by Lynne Gentry
“Is someone ill?” Momma asks.
My gaze darts to Wilma. She’s gives me an understanding smile, but at this very moment, I don’t want my boss’s understanding or her pity. I want my mother back. I want the woman who was telling me stories with great clarity only minutes before. But that woman is gone.
“Would you like to come in, Mrs. Rayburn?” I emphasize the principal’s name as if it’s a club that can knock loose the frozen cogs in Momma’s head.
“Yes, please do come in,” Momma says with a cordialness I’ve not seen her express toward Wilma since I was in elementary school. “Have a slice of hummingbird cake.”
“I don’t want to put anyone out,” Wilma hugs the stack in her arms to her chest.
“No trouble at all,” Ira says. “Sara and I will make some tea.” Ira gently takes Momma by the elbow. “Come, Sara. Let’s put the kettle on.”
Silence hangs in the cool air of what’s left of the morning.
“Labels and lists,” Wilma finally says.
I shift on my crutches. “Excuse me?”
“Before my mother passed, she was having trouble keeping things straight. So, I labeled everything...even made a name badge for me.”
“Did it help?”
“For a while.”
I lift one crutch and point toward the swing. “I need to get off this leg.”
“Of course.” Wilma holds the swing steady as I drop onto the seat. “Does the doctor think you’ll suffer any permanent damage?”
“From the snake or my mother?” I hold out my hands for the stack of work.
“This can wait.” She sits beside me.
“The distraction is welcome.”
She transfers the papers to me. “Only if you promise not to overdo.”
We swing back and forth. The creak of the swing grates against every negative opinion Momma’s ever voiced against Wilma and the quiet acts of kindness this woman continues to show me. The possibility that my mother has had difficulty sorting the truth for more years than I can count hits me in the gut. No wonder it seems Momma is slipping fast. The clock has actually been ticking for a very long time.
“Wilma, why are you being so good to me?”
My boss takes a slow, deep breath as her gaze seems to soak in the changing colors of fall. “Sara may have forgotten how much I learned from her. How much I owe her.” Wilma turns to me. “But I never will.”
Chapter 42
CHARLOTTE
Momma plops onto the couch and takes the TV remote from the table beside my recliner. “I’m not going to iron another thing.”
I glance over the grades I’m entering into my laptop. “Fair enough.”
She’s been anxious and increasingly unsettled since the principal’s visit. Now that I know Mrs. Rayburn has never been the witch my mother believed, I assign Momma’s increasing regression to all the extra work she’s undertaken to nurse me back to health, which she’s done remarkably well...except for the salt on my cereal. To Momma’s credit, I had rearranged the cannisters on the counter a few days before the snakebite incident. Mixing up the two similar-looking ingredients is a mistake anyone could have made.
Momma crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’m never letting anyone put me in that bathtub again.”
This second announcement is so unlike my mother, the queen of neat and tidy. But these random statements are not what’s not setting well with me. Since I still can’t navigate the stairs, I’ve had to rely on Teeny to oversee Momma’s hygiene. Teeny’s done a passable job of keeping Momma’s face washed and her hair combed. She’s even convinced Momma to let her pin her bangs back with a big hairbow. But my mother has worn the same clothes for the last three days. I don’t know how long it’s been since she’s washed her hair. In short, my mother stinks.
“Why don’t you want to bathe, Momma?”
“People drown.” She turns her face to me. “My daughter drowned. My husband drowned. I’ll drown.”
There’s no readable emotion in Momma’s eyes or any distress in her voice, but her mind can’t seem to make sense of so many tragedies.
For a second, I want to be Caroline. If I could give my mother a minute with the child she lost so long ago, I would. I know that if I lost Aria, I’d give anything for one more minute.
I can’t bear to let the what-ifs of that heartbreak anywhere near the scabs on my soul, so I close my computer and change the subject. “Why don’t I fix us a cup of tea?”
Momma shakes her head. “That bear-of-a-doctor says you need to rest.”
“That doctor is picking me up for band practice tonight.” I point at my ankle. “The swelling is almost gone. Maybe I should try putting a little weight on this foot before I let him drag me out of this chair.”
“You wait right there, young lady.” She jumps up and starts pawing through the throw pillows. “Where is it?”
“What are you looking for?”
“The phone!” Pillows sail past my head. “I need to call LaVera.”
“LaVera?”
“My lipstick order should have been here days ago.” She lifts the couch cushions and glows victorious when she digs out the remote. “Here it is.”
“Momma,” I lower the lever on the recliner. “LaVera died, remember?”
“Nonsense.” Momma stabs at the buttons on the remote. “She’s holding my order up on purpose. Sometimes she waits so long I’ve no choice but to scrape out dabs of color with a Q-tip.” Momma holds the remote to her ear. “Hello! Hello!” She lowers the remote and frantically begins to push buttons again. “Something’s wrong with this phone.”
Something’s wrong with you.
“Momma,” It’s all I can do to keep my voice steady as I set the computer aside and gather my crutches. “That’s the television remote.”
“Don’t argue with me, Caroline.” She thrusts the remote at my face, pointing it like a gun. “I’m telling you something’s wrong with this phone.”
