The Summer of Mrs. MacGregor

by Betty R. Wright

  “Now, don’t you go blabbin’ about this,” the old man roared, as if he’d been reading her mind. “I won’t have it, you hear? Anybody can slip once ’n a while.…” He looked at her slyly. “You tell people about this, and they’re goin’ to clap me in a nursin’ home so fast it’ll make your head spin. Then you won’t have a job anymore, and you won’t go on that trip you told me about.”

  Caroline flinched, and Mr. Jameson looked triumphant. “Go on home now,” he ordered. “Take that blasted thing”—he pointed at the walker—“take that with you.”

  Caroline carried the walker back to the living room. She considered making lunch, whether he wanted it or not. Better not to, she decided. He was angry, and he wasn’t likely to calm down as long as she was there.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called in a low voice and hurried out before he could tell her not to bother.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. At home, while she changed the beds and did the laundry, she pictured Mr. Jameson lurching around his little house. In the late afternoon, frying bacon and chopping onion to add to the baked beans, she kept seeing him on the floor of his bedroom. What if he’d struck his head when he fell? What if she hadn’t gone to work today and he’d had to lie there until the housekeeper came to make his evening meal?

  When the beans were in the oven, she went to her bedroom. The blue rocker looked just right in the new little family room. The walls of the room were covered with a sticky-backed paper that looked like wood paneling. The woven blue rug set off the rocking chair perfectly. Caroline wound a little ball of yellow yarn and stuck a pair of toothpick needles through it. She dropped the ball on the rocker, as if the knitter had just gotten up and left it there. Opposite the chair was a pine table “borrowed” from one of the first rooms she’d constructed. There were postage-stamp-sized pictures on the walls, and the dainty lace curtains were cut from an old blouse of her mother’s. A nutshell vase was filled with dainty dried flowers.

  She examined the room critically, looking for something else she could do to improve it. Something to keep her busy so she didn’t have to think.… She winced, imagining a tiny Mr. Jameson lying face down on the blue rug.

  She made up her mind. Joe would have to be told about the fall. Telling was the right thing to do, and she’d promised herself to be a better person. Almost certainly, Joe would say Mr. Jameson mustn’t live alone anymore. Almost certainly, he would tell the nurse who came every day, and she would make Mr. Jameson move to a nursing home.

  The job would be over.

  There were now seventy-five dollars in Caroline’s bank account. She’d used some of the money she’d earned to buy furniture kits and rolls of dollhouse wallpaper. With another month before school started, she’d assumed she’d have plenty of time to bring her savings up to one hundred dollars.

  That’s not what matters, Caroline. She pictured the words typed on Eleanor’s neat gray stationery. What matters is Mr. Jameson.

  She returned to the kitchen and took the ground beef from the refrigerator. She would tell Joe at supper, she decided. She would do the right thing, even if it meant giving up the trip to England.

  The baked beans were delicious, the flavors nicely blended by an hour of slow cooking. “Just as good as your mother’s,” Joe said with determined enthusiasm. His glance flicked to the chair where Mrs. Cabot always sat. “Wonder what they’re having for dinner tonight,” he said. There was no need to explain whom he meant by “they.”

  Almost as if the look had been a signal, the telephone rang. Joe dropped his hamburger on his plate and jumped up. He was halfway down the hall to the phone before the second ring.

  Caroline waited until a hearty “Hi there!” told her who it was. Then she hurried to Linda’s bedroom and picked up the white phone next to the bed.

  “Mom?”

  “Darlings!” Mrs. Cabot sounded excited. “Guess what! Great news—we’re coming home!”

  “You aren’t!” Joe was afraid to believe it. “I thought you’d be there all summer. I thought—” He stopped, overwhelmed.

  “That’s great, Mom.” The pink and white bedroom was suddenly full of Linda’s presence. They would be able to talk; she’d tell Linda all about Lillina and Eleanor, about Mr. Jameson, about Dwight Lloyd Boynton—maybe even about the trip to England, now that it was no longer going to happen.

