“When?” was all Ellie said.
“Dawn. When the sun comes up. Donald always liked to see the sun come up. He said new days were meant for many things, journeys, loving, and just plain old living.”
Ellie’s eyes were wild. “Are we ... are we going to ... keep a vigil? We aren’t going to go to bed, are we?”
Kate shook her head.
“I think he knows,” Della said. “His breathing’s changed. It’s like he’s fighting something, but he can’t wake up fully. He knows. . . .”
At nine o’clock Kate walked into the kitchen to call her daughter. She let the phone ring twelve times before she hung up. She hated her daughter at that moment. She stomped her way back to the family room, her eyes murderous.
At midnight Donald opened his eyes, looked around, and said clearly and distinctly, “It’s nasturtiums. That’s why we couldn’t make a rainbow of flowers. We forgot the nasturtiums.” They crowded around the bed, happy smiles on their faces. “Where’s my honey button?” he said, again so clearly that Kate blinked.
“I’m here, Donald,” Della said. “Did you hear that, Kate? He called me his honey button. Oh, Donald,” she said, smothering his face with kisses moist with her tears.
Kate clutched at her daughter, her eyes wild. “My God,” she whispered, “we were going to ... we almost—”
“Shhh, Mom, this isn’t what you think. Donald is trying to make things right for us the way he always did, before ... before he goes. Listen, his voice is weaker, less distinct.”
Kate strained to hear what he was saying. “Take some of the money and do good ... go back to Mexico and help your family. Promise me, Della.”
Della threw herself across her husband’s wasted body. “I’ll do whatever you want, Donald. I promise.” When there was no response, she started to shake her husband, but he was in another place, far from the cocoon of sleep he’d crawled from. Kate and Ellie led her over to the chair.
“Even now he thinks of us,” Della wept, “never himself.”
“That’s why we have to do it, Della,” Kate said. “Stay with her Ellie, I have to do something.”
She was a madwoman when she entered the kitchen and punched out her daughter’s telephone number. She didn’t care what time of the night it was. Her eyes narrowed when she heard her daughter’s sleep-filled voice. “Turn on the light, Betsy, and wake up. Listen to me. Are you listening ... ?” she asked coldly. “Good. Donald is dying. We plan to remove—Yes, we’re going to do it at dawn. He’s lapsed into a coma. I want you here.... What do you mean you can’t make it? You will damn well make it! You are a miserable, ungrateful snot, and I’m ashamed to say you’re my daughter. Get dressed, Betsy, and be here by morning. I don’t care if you have to crawl. You be here! Without Donald you wouldn’t be sleeping in that comfortable bed of yours. I will send the state police for you if you don’t come under your own power. I mean it!” Kate slammed down the phone, her shoulders shaking.
“Whoah,” Ellie said from the doorway. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Mom.”
“You’d be surprised at what I have in me,” Kate said tightly. “I meant it, too. I’ll send the state police to bring her here.”
“Be real, Mom,” Ellie said, not unkindly. “They can’t make her come.”
“She’ll come, won’t she, Ellie?”
“No, she won’t.”
“What happened to her? My God, is it my fault? I did my best.”
“You know that, I know that, but Betsy ... Betsy wanted the dream to go on. She was Dad’s favorite. Miss Princess Betsy. It was all make-believe. We had to do what we did, go through that fantasy period of believing Dad would come back, in order to go on with our lives. Betsy wanted to stay in that fantasy world. She wanted to keep on playing make-believe, but you wouldn’t let her. She isn’t a forgiving person. Personally, I think she’s warped.”
“I will never forgive her if she doesn’t come,” Kate said.
“Yes, you will. You’re a mother. Mothers forgive all their children’s sins. Mothers love unconditionally. It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Not this mother,” Kate said grimly.
Ellie stared at her mother, knowing she meant exactly what she said. “On the other hand, there are some mothers who don’t . . . who aren’t like that.”
“Number me among that group, Ellie. I cannot believe that girl is my child. I cannot believe she has ‘something more important to do.’ Where did she get the nerve, the goddamn nerve, to say that to me?”