“Ira! Teeny!” I’m afraid to move. “I need some help in here.”
“There’s no reason to get your panties in a wad, Caroline.” Momma bangs the remote on the coffee table several times. “I’ll feed that damn cat of yours when I get good and ready.”
“Momma!” Foul language is as foreign to her as I am and yet she’s taken to cussing like it’s her second language. “Ari feeds her cat, remember?”
“We’re out of cat food. We need cat food.” She paces the living room jabbing buttons on the remote. “Why can’t someone get me some cat food?”
Ira shuffles into the room ahead of Teeny. He quickly assesses Momma’s heightened emotions and my frustration. Within a few short steps, he plants himself in her path. “Sara, time to play the piano.”
“She’s in no condition to play the piano, Ira.”
Ira holds up his palm. “It’s how we deal with these little episodes while you’re away. You’ll be surprised how the music calms her down.”
“She’s done this before?”
“A time or two.”
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“What good is family if we can’t bear one another’s burdens, hmmm?”
Nothing I’ve said or done has worked. I’ve no choice but to back away and let Ira and Teeny have a go at her. They slowly flank my mother on both sides.
“Sara,” Ira’s talking soft and slow, his hand carefully extended. “Let’s hear some Chopin, shall we, Sara?”
Momma shoves Ira with such force that he falls back into the recliner. “Stay away from me, old man.”
Ira’s eyes go wide. In the deafening silence, he clouds up and begins to cry. “This is the worst I’ve seen.”
I fish my cell phone out of my pocket. “Itty, I can’t make band practice tonight.”
Chapter 43
CHARLOTTE
The house is finally quiet, but my spirit is screaming louder than a rabbit caught in a trap.
“Here,” Itty stands over me with a steaming cup of t
ea. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Tea.”
“With Valium?”
“Straight up chamomile.”
The warmth from the cup doesn’t melt the cold dread that settled in my bones long before we finally settled Momma for the night. If Teeny hadn’t been here to hold Momma’s flailing arms while I tried to balance on my crutches and wrestle her out of her soiled clothes and into a gown, I would have had to cut them off of her. Ira was the one who thought of using a piece of hummingbird cake to entice her up the stairs. And if Aria hadn’t climbed into Momma’s bed and started reading, Itty would have had to give Momma a sedative to knock her out.
I glance up at the red-bearded bear standing guard over me. His face is scrunched like he’s checking my medical condition and is not pleased.
Suddenly self-conscious at how poorly my appearance has probably fared in my wrestling match with Momma, I smooth my hair. “I didn’t think doctors made house calls anymore.”
Itty sinks onto the couch. “Friends always make house calls.”
“I’m sorry you missed band practice.”
“Do you realize you’ve apologized for everything but the national debt since I walked through the door?”
“I’m sorry.” We look at each other and laugh. “I just did it again, didn’t I?”
“Keep it up and I’ll be adjusting your meds too.”
“Do you think a chemical imbalance caused Momma’s huge spiral?”
He gives a little shrug. “The mind is a delicate and complicated engine. The older the engine, the greater the plaque buildup. Eventually, all of us get too much gunk under the hood. That’s why organs malfunction.”
“That’s something to look forward to.”
“Sara’s decline could be caused by something as simple as a vitamin deficiency, an infection, or it could be the onslaught of full-blown Alzheimer’s.”
“Is she gone for good?”
“Hard to know.” Itty pats my hand and stands. “Bring her to the office tomorrow and we’ll take a peek under the hood. I’ll draw some blood and order a CT to rule out mini strokes.”
“I thought coming home would make things easier.”
“For her? Or you?”
“Both.”
His eyes pan the cozy little nest my family has made for me around the recliner. Ira reinforced a TV tray so that it would support my computer. Teeny stocked a small cooler with bottled water, healthy snacks, and a selection of hair bows. Aria ordered a surge-protector power strip so that I could keep my computer and phone charger cords handy. Everyone does their best to place the TV remote within my reach—well, everyone but Momma. Ira had to fish it out from under the piano after she threw it across the room when she couldn’t get LaVera on the phone.
“Seems to me being here beats worrying about whether or not your mom’s burning down the house, eating properly, or taking her meds.”
“Or having to catch a red-eye flight from DC to scour the highways after she steals a car and escapes from her retirement home.”
“Who needs frequent flier miles anyway?”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Itty.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder and gives me an encouraging squeeze. “You know your limits, and how far you can stretch.”
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.” I lift teary eyes to Itty. “I don’t know if I’ll survive losing my mother again.”
Chapter 44
CHARLOTTE
I sit in the doctor’s waiting room, holding jackets, purses, and the fragile memories that used to be my mother. Her glare burns a hole in my forehead. I deserve her wrath. It was stupid of me to insist that she exchange her beloved Dearfoam slippers for her Easy Spirits. Winning a single battle is not worth the war. Or the guilt I feel over digging my heels in on such a silly issue. How my mother looks in public only matters to me because it used to matter so much to her.