  “How’s Linda?” Joe demanded. “Is she really well enough to come home?”

  “Well, she’s better.” A shadow touched Mrs. Cabot’s voice, and Caroline gripped the phone so tightly her hand tingled. “A little better, anyway. Her doctor says she’s gone as far as she can go with the treatment. I’m sure you’ll see some improvement,” she added quickly. “We’re both so anxious to get back … aren’t we, dear?”

  Linda’s soft voice murmured in the background. For a moment they were all silent, aware of what was not being said. Caroline remembered her sister’s despair at the thought of going to a hospital again. She hadn’t expected the treatment to help, and it hadn’t. Not much, anyway.

  “… this weekend,” Mrs. Cabot was saying in response to Joe’s question. She would call with the flight number and arrival time later.

  “We’ll be waiting,” Joe said. “Boy, will we be waiting!” They all laughed, relieved that a painful moment had passed. There was a flurry of good-byes.

  When her mother had hung up, Caroline sat on the edge of the bed and tried to make herself believe that this lonely time was nearly over. She stared at herself in the dressing-table mirror, wondering what her mother and Linda would say about the haircut.

  Joe appeared in the doorway. “Good news, huh?” He looked younger, straighter. “At least they’ll be home where they belong.” He glanced around the room, his jaw set against the knowledge that Linda would soon be back in her beautiful pink bed, no better off than before. “You know what I want to do to celebrate? I want to go over to the mall and look for one of those screened-in rooms for the backyard. You know, the Millikans have one.”

  “A gazebo?”

  “Yeah, a gazebo.” He repeated the word with enthusiasm. “Linda is going to need some good fresh air—she’s had nothing but hospital smells for weeks. She can lie out there as long as the warm weather lasts and read or sleep or whatever.” He paused. “What do you think? If we go right now, the stores will still be open.”

  “What about dinner?” Caroline guessed she sounded like a wet blanket, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Who’s hungry?” Joe’s grin broadened, and Caroline thought of Dwight Lloyd Boynton’s advice: Be joyous! Joe was joyous. His joy spilled into the air around him, filling the whole house. Even the fact that Linda was still sick couldn’t dim his relief, now that they were coming home.

  “I’ll put the food in the refrigerator,” she said. “Maybe later …” As if they would eat warmed-over hamburgers and baked beans when they came home. It didn’t matter, she told herself. The forgotten movie didn’t matter either. Joe was right. The important thing was that they would soon be a family again.

  The gazebo was found—to be assembled by the buyer—paid for, delivery arranged, and they were on their way home again before Caroline realized she hadn’t told Joe about Mr. Jameson’s fall. She brushed the thought away. Why spoil Joe’s happiness by telling him someone else’s problems?

  But in bed that night she admitted to herself the real reason she had decided not to tell. If life was going to be just the same as it had been before Linda went away, she couldn’t risk losing the trip to England. It was too much to ask. If she didn’t have that to look forward to, she might turn into an invisible person again.

  Chapter 14

  It was easy enough to pretend that the fall hadn’t happened. Mr. Jameson never mentioned it, and the walker stayed in the corner of the living room where Caroline had left it. If he used it when the nurse was there, he returned it to the corner when she left.

  The first day after the fall he asked Caroli
ne to help him sort through the contents of a clothes closet, and he had her pack away some trousers and sweaters he didn’t wear anymore. The day after that they answered Jean’s letter, without mentioning Mr. Jameson’s health.

  He’s scared, Caroline guessed. He was often quiet and didn’t scold as much as usual; it was as if he were saving his strength for the effort it took to walk.

  Caroline could hardly bear to watch him. As he moved about the house, he hesitated for long periods, clinging to door frames and chair backs as if he didn’t dare let go. As long as he wasn’t hurt, maybe it’s a good thing he fell. Now he’s being more careful, so it won’t happen again. The words sounded empty and wrong, but Caroline kept repeating them to herself.

