Secondly, they were critical of my choices; how could Katherine sit there and say otherwise? Weren’t they always saying I should be doing things differently … or not at all?
“You’ve been so wrapped up in your own little world,” Katherine said, “that you don’t have a clue what the rest of us go through with Mom. Like today. I come by to talk to you about Mom and you start interrogating me about Mr. Carlson. I already told you everything he said, and I don’t have anything to add. If I were you, I’d forget about Carlson.”
Katherine’s advice usually included the phrase, “If I were you,” which seemed a ridiculous qualifier to me, no matter who said it. If she were me, she’d do exactly what I was doing because she’d be me.
Her advice about Carlson aside, she was right. I was wrapped up in my own little world and had been ever since they’d all lied to me. I’d sort of decided that if they wanted to leave me out of the important things, like the life-changing decision about Granny, then they could just leave me out of everything. Why should I go around helping with the dirty work when I wasn’t getting any respect? It was all fine and good for Katherine to say I shouldn’t take things personally. Nobody was up in Katherine’s face.
But I was trying to get over my anger, mostly because I was afraid if I didn’t, I would go to Hell. The last time I’d attended church, the pastor had talked about forgiveness and how those who didn’t forgive wouldn’t go to Heaven. It would be just my luck that God would send me to Hell for not forgiving all the liars while the liars were kicking up their heels in Heaven.
Katherine ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. “Dad did everything for Mom, and since he’s been gone that has fallen to us. Oh, sure, Mom is always saying, ‘You don’t need to do that. I am perfectly capable of doing it myself,’ but believe me, she doesn’t mean it. For instance, if we don’t fill up her car with gas, she starts calling around to us, one after the other, in that breathless oh-what-am-I-going-to-do voice about how she needs to go here or there, but first she needs to get gas. That will go on for days until one of us offers to get the gas for her.”
“Well, what’s the problem? Doesn’t she know how to pump gas?” I was still a little confused on the whole thing, and yeah, I was feeling guilty, considering I’d never given any of this a thought. I knew Dad had done a lot for Mom. He’d always been a giver, and she’d always been a taker. But he’d been gone for three years now.
“The problem is she’s afraid. Afraid, Jane. Not just of pumping gas, but of everything. She’s afraid of her medication, she’s afraid of her shoes. Doorknobs, footballs. You name it.”
“Afraid of her shoes?” Medication, I could understand. The doorknob thing probably had to do with germs. And as for footballs, if one came flying at me, I’d be afraid of it too. Of course, I couldn’t imagine that a football had ever come flying at Mom, so maybe that was a joke. I knew she’d always been timid and that her timidity caused her stress. But afraid of her shoes? What did that mean?
“Afraid she’ll trip in her shoes. I’m telling you, she’s afraid of everything. And of course she’s never been able to confront anyone about anything, so if an item needs to go back to a store, one of us has to take it. If she thinks she was overcharged, one of us has to call about it. If the doctor prescribes something she doesn’t think she needs, one of us has to look into it. It’s enough to drive us bonkers. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still driving herself around, but you know how she loves to shop. I guess I’m mad because you aren’t helping out with Mom. There, I’ve said it.”
I was impressed. It wasn’t like Katherine to come right out and say what she thought, which only proved she was distracted. Not that I liked what she thought because it made me sound like a jerk.
“First of all, I don’t live near her like you do. And second, I have too been helping. I’m always the one who takes her to Walmart, aren’t I? You haven’t heard me complain about that, have you, even though she sticks me with the bill when I need my money to save my house?”
Katherine furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about? When did you take her to Walmart?”
“When haven’t I? I get stuck with it every time. Marci always has something else that comes up, something that has to do with Erin.”
“So you’ve been taking Marci’s turn for her. That doesn’t help out anyone but Marci.”
Ah, now I saw the problem. Pretty sneaky of Marci to come to me behind everyone’s back.
“Well, I didn’t know you all had divvied it up and that I was always taking Marci’s turn. It’s unfair of you to be angry at me when no one has even mentioned this before. That’s the problem with our family,” I said, becoming more and more self-righteous as the seconds passed. “No one ever comes right out and says anything. You think someone is misbehaving or not carrying her weight, you all just talk about her behind her back!”
“I’m giving you a chance to help out now. Mom needs to go to the bank tomorrow, and I have a meeting at work that I can’t reschedule. Hilary is still out of town on business, Nicole and Steve drove up to the cabin for the week, and Marci … well, Marci will have something urgent if I ask her to help.”
I had plenty of urgent things too, but I didn’t want to be lumped together with Marci. Marci was selfish and self-centered. That wasn’t me. I hoped.
I told Katherine I’d be glad to help out, so at least that was settled. It probably wouldn’t change anything as far as my relationships with my sisters went, but at least it would ease my guilt.
*****
By the time I started over to Mom’s the next day, I had it all figured out. Mom didn’t want to go to the bank alone because she was afraid of looking foolish. She was always so worried about what everyone would think, although she was constantly telling us otherwise. I was sure that was the reason she didn’t want to pump gas, and I was just as sure it was the reason she didn’t want to go to the bank by herself.