Looking at her now makes me want to cry. Pale skin hangs from her cheekbones. Thin lips, naked of her trademark red lipstick, smack like a goldfish needing air. The back of her hair is tangled into a flattened peak that leans to one side of her head. The blouse she’s wearing doesn’t match the polyester pants with grass stains on the knees. The woman I knew wouldn’t even clean out her chicken coup looking like this, let alone flounce into a crowded doctor’s waiting room, order a cheeseburger and French fries at the sign-in window, then rattle off a string of cuss words when Corina said this wasn’t a drive-in.
“Charlotte.” Corina stands before me. “The doctor will see you now.” She nods toward Momma. “Can I help you get her back to the exam room?”
“I better do it. As you know, the least little thing can set her off. Sorry about the cussing out she gave you.”
Corina shrugs. “She should have let me have it in third grade. I wasn’t an easy student.”
“Momma loved a challenge.”
“Charlotte,” Corina says. “It’s not easy for me to say thank you, but I want you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done to encourage my son. He’s a different boy.”
Tears sting my eyes. “He’s the same boy, just empowered.”
“You’re a good woman, Charlotte.”
“You are too, Corina.”
She nods toward Momma’s blank face. “I guess we owe our thanks to this lady here.”
“I guess we do.” I turn and put a hand under my mother’s elbow. “Let’s go see Itty, shall we, Momma?”
She shrinks back from my touch. “No.”
“Momma!” I tug a little harder. “Come on.”
“No!” She jerks her elbow free. “Don’t touch me.”
“Mrs. Slocum,” Corina says firmly. “You’re going to be late to class and you know how rowdy we can get whenever you leave the room.”
The angst immediately leaves Momma’s face. She lifts her chin, stands on her own, straightens her blouse with a tug on the hem, then says, “I will not tolerate unruliness.”
“No, you will not.” Corina offers her arm. “Now go and reclaim order.”
To my amazement, Momma marches into the exam room, clinging tightly to the girl who used to give her so much grief. “Where are the children?”
“First, you must have a talk with the principal.” Corina helps Momma into a chair.
“What have I done now?” Momma asks.
“Well, now that’s a surprise that I’m not at liberty to share.” She picks up Momma’s chart, scribbles a few notes, then says, “Dr. Ellis will be right with you.”
This time it’s me who lays a gentle hand on Corina, only my grip is a combination of gratitude and desperation. “Thank you, Corina.”
She slips me a card. “You need me, you call. Day or night.”
Within two minutes of Corina’s exit, Itty sweeps into the room. His presence is so big there’s little room for the terror that has its claws around my throat.
“Good morning, Mrs. Slocum.” He kneels before her. “How did you sleep last night?”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, young man.”
“How so?”
“You obviously know me, but I don’t know you.”
Only the slight twinge at the corner of Itty’s mouth reveals the impact of Momma’s rapid descent into her own world. “Well, who do you think I am?”
Momma’s head cocks. Her eyes slowly trace the outline of Itty’s handsome features. “Since teddy bears don’t come to life, I’d say you’re a kind young man who needs a shave.”
Itty chuckles and strokes his beard. “I can’t believe you’d have me do away with ten years of hard work.” Itty points at me. “Can you tell me who came with you today?”
Momma’s head cocks the opposite direction and she gives my face an investigative once-over as well. I hold my breath and pray she doesn’t mention the need to have my lip waxed or something done about the bags under my eyes.
She shakes her head and returns her gaze to Itty. “Sorry, dear. I c
an’t place her.”
Chapter 45
CHARLOTTE
Quick, Winnie! He’s coming your way.” I dive for the rooster and land in a puddle of cold mud.
“I’ve got him!” Winnie holds the last of Momma’s feathered escapees by the leg. His flapping wings are flinging mud all over my friend’s face. “Open the gate.”
I scramble to my feet and fumble with the latch. “I think I’m going to have to put a combination lock on this gate.”
Winnie sets the rooster free inside the wire enclosure. “Are you sure it was Sara who left it open?”
“She’s obsessed with letting the chickens out and feeding the cat.”
“Sara hates cats.”
“I know, but she’s convinced that Fig is on the prowl for her chickens.”
“Then why does she let them out?”
“It makes no sense, but then nothing she does makes sense anymore.”
Winnie helps me toss some corn into the feeders and secure the gate for the night. She points at my mud-soaked clothes. “I think farm life is beginning to agree with you.”
“I’m glad something does because Momma argues about everything.”
“Caroline!!!” The blood-curdling scream is coming from the front of the house. “Help!”
Winnie and I race toward Momma’s cries. I round the corner and stop. My mother’s standing on the porch. Her robe is hanging open, exposing her completely naked body. She’s pacing and raking her fingers through her thinning hair.
“Momma!” I fly up the steps. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Polygon.” Her eyes are wide and totally crazed. “I can’t find Polygon anywhere.”
“You mean Bojangles?”
She scowls at me like I’m the one who’s lost my mind. “My. Bird. Is. Gone.” She jabs her finger toward the screen. “That girl, the one with the cat, left the cage open. I’m sure that damn cat of hers ate my bird.”
“Aria would never let your bird out, Momma.” I reach for her robe ties and attempt to help her cover herself. “She loves Bojangles.”