“I’m going to make some coffee,” Ellie said. “Remember how Donald used to say if you drank too much coffee you’d grow hair on your chest? I lived in fear of that. I used to check all the time to be sure. I knew he was making it up, but I checked anyway. I’m really going to miss him, Mom.” Ellie threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“Me too, honey.”
“When the sun comes up and we ... do it, how long will it be?” Ellie blubbered.
“Not long. Donald’s ready to go. Whatever that was—his last words—I believe it was his way of telling us it’s okay. I had this talk with him this afternoon. I think he wasn’t certain ... he’s counting on us.”
“I’ll bring the coffee in when it’s ready,” Ellie said, blowing her nose.
Ellie measured out coffee, filled the pot, and plugged it in. Anger rushed through her, anger at her sister for the way she treated everyone. She tiptoed down the hall to her mother’s office, closed the door, and called her sister. Her voice was a growling hiss when she heard Betsy’s voice.
“I just wanted to go on record as saying I think you are a first-class bitch—the most selfish, self-centered person I have ever had the misfortune of knowing. All you do is take up air other people need to breathe, people like Donald. Mom’s right, you are an ungrateful snot. There’s not one good, nice, decent thing about you. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t even have a sister.... Well, say something, you miserable bitch!”
“Good-bye.”
Ellie’s jaw dropped, and she raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, God, but it needed to be done. Can’t you straighten her out? So, sometime in the future I’ll write her a note and ... No, I won’t. I meant everything I said. Every word.”
Betsy Starr stood in her pristine kitchen and looked around wildly. She clenched and unclenched her hands as she tried to fight the tears she knew were going to drown her if she ever really let go.
She started to make coffee, then gave up on the idea when she couldn’t remember how much coffee the machine required. She reached for the jar holding the tea bags, dropped it, watched the glass scatter all over her white tile floor. In order to get to the refrigerator for a beer or soda pop, she’d have to walk over the glass slivers or clean them up. Too much effort.
She backed out of the kitchen, found herself in a corner, where she cowered, arms wrapped around her chest. She pressed into the corner, her heart pumping so loudly she could hear it between her sobbing breaths.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Never, ever. Donald was supposed to live forever. No, no, that wasn’t true. He’d said he would still be around until she got out of college. The problem was, she hadn’t been around. Not because she didn’t care, but because she did care. Too much. “That’s my problem, I care too much, and I don’t want anyone to know, and I don’t know why that is!” she said, sobbing.
She thought about her mother’s words, her sister’s phone call. She sobbed harder. A picture of a shiny red wheelbarrow flashed in front of her eyes. “Oh, Donald, I’m so sorry. I know it wasn’t my promise to you, but I promised you for my dad. I should have bought it for you. I meant to do that the first Christmas when I went away to college, but I had this opportunity to meet ... I’m sorry Donald. I love you ... still love you . . . will always love you. More than I could ever say, more than I could ever show you.”
She blew her nose in the hem of her nightgown. She’d so wanted to ask her mother about Donald, but that was another one of her pr
oblems: when she needed to talk, to show how she felt, she couldn’t. Family was supposed to understand that. Her father, according to her mother, was supposed to have had the same problem.
She wished she were more open, more outgoing, like Ellie. She’d tried when she was younger, but it was such an effort, and people looked at her strangely when she tried to copy her younger sister’s ways. She was a serious, solemn, studious person. Just like her father.
What it all came down to was, she felt things too deeply. She loved too much. And she didn’t know how to handle those feelings. Ellie was forever calling her an emotional cripple. “I am,” she sobbed.
Her life flashed in front of her, all negative. She howled her misery as she stumbled her way back to her bedroom. She dropped to her knees and fumbled under the bed for her suitcase. She threw in clothes any old way, stepped into her slippers, searched for her raincoat, the long military-style one that would cover her nightgown. She found her purse, her car keys, and trudged out to the carport.
