Sweet Tea Tuesdays

by Ashley Farley

“Looks like Mom may have overdosed on sleeping pills.” Lizbet jammed the key into the ignition. “I’ll take you home and come back.”

  “No you won’t, either. I’m going with you. Concussion or not, I’m worried about Mom, too. Besides, MUSC is right next door. It’s ridiculous for you to go out of your way to take me home.”

  “Whatever you say.” Lizbet was learning that arguing with her sister was like arguing with their mother. “Do you really think Mom would try to hurt herself?”

  Brooke struggled to buckle her seatbelt with her bandaged hands. “Considering the way she’s been acting and the things she’s been saying, I think there’s a very good chance she tried to hurt herself.”

  They arrived at MUSC as Lula’s ambulance was pulling up to the emergency room. They joined their father and followed the stretcher into the building. Two EMTs whisked Lula’s gurney into a cubicle and drew the curtains tight, shutting them out. A team of doctors and nurses in scrubs scurried in and out of the cubicle, ignoring their pleas for information. One Hispanic nurse that Lizbet recognized from their ER visit earlier in the week grew irritated with their questions and suggested they might be more comfortable in the waiting room. “It’s going to be a while. I promise we’ll come get you as soon as we know anything.”

  Lizbet aimed her thumb at Brooke. “My sister was mugged earlier tonight. She was just released from the ER at Roper, where they diagnosed her with a concussion. Is there any way we can hang out back here?” Her gaze traveled to the empty cubicle across the hall. “It doesn’t seem like you’re very busy tonight.”

  The nurse gave Brooke the once-over, noticing her bandaged hands and knees. “Oh my goodness, you poor thing. Your family is having a rough go of it.” She swept her arm in the direction of the empty cubicle. “By all means, make yourselves at home. But please, let us do our jobs. We will come to you once we have a better idea of what’s going on.”

  Brooke stretched out in the patient lounge chair and closed her eyes. Lizbet could tell she was in pain, but she would never complain. Not when their mother might be dying from an overdose across the hall.

  Lizbet and Phillip pulled up chairs next to Brooke. “I understand Mom is dealing with a lot right now, but committing suicide seems so drastic,” Lizbet said. “And out of character. Her faith is so strong.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Phillip said, his face etched in worry. “For all we know, this episode might be totally unrelated to the pills.”

  Lizbet fidgeted with her phone while Brooke dozed and Phillip sat with his elbows on his knees and his face planted in his hands, staring at the floor. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning before they were able to talk to the doctor—Dr. Hanson, the same one from the other day. Didn’t these people ever get time off?

  Phillip stood to face him. “Your wife is awake, but she’s still very groggy. I’m convinced she didn’t mean to harm herself. I believe she took a combination of narcotics and sleeping pills to relieve the pain she’s experiencing. She’s coping with a lot at the moment. This is all very new to her—not only the diagnosis but the pain and physical challenges. I’ve spoken to Dr. Murdaugh. He’s adjusting her medicine regimen. Sometimes it takes several tries before we find the right cocktail, if you will. I’m not going to admit her to the hospital, but I’d like to keep her here in the ER until morning for observation.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Phillip said, offering his hand. “That’s good news.”

  The doctor shook his hand and clapped his shoulder. “We’re still working on her, but you can see her soon.”

  Phillip waited for him to leave. “It’s gonna be a long night. Do you think anyone is still serving coffee around here?”

  “I don’t know, but I could use some, too,” Lizbet said. “I’ll go see if I can find us some.”

  Brooke stood and stretched. “Why don’t we all go? I would love some juice.”

  They walked the maze of halls to the waiting room and then followed the signs to the cafeteria, which was still open despite the late hour.

  “Dad, why don’t I stay here with Mom, and you take Brooke home?” Lizbet said while they waited to pay for their drinks—orange juice for Brooke and coffee for the other two.