  The whole week was a strange one. She called Lillina to tell her Linda would be home soon, and Mrs. Reston said she was very glad to hear it but refused to call Lillina to the phone. “She has her work to do,” Mrs. Reston said. She sounded disapproving. “I’ll tell her you called, dear. It’s good of you to be interested.”

  What does she mean by that? Caroline was still puzzling over the call when Joe came home from work. He had stopped at a hardware store to buy some bolts he would need to assemble Linda’s gazebo. When he saw Caroline, he dropped his package on the kitchen table and shook his head teasingly.

  “Good thing your mother’s coming home,” he said. “I never thought I’d have to worry about the company you keep. It’s not easy being a father.”

  Caroline frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw Charlie Reston at the hardware store just now, and he says they’re having all kinds of trouble with that redheaded friend of yours.”

  Caroline heard again the note of disapproval in Mrs. Reston’s voice. “What kind of trouble?”

  Joe poured himself a glass of water. “Charlie didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. It’s none of my business, after all. I told him he was looking pretty solemn, and he said he had a lot to be solemn about. And then he said the girl was giving them problems.” He narrowed his eyes at Caroline. “No need to get lathered, Carrie. Whatever it is, it’s her worry, not yours.”

  Caroline turned away from him. He didn’t care if Lillina was in trouble, as long as her trouble didn’t touch the Cabots. He didn’t care about anything except the homecoming.

  “Lillina’s my friend,” she snapped. “The Restons don’t understand her, that’s all. She’s too smart for them.”

  “I doubt that.” Joe picked up the package of bolts. “I’m not kidding when I say I’m glad your mother is coming home. There’s something wrong with that girl, and I don’t think you should see so much of her. In the first place, she’s too old for you. And in the second place, she’s just plain bad news, as far as I’m concerned. She’s a phony!”

  Caroline clenched her fists. How could he say such things after meeting Lillina only once!

  “You’re different since she’s been here,” he went on, almost as if he were talking to himself. “You act different and you look different—”

  “I thought you liked my haircut. You said—”

  “I do like it. That’s not the point. The point is, you’re changing.” He grinned at her, almost apologetically. “Maybe that’s Lillina’s doing, maybe not. I’ll just be glad when your mother’s back. You know, you’ve always been the one we didn’t have to worry about. You’ve always been good old Caroline.…”

  “But that’s awful!” She whirled away from Joe’s astonished expression and rushed out of the kitchen. Good old Caroline, indeed! Well, she was glad she was changing. She was sick of the old Caroline, the one no one worried about.

  She stayed in her bedroom until she heard Joe go out to the backyard. The gazebo had been delivered in five huge cartons that were spread out on the lawn. They would keep him busy for a long time. Caroline wandered around the house, her thoughts racing from Lillina to Mr. Jameson to Linda—and to herself, the changed Caroline.

  After a very quiet dinner, Joe settled in the living room with the newspaper and Caroline went out to the front steps. Storm clouds were piling up above the rooftops of Grand River. A lamp burned in Mr. Jameson’s living room, and she could see the silver-blue glow of his television screen. As she watched, his tall silhouette lurched across the room, and then the light went on in the bathroom.

  The threatening sky suited Caroline’s mood. She felt restless, uneasy, lonesome. It was a relief when Lillina appeared around the side of the house. She wore black shorts and a top, with a black scarf hiding the shining hair. Her feet were bare, and her long arms and legs gleamed in the dark. She looked up and down the road quickly, then sat on the top step next to Caroline.

  “What’s wrong? Why did you come through the backyards? Did you finish your work?”

  Lillina ignored the questions. “I have news! Marvelous news!” The gravelly voice was even more husky than usual, and the brown eyes glittered. “It’s so exciting, Caroline!”

  “What is?” Lillina certainly didn’t sound like a person who was having problems.

  “I’m going home, dear. Right away! I had a letter from Frederick, and he wants me to come at once. There are things about the house that he doesn’t want to decide by himself. And besides, he misses me terribly.… Not only that, Caroline. In the very same mail, I had a letter from the Jill Compton Modeling Agency, and they want me to come in for an interview right away. Isn’t that just fantastic?”