She turned on the windshield wipers before she realized her tears were the reason she couldn’t see. She drove around for two hours, looking for a store that was open so she could buy a shiny red wheelbarrow. After the fact. It’s too late. It’s always too late, Betsy Starr.
She continued to drive until she found herself in front of St. Angela’s Church. She ran up the steps and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Churches shouldn’t be locked. People needed to pray. It shouldn’t matter what time of the day or night it was. “I need to go in here!” she shouted, kicking at the door again and again. She shouted over and over, “I need to go in here, damn you! Can’t you hear? I need to go inside.”
She felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around.
“What is it, child?”
“Oh, Father, I need ... I tried to find this red ... he promised me he’d live till I graduated.... I need to talk. My father is ... I need help, Father. Please help me. . . .”
Kate was dozing on her chair at five o’clock when the front doorbell rang. No one moved. “It must be Betsy,” Kate said coolly.
“Maybe the priest decided to come early,” Della said.
“Or the doctor,” Ellie said.
“I’ll get it,” Kate said. “There are a few things I want to say to my daughter in private.”
She turned on the hall light before she opened the heavy oak door. She wanted to see her daughter’s face clearly. She could feel her shoulders tighten with the tension she felt. She saw the whole of him at once, saw the concern, the anguish, in his eyes. She fell into his arms, glad it wasn’t her daughter standing in the open door.
“I had to come,” was all he said.
“I’m glad you did,” she said.
“Are you all right?”
“I am now,” she said. “What about your crime story?”
“Let them all kill themselves. The public doesn’t need to read about more blood and gore. It wasn’t important to me.”
“Will they fire you?”
Gus laughed. “There was no contest. Besides, I know this guy in Los Angeles, and he said I could come to work for him anytime. You forget, I’m a rich man. I’ll tell you about it later. What’s important now is you.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Gus. You’re my best friend. I don’t know how that happened,” Kate said, puzzled by her own statement.
“You took the time to get to know me. My sterling character started to shine through and you saw it. I knew you’d make a good friend the first moment I saw you. I’m just sorry it took us so long to meet again. Now, what can I do?” he said briskly.
Kate shrugged helplessly. “What color are nasturtiums?”
“Blue? Bluish purple?” He didn’t think the question odd at all.
“I wonder if it’s one of those flowers that come in all colors? I rather think it does. You know, enough different colors so if planted right they’d look like a rainbow. We have to get some,” Kate said simply.
Hell, yes, a whole truckload if she said so. He’d plant them, too. Whatever she wanted.
“It’s getting light out,” Ellie said, getting up from her chair.
“Ellie, this is Gus Stewart. Gus, this is Ellie, all grown up.”
Ellie’s hand shot out. They smiled at one another. “Ah,” Ellie said, rubbing the back of her neck, “the reason for the high phone bills. They are not tax deductible, you know.”
Gus smiled again. He likes her, Kate thought, but then he’d liked her seven years ago. He’d said she was open and a “what you see is what you get” kind of person.
“It’s going to be full light in a few minutes,” Ellie said.
“I know,” Kate replied, moving toward Donald’s hospital bed. Tears filled her eyes when she saw Della holding his crippled hand. She was weeping quietly.
“It was so hard for her. She told me once that Donald was the only man in the whole of her life who ever told her he loved her. She hasn’t been able to let go. For weeks now Donald has been drifting in and out of consciousness. Yesterday he lapsed into ... She knows it’s the end, and she’s feeling so very guilty because she didn’t do what he wanted. He left a living will. He didn’t want any of this. His eyes ... he used to plead with me with his eyes after his last stroke. I couldn’t make Della ... He was her husband. . . .”
Ellie said, “We didn’t discuss who was going to—”
“I know,” Kate said. “I ... I’ll do it. I should have insisted. I should have done something more....”
“I’ll do it,” Gus said. Kate sagged against him with relief until she remembered her promise to Donald.
“No. I have to do it.”