  “I appreciate your offer, sweetheart, but I’d rather stay here.” He went to the condiment counter and dumped two regular sugars into his coffee. “We’ve all had a difficult evening. I know it’s late, but I’d like to talk to you girls a minute before you go.” With their choice of tables in the empty cafeteria, they chose one in the corner by the window.

  Brooke unscrewed her juice and took a sip. “I’m sorry, Dad. Everything that happened tonight is my fault.”

  “You’re the least to blame, sweetheart. And I mean that. You’ve been waiting on your mom hand and foot for days while I’ve been finding every excuse to stay out of the house.”

  Lizbet raised her hand. “I’m guilty, too, Dad. I’ve been having a hard time dealing with everything, so I chose not to deal with it. And I said some things to Mom today that I’m not very proud of.”

  “But that she probably needed to hear,” Phillip said with a sad smile. “We’re learning as we go. Your mother needs someone with her at all times. We learned that much from what happened tonight. But we can’t expect Brooke to be that someone. We need to work together and come up with a schedule. If we divide up the housework and take turns sitting with your mother, we’ll still have time for our professional lives.”

  Her father worked hard as an accountant to support them, but her mother had always been the one in charge at home. Lizbet was relieved to see him taking control. “I agree, and I’ve decided to move back home for a while, for as long as you need me.”

  “That would be nice, Lizzy. Thank you. Thank both of you.” His eyes settled on Brooke. “I know this has been especially hard on you.”

  Her sister turned away. “I let Mom get the best of me tonight. I promise to do better in the future.”

  “You’re doing just fine.” Phillip offered her hand a squeeze. “We have a tough road ahead of us. The worst is yet to come. Part of working together means being there for one another. We’ve all come to terms with your mother’s prognosis by now. Her dying will either tear us apart or bring us closer together. It’s up to us to decide how it goes.” He removed a slip of paper from his pocket. “There will come a time, probably sooner than later, when the three of us won’t be able to handle your mother’s care on our own. That’s why, first thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to contact the nurse Midge recommended and request a consultation.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Lula

  Lula knew something had changed the minute she woke up. She felt better than she had in days. Definitely sluggish, but the intolerable throbbing in her head had lessened to a dull ache. She blinked open her eyes. The hospital. What on earth was she doing back here? Crawling up the stairs to bed was the last thing she remembered. And the pain. The god-awful pain. She noticed Phillip sitting in the chair beside her bed, slumped over and snoring softly. He would have a stiff neck when he woke up. Why wasn’t he at the hospital with Brooke? Oh my God! Brooke! Lizbet had called to say she’d been attacked. What in the devil was going on?

  His chair was too far away for her to nudge him awake. “Phillip, wake up,” she said in a soft voice. When he didn’t budge, she kept calling, her voice growing louder and louder, until he finally stirred.

  “Where is Brooke? Is she okay? I don’t understand why I’m back in the hospital. I’m so confused.” She choked back tears.

  He sat up in his chair, wiping the stream of drool from his mouth and rubbing his neck. “Calm down, honey. Brooke was mugged, but she is fine. She made a wrong turn and ended up in a bad neighborhood. She has a concussion and scraped-up knees and hands, but she’s going to be fine. She’s at home with Lizbet.”

  Lula grabbed a fistful of blanket. “Good Lord. She’s lucky she wasn’t raped or killed. It was all my fault. I drove her out o
f the house with my nasty attitude.” What had Midge called her? A shrew.

  “I talked with the girls last night before they went home. We agreed to stop blaming ourselves and start acting like a family again. Do you think you can do that?”

  Could she? She honestly didn’t know. But she needed to change her behavior unless she wanted her family and friends to remember her as a shrew after she was gone. She imagined her beloved Reverend Earnest Moore, who had presided over the congregation at the Episcopal church she’d attended all her life, conducting her graveside service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to lay Lula Horne, known to us as the shrew, in her final resting place.”

  Lula blotted her tears with the bedsheet. “I don’t know, Phillip. But I’m willing to try. I feel a lot better. I know that much. Why am I in the hospital?”

