awe as Max Porter walked with confidence toward the new girl. She wasn’t exactly new. She’d been at our school all week. She was the most beautiful girl most of us in the small town of Sealy, Texas, had ever seen. And every boy in school wanted her, including me. I wanted to speak to her, but I had yet to get up the nerve, and when I saw Max, who had been out on a football injury, saunter over toward her, I knew I would never stand a chance.
“Hello, pretty lady,” he said. “I’m Max, the star quarterback.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“So, your name is Max The Star Quarterback?”
I couldn’t help but snicker. Max wasn’t fazed, because he replied, “Nope. It’s just Max, and I’m the star quarterback. But you probably already know that.”
“Actually, I don’t,” she said. “Excuse me,” she added, trying to step around him.
My heart tightened. There had to be at least fifteen people standing around, since we had just gotten out of school. Max didn’t like to be embarrassed and he didn’t like rejection. Not that I ever saw anyone reject him. Max usually got what he wanted. And it was obvious right now he wanted the pretty new girl. But she didn’t want him.
“Excuse me,” she repeated when he jumped back in front of her. “I need to get home.”
“Well, I’ll walk you,” he said.
“No, thank you,” she replied.
“So, are you too good for me to walk you home?”
She took a deep breath and pulled her books even closer to her chest. “Look, Max, that’s your name, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m not interested, so, if you will please excuse me.”
Her bold confidence made me smile until I saw Max’s brow furrow.
“What?” he said. “Did you just try to brush me off?”
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” she said. I could tell she was a tad bit scared by his change in demeanor. “I just want to go home.”
“Nah, I want to know why you don’t want me to walk you home.”
She just ignored him this time and walked around him. He grabbed her arm, which caught her by surprise. I could tell she was trying to jerk it away, but he had a strong grip on her.
I don’t know where the strength came from. My self-esteem was in the tank because of my abusive father, so when it came to violence, I usually ran the other way. But I jumped my puny fifteen-year-old body next to her and said, “You heard her. Leave her alone.”
Max looked at me, paused like he had to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, then said, “Aren’t you the doofus that sits in the front of the class?”
“Leave her alone,” I repeated, this time with a bravado that I didn’t really have. He released his grip on her arm and took a step toward me. I balled both of my fists up. For what, I don’t know. I had never been in a fight in my life. When my dad beat me, I just cowered. I’d mastered the art of cowering. So right now, there was nothing in me that believed I could beat Max. But I was going to try. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. And Max looked like he was gearing up for one, because he began rolling up his sleeves as he took another step toward me. But the gods must have been on my side that day—or really, Mr. Lewis, our high school principal. Because he stepped to us just as Max was about to haul off and punch me.
“Max, I know you’re not causing any more trouble. You know one more strike and you are off the football team altogether,” Mr. Lewis warned.
That struck fear in Max, because he backed down quickly.
“Nah, Mr. Lewis. We were just messing around.”
Mr. Lewis looked at me and said, “Is that true, son?”
I glared at Max. “Yes,” I said, not taking my eyes off my nemesis.
Max looked at me like he was relieved I hadn’t gotten him in any trouble.
“Well, good,” Mr. Lewis said. “You fellas run along.”
I didn’t relax until both Mr. Lewis and Max had rounded the corner and were out of sight.
I felt the air release from my body once I could no longer see Max. And the new girl, who I had forgotten all about, said, “Thank you. I’ve never had anyone take up for me before.”
“M-my pleasure,” I said. I pushed back all the nervous bubbles in my stomach and said, “I’m Ollie Moss.”
She smiled as she extended her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Waters.” Her smile widened even more as she said, “Would you like to walk me home?”
That memory made my heart smile. I walked Elizabeth home that day and every day thereafter. We became inseparable. I didn’t have to worry about Max because two days after our incident, he’d gotten in trouble and his mother had sent him to the Army. And Elizabeth and I began our life together.
That had been in 1954. Elizabeth and I had married five years later. She stayed while I went off to fight in the Vietnam War. She’d waited on me and had taken care of our two boys—Charlie and Bert—until I was discharged because of an injury.
Elizabeth had been my life and now that she was gone, I questioned everything about my life. No, now that she was gone, my life wasn’t worth living.
I pulled my truck into park in front of the headstone where my beloved wife was eternally resting. The vibrating of my phone caused me to look down. Yvonne’s name glared across the screen of my cell. I hated these contraptions. My kids had insisted I carry one, but I liked it back when people couldn’t get in touch with you. When they had to wait to talk to you until they could reach you.
Only because it was Yvonne, I picked the phone up.
“Hey, baby girl,” I said.
“Hi, Daddy,” she replied. “How are you?”
“You know I’m not happy.” Yvonne was in the perfect position as a nurse. She was caring and sensitive. And the only one of my children who was always concerned with how I felt.
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry I left early. I just . . . We’ve just been fighting about this for a while.”
I wondered how long my children had been secretly talking behind my back about putting me in a home.
“Everyone outvoted me. But Daddy, you can come stay with me. I’ll take care of you.”
A warm smile filled my heart. “Thank you, sweetheart, but I’ll be living in my own house until the day they put me in the ground. Where are you headed?”
“You remember my best friend, Savannah?”
“Yes, the reporter?” I wondered if she agreed with her siblings that I was getting forgetful. She’d been friends with Savannah forever, so of course I would remember her.
“Yes. Well, she’s going through some person
al issues and I’m trying to help her. I’m on my way over there.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, not asking any questions only because I couldn’t take on the weight of anyone else’s tragedies.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“At the cemetery to see your mama.”
She was quiet. Then, “Tell her I love her.”
“She knows.”
“I love you, too, Daddy. And I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mandy.” I choked back the heaviness in my throat.
Another silence filled the phone. “It’s Yvonne, Daddy,” she said.
I rubbed my temples. Of course I meant Yvonne. Shoot, I was just getting mixed up from the stress of everything.
“Sorry, that’s what I meant. But I need to go.”
“Can I come by and take you to lunch this week? I’d rather have my own private birthday celebration. Jeremiah asked if just the three of us could go out somewhere.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
We exchanged goodbyes and I sat in the car for a moment. I know thinking this was probably bad, but Jeremiah and Yvonne were the only ones I would miss from my family when it was time for me to join my Elizabeth. With the exception of Yvonne, my children were entitled pompous brats who were raising entitled pompous brats, well, except for Jeremiah. Don’t get me wrong. I knew that they loved me, and I loved them—but they were still brats. Jeremiah reminded me of myself at that age. Maybe that’s why we were so close.
I got out and made my way up to my wife’s grave. I sat in front of it, cleaning off the wilted flowers from my last visit, two weeks ago. I filled her in on the birthday party and what the kids were trying to do. After sitting in silence for a few minutes, I finally said, “I miss you so.” And then my next words were unexpected: “I’m ready to be with you.”
I waited to hear my wife’s voice telling me otherwise, telling me “No, it isn’t time.” Admonishing me for even thinking such thoughts.
But there was nothing.
A plane buzzed overhead. A car honked in the distance. But outside of that, there was nothing.
The Book in Room 316 Page 9