by Rhett DeVane
“How you figure that, Ma-Mae?”
“The mudslides triggered it.”
“Mudslides.”
“Yep.” Mae nodded once. “All that soggy earth out there slipping and sliding around has stirred up evil bugs. That new woman brought those mudslide cold germs to Florida.”
Amazing, how events across the country could have such a debilitating effect. “I see.”
Forgetting the one tucked in her sleeve, Mae dug in her pocket for a clean cloth hankie—white linen with dainty pink crocheted edges—and blew her nose. The noise reminded Hannah of the gaggle of Canada geese that had honked its way across Lake Seminole a couple of days prior. The dirty clothes hamper no doubt held a mound of sticky handkerchiefs.
Mae gestured with a wave of the cloth. “Bless her heart. That lawyer son of hers flew her in and stayed put long enough to check her in here. He tore out the next morning on the first plane! Good thing she has another son over in Tallahassee.”
“Sounds like you’ve made friends with her.”
Mae coughed several times before answering. “Passable. She was a teacher. English.”
A retired teacher like her mother. Another potential new best friend. Part of the great cosmic order of instructors.
Hannah jumped up and removed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator in one corner. “Here, drink this. Good for your kidneys and it will help your dry throat.”
Mae took two small sips and set the bottle aside. So much for hydration.
Hannah said, “You have something in common. That’s good.”
“She ain’t got good sense anymore. Can barely pour piss from a boot. Even the Angel of Lost Things couldn’t find that woman’s mind. Poor thing. I had to help her to her room twice yesterday. There she is—a Ph.D. doctor, mind you—and she can’t even so much as find the way down the hall. She’s just plain cathead crazy.”
Cathead crazy: the Mathis family’s phrase for having less than a brain. Coined from her brother Hal’s childhood reaction to the homemade Southern biscuits Mae cooked every Sunday for breakfast—made with lard, big as a cat’s head. Hal would spin and giggle and act like he’d lost his last marble until they came from the oven, piping hot and ready for butter and honey.
Mae leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “Age is the great equalizer, you know.”
“Those new?” Hannah pointed to her sister-in-law’s red bejeweled flats.
Suzanne grinned. “Not T-totally. I got them at Shoe World over in Tallahassee, end of the season last year. Just haven’t worn them much.”
Hannah refilled her favorite pottery mug and joined her sister-in-law at the kitchen table. Her cup’s rim had chips in two places and the inside held ghosts from coffee and tea past, but she would throttle the fool who tried to shuffle it to the garbage. Milk-rings from the morning’s cereal bowls created abstract tabletop artwork. Hannah sighed and grabbed a wet dishcloth. Good thing coffee existed, or she’d have to kill one of her kids. “How many pairs are you up to now, fifty?”
Suzanne’s giggle typified the expression infectious laughter. No matter how tired and stressed Hannah felt, her brother’s second wife could always lift her spirits. Why couldn’t she share the same closeness with Helen? If her sister lived in town, maybe things would be different. Maybe not.
“Sixty or so, unless you add the boots. Then it’s closer to seventy. But who’s counting? Your brother has three pair: black, brown, and those God-awful, rat-hole-infested, worn-slap-out sneakers.”
The kitchen timer trilled and Hannah rose to remove a baking sheet of cinnamon rolls from the oven. She squeezed a packet of glaze over the crowns and spread it with a knife.
“Look at you, Miss Dolly Homemaker. I’m impressed.”
Hannah licked a stray glob of icing from one of her fingers. “Don’t be. I popped these from a can. Who has time to make anything from scratch?”
“I get mine from Joe Fletcher’s little bakery uptown. He makes them better than I ever could.” Suzanne dug in her purse, then studied her reflection in a compact mirror. “Lord have mercy! I’ve got to get by the Triple C Salon and have Melody to wax my brows. I’m beginning to look like a Cro-Mag-Nonnie.” She snapped the lid shut. “How’s your mama? I need to get by to see her this week.”