  He stood up and approached the bed. “You overdosed on painkillers and sleeping pills. Do you remember taking them?”

  She thought of the painkillers on the kitchen counter and the sleeping pills beside her bed. “I didn’t overdose on purpose, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m living in hell, no doubt about it, but I would never kill myself. Only the good Lord can decide when it’s my time to go.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed it against his lips. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  “If I overdosed, I don’t understand why I feel better today and not worse.”

  “Because the doctors adjusted your meds,” he said, still gripping her hand. “According to Hanson, it can take several attempts before they get the cocktail just right.”

  She grunted. “Some cocktail. I’d rather have a vodka gimlet, but I’m in no position to complain.” She looked up at her husband, her green eyes pleading. “I don’t want to stay here. Please tell me they aren’t admitting me.”

  “They’re not planning to keep you. At least they weren’t the last time I spoke to the doctor. Let me go see if I can find him.” He set her hand down gently on the bed and went in search of the doctor.

  It took thirty minutes to locate Hanson, who, after a brief examination, declared Lula fit to go home and signed her release papers.

  “Let me call one of the girls to bring you some clothes,” Phillip said.

  “I don’t want to wait that long.” She was so relieved to be getting out of the hospital, she didn’t think twice about parading through the waiting room in her housecoat.

  #

  “I don’t want to upset you,” Phillip said once they were on their way home, “but hear me out before you say anything. I called the retired nurse Midge recommended. She’s stopping by the house in an hour. We don’t have to hire her right away, but I see no reason not to at least talk to her.”

  She couldn’t stop her body from breaking down on her. She would rather a professional help bathe her and tend to her bodily functions than her family. “I’m all for finding someone to help out, but can we agree to agree on who we hire?”

  “That’s fair. If we don’t like this woman, we’ll keep looking.”

  One meeting with Gladys Guzman and they knew they would look no further. Lula wondered about her age. While Gladys’s hair was gray, her skin was relatively unlined. She wore nondescript clothes—navy slacks, a white knit tee, and a red cotton sweater despite the heat—but the tapestry valise slung over her shoulder was identical to one Lula’s grandmother had carried. Lula would come to know that valise as Gladys’s bag of tricks—full of games and herbal remedies and lavender-scented oils.

  Lula gave Phillip the nod, and he hired her on the spot. “When can you start?”

  “Today, if you’d like. I have three other patients I’m tending to at the moment. If it suits you, I’ll come a couple of hours every day for now. We’ll increase that time as needed.” Gladys rubbed Lula’s hand. “What say we have a bath? I bet you’d like to rinse off those hospital germs.” Her pale-blue eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed glasses.

  We? Was Gladys planning to bathe with her?

  “That would be lovely. I must look a sight,” Lula said, patting her matted, greasy hair and running her hands down her soiled housecoat.

  Gladys gripped Lula’s arm with surprising strength as they climbed the stairs, tiptoeing to avoid waking the girls, who were still sleeping after their late night in the hospital. They passed through the master bedroom to the en suite bath.

  Gladys opened cabinets and drawers until she found everything she needed. “You had quite an ordeal last night. Do you have the strength for a shower, or would you like to soak in a warm tub?”

  “I haven’t taken a tub bath in years,” Lula said, lowering herself to the edge of the bathtub.

  “Then you must have one today.” Gladys rummaged through her valise and pulled out a brown glass vial with a medicine dropper. “Wait until you experience my homemade lavender oil.”

  The nurse left Lula soaking in the tub and went in search of a clean gown and robe for her to put on. When the water began to cool, she washed and rinsed Lula’s hair with clean, warm water and wrapped a towel around her as she stepped from the tub. After she helped Lula into her gown, Gladys dragged in a chair from the bedroom and instructed Lula to sit down while she dried her hair. To Lula’s delight, Gladys styled her hair with the curling brush better than any stylist she’d ever visited.

  “What now?” Gladys asked when she was finished with Lula’s hair. “Would you like to get in bed or go downstairs?”