The solution was quite simple really, and I couldn’t understand why Katherine hadn’t thought of it. Once Mom knew what to do, she wouldn’t need anyone to do it for her. As I drove over to her apartment, I congratulated myself for thinking past the immediate problem, as my sisters never seemed to do. Not only would I take care of this task, but I would teach Mom how to do it, and no one would have to help her with it again.
Mom talked nonstop all the way to the car. “You really don’t need to help me with this,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of going to the bank by myself.”
For a split second I thought about calling her on that by saying, “Great! I’ll just leave you to it, then,” but I was afraid her fear of actually having to go to the bank herself might give her a heart attack. So I just kept insisting that I was happy to do it.
“It looks like a storm’s coming,” Mom said with a snicker as I buckled my belt. I pretended I didn’t hear. When I was fourteen, Mom used the excuse of an approaching storm as a reason not to let me do anything I wanted to do, and I’d always gotten mad, which had been her true intention. Now, more than fifteen years later, she didn’t remember any of the particulars surrounding those past situations, just that every time she mentioned a storm, I’d gotten mad. So she doggedly made the remark whenever the opportunity presented itself, determined to cause me whatever angst she could.
It worked. Not because I cared about approaching storms—I actually love thunderstorms as long as I’m safe inside. It just irked me that she wanted to make me mad.
As soon as I put the car in reverse to back out of the parking space, the fun began.
“Ooh!” said Mom.
She grabbed the dash in preparation for the whiplash she was about to get from my crazy driving. I was actually a cautious driver, but Mom didn’t share my opinion.
“What?” I asked, putting my foot on the brake.
“Nothing. I thought a car was coming straight at us.”
SUVs were parked on both sides of us, blocking our view. “You can’t even see any cars yet.”
�
��That’s what I mean. We can’t see, so there’s a good chance a car is coming straight at us. Whewie, whewie, whewie!”
“I’m pulling out as slowly as I can, Mom. Any approaching drivers will see that I’m backing out and stop. Either I do it this way or you get out and tell me when the coast is clear.”
She muttered something that sounded like “over my dead body.” I took my foot off the brake and eased us out. No one was killed.
As we approached the first light, Mom twisted to her right and fixated on the scene outside her window with such fascination that one might have thought Elvis Presley had appeared and was swaggering down the sidewalk. I knew Mom behaved this way because she couldn’t bear to watch what might happen at the intersection. Since Elvis wasn’t really there, she proceeded to take great interest in every sign within reading distance. Reading the signs aloud is Mom’s way of taking her mind off the worry that she might be killed in a fatal collision.
“Well, would you look at that,” she said in a tone just high enough to be called squeaky. “Ace Hardware. I wonder what that is.” I didn’t respond as I pulled through the intersection. She knew what Ace Hardware was.
“One way? What do you suppose that means?” was her next remark. “Pedestrian crossing. Whewie, whewie, whewie!”
I knew to keep my mouth shut. Getting into a conversation about the signs would only cause an escalation of nerves. Mine, most likely.
As we approached the bank, I asked her, “So, do you go inside for your transactions or do you use the automatic teller?” No matter what answer she gave, I was planning to segue into my look what I’m gonna do for you speech.
“I could get hit over the head using that ATM machine,” she said, shrinking back in her seat until she looked like a little old woman half her size. “Crooks stand around just waiting to rob people who use those.”
I rather doubted that crooks were standing around just waiting, since there were a zillion cameras recording their every move, but I decided not to say so in case Mom was afraid of cameras.
“I don’t want to go inside either. Crooks stand around just waiting for women to get out of their cars by themselves. Just drive through. That’s the way Katherine does it.”
I was sure Katherine did, but I doubted she ever explained to Mom what she was doing as she went along. That was all it would take. A little bit of explaining.
“I’m going to show you how to do this,” I said. “It’s really easy. There’s no reason you can’t do it yourself, once you know how.”
She gave me a doubtful look, but I didn’t let that deter me. I had psyched myself into feeling pretty good about helping Mom. I could see how Katherine could get hooked on this helping thing. The difference was that I wasn’t getting into the situation of helping her every week or even every month. I was going to help her this one time so that she could do it on her own and no one would ever have to help her again.
I powered down my window, reached over, and took the tube from the machine. “If you’re withdrawing money, you just put your check or withdrawal slip in here with your license,” I explained. “If you’re depositing, you put your money and deposit slip in here. They don’t need your license for deposits.”
I was stalling for time because I didn’t know how to open the tube. The one at my bank had a latch in the middle. This tube was completely smooth.
“Hmmm. I haven’t seen a tube like this before,” I finally said when I couldn’t figure it out.
“Whewie, whewie, whewie!” said Mom.
She was already nervous. I didn’t want to add to her anxiety by fumbling around like an idiot, so I pushed the Call button.
“See, there are two buttons here,” I told Mom. “Call and Send. You can always call them if you have a question about anything.” I was thinking my problem was fortuitous. Now Mom could see the whole shebang from start to finish, problems and all.
A woman’s pleasant voice said, “Good morning, how can I help you?”