Hannah placed a stack of napkins and a heaping platter of frosted cinnamon rolls on the table. She bit into one and groaned. Comfort food had to be the best balm for a sore, worn-out spirit. “Depends on which day you ask. She still has that cold, and now we’re treating a kidney infection. Her cough’s pretty bad and that’s worrisome. Last spring, she ended up with bronchitis. Everything seems to go straight to her lungs.”
The scent of warm sugar and cinnamon drifted through the small kitchen. Hannah flashed back to childhood when her mother stirred up confections from scratch and let her lick the raw batter from the beaters afterwards. Never a thought of salmonella.
“If it ain’t one thing, it’s twenty-five. My mama’s the same way.” Suzanne studied Hannah for a moment as she chewed. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” Hannah tapped the end of her nose three times, a gesture she and Suzanne shared as a private joke. Touch it to see if it grows because I am lying, lying, lying.
Justine bounded into the kitchen, snatched an apple from the wooden bowl on the island counter, and darted toward the door, a blur of long yellow hair and pink chenille. Regardless of her mother’s admonition over showing skin, a sliver of Justine’s midsection flashed above tight blue jeans. “Bye Mom, Auntie Suzanne!”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Hannah called after her daughter. “Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”
Justine paused in mid-dash. “Brittany’s. Huge bio quiz Monday.”
“And dinner?”
Justine idled in place, an impatient teenager with more important places to be. “Probably grab a burger uptown at Mr. Bill’s.”
“Be home before ten,” Hannah said. “And keep your cell phone turned on.”
“Yeah, what—ever.” Justine threw the parting comment over her shoulder like a discarded fast food bag and slammed the door on her way out.
Suzanne dabbed frosting from her lips. “See she got the belly ring.”
“Have to choose my battles, Sis. If not, we’d scratch each other’s eyes out. Some days I swear, if I hear whatever one more time, I’ll yank my hair out by the roots.”
Suzanne waved one hand dismissively. “Makes me glad I had boys. Then again, there’s no such animal as an easy teenager. That any of us make it through without our parents choking the life from us is a miracle.”
“It was either that navel piercing or a tattoo. I have Ma-Mae to thank for helping me out on that front.”
“Really?” Suzanne’s perfectly arched brows shot upward.
Her sister-in-law’s petite features were almost too perky—naturally curly blonde hair framing pale blue eyes, a button nose, impish smile. If Hannah didn’t adore her, she would’ve been terminally jealous.
Hannah bit into a still-warm roll. Glazed sugar icing formed a ring around her lips. “Ma-Mae told her, at least a little hole in her navel could grow over if she got to the point she didn’t like it anymore. Then Ma-Mae described in detail some of the tattoos she’d seen on her elderly cronies, amidst age spots and rolls of muscle gone to fat. Justine came away from that little grandmotherly-love talk with a profound distaste for permanent body art.”
Suzanne laughed. “My mother-in-law surely knows how to put a spin on things.”
“When she takes a mind to, yes.”
Chapter Two
The call came as Hannah eased into a chest-deep, hot bubble bath. The kids were at friends’ houses for the evening and Norman was playing poker with his work cronies. An unread novel—one she had looked forward to starting for over two months—rested on a padded vanity stool beside the cordless phone.
“Hannah Olsen?” a female voice asked when she answered on the second ring.
“This is Lora Strong at Rosemont.”
“Don’t you usually work weekdays?”
“I do. We have three people out with the cold that’s going around.” The nurse cleared her throat. “About your mother—”
“Yes?” Hannah stepped from the tub, trailing water onto the ceramic tile and fuzzy blue bath mat. The beat of her heart thumped in her ears.
“Miz Mae called me down to her room a few minutes ago,” the nurse continued. “She’s having great difficulty breathing and her temperature’s hovering around a hundred degrees. I advise sending her to the hospital.”
Hannah felt an immediate rush of adrenaline, plus the requisite sting of stomach acid. Several thoughts collected at the gate like frightened cattle awaiting slaughter: God, what now? Is this it, the start of the last lap? Ma-Mae, I love you, you know I do.