  Lula eyed the bed, noticing that Gladys had changed the sheets while she was in the tub. “I think I’ll rest for a spell.”

  After tucking her in, Gladys retrieved the chair from the bathroom and pulled it up close to the bed. She dug in her valise and removed two hardback books. “What will it be: Nora Roberts or Dot Frank?”

  Lula narrowed her eyes as she examined the covers. “Are those new releases?”

  “Hot off the press.”

  “Hmm, this is a tough choice.” Lula took the Frank book from her and read the synopsis on the back. “Let’s start with this one.”

  Gladys’s soothing voice drew her into the story from the first sentence. Lula closed her eyes and listened as the plot began to unfold. When Phillip entered the room sometime later, she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as she eavesdropped on their conversation.

  “She seems to like you,” Phillip said. “My wife can be difficult at times.”

  “We’re getting along just fine so far,” Gladys said. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I can handle difficult. In fact, I appreciate a spunky personality.”

  The book snapped shut, and Gladys’s tone grew serious. “At some point you’ll need to address the second-floor bedroom situation. When the time comes, you might consider renting a hospital bed and outfitting one of the rooms downstairs. If you set her up in your Florida room, she could look out over her lovely garden.”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” Phillip said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Lula was tempted to open her eyes, to stop them from talking about her impending death, but she was too intrigued by the discussion to interrupt.

  “You’ll want to call in hospice,” Gladys said. “Might as well go ahead and put that piece of the puzzle in place. Even if they come only once a week right now, they’ll be familiar with the patient and her surroundings, which will make the process more efficient when the time comes.”

  “How do I go about that?” Phillip asked. “Do I just Google ‘hospice’?”

  Gladys snickered. “No, honey. Talk to your doctor. He has to write the orders anyway. There are several programs in the area. He can tell you which one he recommends.”

  Lula heard a rustling sound which she assumed was Gladys gathering her things.

  “We should probably let her get some rest. I need to get to my next patient anyway.” Gladys’s voice faded as she moved away from the bed. “You have my number. Feel free to call me anytime, night or day, if you need anything.”

  Lula rolled over on her side.
So she was still dying after all. She’d hoped the lessening of pain meant an improvement in her health. A tear slid down her cheek, followed by a cascade of them. She planted her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs and cried herself to sleep.

  #

  Lula sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of feet pounding the stairs and tromping down the hall. Lizbet and Brooke came to an abrupt halt in her doorway.

  “You’re awake!” Lizbet said when she saw Lula staring at them.

  “How can anyone sleep with the two of you carrying on like a herd of buffalo on the Serengeti?” She flashed them a smile to make up for the irritation in her voice and then moved to the middle of the bed so the girls could climb in with her. She ran her fingers through Brooke’s cropped blonde hair. “How’re you feeling, you poor girl?” She missed her long locks, but she had to admit the short style complemented her features. She looked more mature and seemed more sure of herself than ever before. Was Sawyer responsible for her radiant glow? Lula had been so disturbed by the idea of her daughter being gay, she’d failed to see what a lovely young woman her daughter had become.

  Brooke snuggled in closer. “I have a bad headache, which I know you can relate to, and my hands and knees sting a little. But I’m lucky. It could’ve been so much worse.”

  “My headache is better than it’s been in days.” She scratched Brooke’s head with one hand and wrapped her opposite arm around her youngest. “What about you, Lizbet? How’s your head?”

  “My head is not my problem. My stomach is my problem.” Lizbet placed her hand on her tummy. “It’s growling. Can’t you hear it? I’m starving.”

  “Speaking of food,” Brooke began. Lula saw love in her hazel eyes when Brooke looked up at her. “You won’t believe all the food Heidi sent over. Are you ready for lunch?”

  Lula kicked back the covers. “I could eat a bite. Let’s go downstairs. I’m tired of lying in this bed.”

  She descended the stairs slowly, with one daughter on each side holding tight to her arms. Lula sat at the table while Lizbet and Brooke spooned an assortment of cold salads from plastic containers onto three plates.