I smiled at Mom as if to say, “See, they are all so helpful.” I asked the woman how to open the tube. I heard a nervous giggle come from Mom as the woman explained that I should twist the colored end of the tube to open it.
“No problem,” I said, making a show of twisting the tube for Mom. I put Mom’s check and her license into the tube, put the tube in the machine, and pushed Send while explaining to Mom what I was doing. A couple of minutes later the tube returned. I took the money out, counted it and handed the money, the bank transaction slip, and Mom’s license to her.
“See how easy that was?” It was too bad both my hands were busy closing the tube because I wanted to use one of them to pat myself on the back. If Katherine had only taken the time to show Mom how to do things instead of insisting on doing everything for her, Mom would be self-sufficient by now.
But that was Katherine for you. She was the family martyr, always making sure everyone knew all she had to go through to keep the family functioning. If Mom were self-sufficient, poor Katherine wouldn’t know what to do with herself.
“You can just pull up here and do all your business. You don’t have to worry about getting attacked on your way in or out of the bank. You don’t have to worry about stumbling and hurting yourself either,” I added, remembering that she was afraid of her shoes.
I stuck my arm out the window to return the tube to the receptacle, but hit a barrier. “What the heck?” I said before I could stop myself. I stared at the receptacle. There was no opening in which to place the tube. The clear plastic cover had slid closed.
“What is it?” Mom asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing,” I replied quickly. Very quickly. “I guess I took too long explaining everything and the cover closed.”
“Whewie, whewie, whewie!” she chanted. “You mean I have to do everything fast or they shut me out? Whewie, whewie, whewie!” The last whewie broke apart with what sounded like a touch of hysteria.
“No, that’s probably not it. The cover closes when you send something, so maybe I hit the Send button by mistake.” I knew I hadn’t, but I couldn’t account for the problem I was having. I pressed the Call button.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” asked the pleasant, helpful voice.
“Um, I was trying to return the tube, but I can’t put it in there. The plastic cover has closed.”
“What? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Could you repeat that, please?”
“The receptacle where I’m supposed to put the tube is shut. I can’t return the tube to you.”
“What do you mean ‘shut’? Just put the tube back in the machine.”
I sighed. Could she not understand plain English? How helpful was that? “That’s what I’m saying. There’s no way to do that.” For emphasis I thwacked the tube against the receptacle. “The plastic cover has slid closed, like it does when someone sends the tube to you.” Maybe it really was stuck. I pressed Send to see if it would unstick. Nothing happened.
“If you want to send the tube to me, you must first place the tube in the receptacle and then press Send,” said the pleasant, not so helpful voice.
“Whewie, whewie, whewie!” said Mom.
I glanced at her. She had leaned forward in her seat and was staring with eyes as big as saucers out my window at the machine. She might have been nervous, but she wasn’t going to miss a minute of this.
I shoved open my door and climbed out, tube in hand, planning to tap on the receptacle in full view of the teller so she could understand the problem.
“Please return to your vehicle,” said the teller in a voice that was a lot less pleasant than before. At some point she had left her chair, because now she was standing in front of the glass, her nose pressed against it. “It’s against the law to exit a vehicle in the drive-through. Please return to your vehicle immediately.”
The teller sitting beside her leapt to her feet in support of my teller. They were both glaring out the window at me. The people in the car beside us were staring b
ack and forth between me and the tellers with their mouths hanging open, as though they expected a shoot-out to begin.
“Get in before they arrest you!” Mom yelled. “Whewie! Whewie! Whewie! We’ve got my money. Let’s go!”
“I can’t just go,” I said as I slouched back into the car. “This is their property.”
“Drop it on the ground and go! That idiot lady isn’t going to help you!”
I could see a commotion going on behind the teller window. Now a security guard had joined the party of two. I figured the teller didn’t like being called an idiot.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” I said. “I’m just going to pull around to the front and take this stupid thing into the bank. The person behind me can deal with the mechanical problem.”
“Whewie! Whewie! Whewie!”
The tires squealed rubber as I pulled around to the front of the bank. Mom had braced for collision, so she was doing fine.
Just in case the security guard planned to meet me in the parking lot with gun drawn, I hot-footed it inside before he had a chance. I forced myself to act normal when what I really wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs. I mean, honestly, their stupid machine had ruined everything. I doubted that Mom would even want to accompany someone to the bank again, let alone go by herself. From now on she’d probably insist that we go for her, and I couldn’t blame her one bit.
The security guard stood halfway between the tellers and me, hand on gun. My instinct was to roll my eyes and tell him he looked like a frigging idiot, but I sauntered up to him with the tube in hand. “That machine had some kind of mechanical problem,” I said innocently as I handed the tube over. I couldn’t help adding, “You really should have it looked at. It could have caused an accident the way it slid closed unexpectedly like that. Really, it almost took off my hand.”
I spun on my heel and scudded toward the door when something caught my eye. Richard was the something. Richard and scumbag Mr. Carlson, that is. They were standing just inside an office doorway, grinning at each other like a couple of fools. I could see them through the glass window that made up the upper half of the wall.
Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series) Page 20