Kate moved then, with an efficiency born of desperation. Ellie and Gus watched her as she moved the oxygen mask, disconnected the catheter, set aside the heart monitor. It was hard, but she pried Della’s hand loose. “You have to get his clothes, Della.” To Ellie she said, “Get the basin and make sure the water is warm. Ivory soap, Ellie, and a soft towel.” Her voice strengthened and grew strong.
All the while she worked, washing and drying Donald’s wasted body, Kate talked. “I’m working as fast as I can, Donald. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long, but I had to think of Della, too. We’re spiffing you up,” she said, sprinkling Johnson’s baby power on the frail, heaving chest. She quickly pulled on a freshly ironed undershirt and then struggled to get his limp arms through the sparkling white shirt with French cuffs. Her movements were sure, deft, as though she’d been practicing for this very thing. She removed the oversize diaper, washed him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Della reach for a diaper. “No!” The word exploded from her mouth like a gunshot. “He is not going to meet his son and daughter wearing a diaper. Get his shorts, Della, and get them now!”
The boxers shorts were crisp, freshly ironed, pale blue in color. Kate struggled with them and then with the trousers. “I need a belt,” she said, tucking the snowy white shirt into the waistband. She was huffing and puffing with her efforts. “Cuff links,” she said hoarsely. “Now the paisley tie. Damn you, Della, get the tie! Hurry up,” she cried. “Oh, God, I don’t know how to tie a tie! Donald likes Windsor knots.”
“I’ll do it,” Gus said, stepping forward. As he struggled with the tie, he could feel the tortured breaths of the man beneath him. His chest heaved, bucked with the effort to breathe without the oxygen mask.
The moment Gus was finished, he stepped aside. Kate straightened the points of the shirt collar, tugged at the jacket, buttoned the vest and then the jacket. Without having to be told, Gus pulled socks onto Donald’s crippled feet. His eyes were frantic when he searched the room for shoes, knowing it would be impossible to get them on his feet. He looked at Kate helplessly.
“He’s going in his stocking feet,” she said. “His son will be so glad to see him, he won’t look at his feet.”
The room grew so quiet, Kate looked around to see what had caused the sudden silence. Her own chest heaved in grief when she rea
lized Donald’s chest was still. “Good-bye, old friend,” she whispered. She turned and fell into Gus’s arms. “I kept my promise. It was all I could do for him. I hope he understands.... I bet he’s up there already ... walking around in his stocking feet. He’s probably showing Bobby his paisley tie and telling him how much it cost.”
“Della is—”
“Sit with her, Ellie. I have calls to make. The service is going to be this afternoon, if I can arrange it. Someone from the funeral home will be here as soon as I call Mr. Muldoon. Donald ... Donald picked out his own casket a year ago. He knew Della wouldn’t be able to do it. You should have seen him picking and choosing, punching at those pillows, fingering the satin coverlet. Della was at the dentist when I took him there. It was the worst hour of my life. He ... got a big kick out of it, took care of every last detail. He counted on me to ... to make sure Della did what he wanted, but I couldn’t—she wouldn’t listen. She thought if she took care of him, cleaned him and sat with him, it was all right to keep him alive even when it wasn’t what he wanted.” She straightened, blew her nose. “We should have coffee or tea or something. I need to call ... somebody and take all these things before we get back from the cemetery. I have a ... a list.”
“I could do that for you, Kate. What about the priest or minister?”
“Donald didn’t want anything religious at the end. He said he didn’t want anyone paving the way for him. God was either going to accept him on his own or reject him. He agreed to one prayer at the cemetery. Keep it short and sweet, he said.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know him better.”
“I’m sorry, too, Gus. He was a wonderful person. He could always make you feel better by saying just the right thing. Della is going to be lost without him.”
“Time ...” Gus said lamely.
“No. Della will grieve the rest of her life. I know her so well. She’ll do what Donald wanted, she’ll go back to Mexico, help some of the poor families, stay for a while, and then she’ll come back here and ... and wait till it’s time to join Donald. And who am I to say she shouldn’t do that?”
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