  “What about your mother and dad?” Caroline asked. “Didn’t you promise them you’d stay here all summer?” This must be the problem Mr. Reston had meant: Lillina wanted to go home sooner than originally planned. And she had an appointment with a big, important modeling agency. The Restons would think that was a problem, too.

  “My parents will understand.” Lillina fluttered her fingers, a dismissing gesture. “They’ll see that I have to get on with my life.”

  Get on with my life. Caroline said the words over to herself. She liked the way they sounded. Maybe, she thought, that was what was happening to her this summer. She wasn’t just changing; she was getting on with her life.

  “When are you going?”

  Lillina pointed one foot like a ballerina. “In the next few days—I’m not quite sure when. But we’ll keep in touch, Caroline. I’ll have so much to tell you. I’ll want to hear what you’re doing, of course, and how your sister is—”

  “She’s coming home!” Caroline had almost forgotten to tell her own good news. “She and my mom will be here sometime this weekend.”

  Lillina threw her arms around Caroline and hugged her. “That’s wonderful, dear. Is she cured?”

  “No. She might be a little bit better, though. Joe’s building a gazebo for her in the backyard.”

  “I saw it.” Lillina looked thoughtful. “What does he say about your trip to England?”

  Caroline squirmed. “I haven’t talked to him about it yet,” she admitted. “He and my mom know Jeannie invited me, and they know Grandma said she’d buy the airplane ticket, but I think they’ve forgotten all that by now.”

  “Remind them,” Lillina said promptly. “If it was Eleanor, she’d want to get the date settled as soon as possible.”

  Caroline knew that was true. Eleanor was the kind of person who would speak up when she had something on her mind; she wouldn’t keep putting it off. By this time, she would have told Joe she had almost enough money saved for the trip to England. She would have told him that Mr. Jameson had fallen because he was too stubborn and too proud to use a walker. Mr. Jameson … had been in the bathroom a very long time! Caroline’s stomach churned as she realized how long that light had been on. He couldn’t be taking a shower; he did that in the morning when the visiting nurse was there.

  She jumped up. “I have to go across the street for a minute,” she said. “I have to make sure Mr. Jameson is okay.” She dashed across Barker Road, her heart thumping, and was fumbling with Mr. Jameson’s front door before she realized Lillina was beside her.

  “He’ll be
angry if there’s nothing wrong,” Caroline warned as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. “He hates having people worry about him.…”

  Lillina retreated. “Then maybe we shouldn’t bother him. What makes you think—”

  Caroline moved farther inside. Mr. Jameson was her job. In a totally unexpected way he was even, she realized suddenly, her friend. Friends had a right to check on each other.

  “You can stay here if you want to,” she said. “I’m going to knock on the bathroom door and ask him if he’s all right.”

  As soon as she turned from the living room into the hall, she knew the answer to her question. The bathroom door was open. Two trousered legs extended from the bathroom halfway across the hall carpet.

  “Mr. Jameson?” Her throat ached with the effort it took to say his name.

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 15

  “Is he dead?”

  Lillina peered into the bathroom. She looked as if she were about to faint.

  Caroline knelt beside Mr. Jameson and pressed a finger to his throat, the way she’d seen doctors do on television. The skin was papery, cool but not cold. A pulse flickered under her touch.

  “No,” she said in a strangled voice. “But there’s blood on his forehead and on the floor.” She bent close to the old man’s bristly gray-white face. “Mr. Jameson? Can you hear me? What happened?”

  He didn’t move. She became aware of harsh, shallow breaths that gradually grew louder, like snores.

  “Call an ambulance, quick.” She looked over her shoulder at Lillina, who hovered in the hall like a tall marsh bird ready for flight.

  “I—I can’t.” Lillina stared down at Mr. Jameson. “I don’t know who to call. You do it, Caroline.”

  “The operator! Just tell the operator!” Caroline paused, forcing herself to think. “No, wait. The visiting nurse taped an emergency number to the telephone. Call that. The phone is in the kitchen.”