She grabbed the first towel handy, frowned at its rank odor, then threw it into the dirty clothes hamper. Honest to Pete, Norman and the kids would leave a damp towel or washcloth hanging in a wad every time, no matter how often she explained the concept of spreading them out to dry. She yanked a fresh white towel from the cabinet over the toilet and mopped moisture from her skin, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder. “She’s had a cough and cold for a few days.”
“We have six residents quarantined with the same thing. I’ve already sent two to the hospital this week. It’s very easy at your mother’s age for this to develop into pneumonia.”
Hannah’s mind raced. “I’m on the way.”
“I’ll call the ambulance and get the paperwork ready. Do you have a preference as to the hospital?”
“Tallahassee General. Her doctor’s there.”
Hannah hastily dressed then threw a few toiletries, a change of clothes, and a back-up copy of her mother’s emergency papers into a small bag. On the way to Rosemont, she called Norman’s cell. The serenade of some female country music star twanged, then cycled to the automated voicemail announcement.
“Norman, I can’t believe you don’t have your phone on! I’m heading to Rosemont, then to Tallahassee. Ma-Mae’s on her way to the hospital. Again. Call me as soon as you get this.” She snapped the phone shut, thought a moment, then opened it and jabbed the speed-dial number for her sister-in-law. Forget Hal. He never turned on his stupid phone either.
A two-minute conversation with her sister-in-law sounded the Ma-Mae Alert. Suzanne would take care of calling Jonas and Justine, gather Hannah’s brother, and meet the ambulance at the hospital.
When she screeched to a halt in front of Rosemont, Hannah noted no emergency vehicles. Wow. She had the timing down after so many close calls. Even the first responders couldn’t beat her. Good thing she hadn’t passed any police cruisers.
She dashed through the lobby with a quick nod to the young girl sitting behind the front desk, and jogged down the hallway. When Hannah entered room 104, the pungent scents of mentholated rub and urine slammed her nose. The charge nurse glanced up from the clipboard she held and nodded a greeting.
“Thanks so much for calling me.” Hannah cast her purse onto the chair, sat down on the bed and held her mother’s feverish hand. “Hear you’re not feeling so great, Ma-Mae.”
Her mother opened her eyes briefly. “You got to get me some help,” she said in a weak voice. “I’m slipping fast.”
“I’m right here, Ma-Mae. We’ll be taking you to Tallahassee General as soon as the paramedics arrive.” A rush of intense love washed over her, as fierce as the protective emotion she felt when one of her children took ill.
Lora motioned toward the small bathroom and Hannah stood and joined her. “Your mother self-medicates, correct?” the nurse asked in a low voice.
Hannah nodded. “She and I have been working together on that. I put her drugs in one of those daily divider boxes.”
Lora pointed to the jumbled countertop beside the sink. “In this?”
Hannah picked up the plastic container. “Jeez. This was full when I left her this morning. That means . . . oh, Lord help. She’s taken two days’ worth of pills in one afternoon!”
“Looked that way to me, too.” The nurse hesitated. “But it’s often hard to tell. If memory issues are part of the equation, she might’ve thrown them out or put them somewhere else. I’ve seen it all.”
“I’m sure you have.” Hannah took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to calm her nerves.
“Could be part of why she’s feeling so bad. What prescription meds is she on?”
Hannah scrolled through the lengthy list. Two blood pressure medications, anti-anxiety, anti-inflammatory, diuretic, sleep-aid and an assortment of over-the-counter pain relievers, sinus relief and vitamin supplements: a chemical soup.
The nurse pursed her lips. “Be sure to let them know at the ER. Doubling up on the blood pressure and anti-anxiety meds is probably adding to her weakness.”
“Guess it’s time to turn this over to you guys. Her memory the way it’s been lately . . . ” Hannah smacked her forehead with her palm. “I should have seen this coming. What’s wrong with me?”
Lora rested a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“It won’t happen again. I assure you.”
Every task provided by the trained staff came with a price tag. I was trying to save your money, Ma-Mae. And protect your precious independence.
“All we need is authorization from her doctor, and we can take this worry off you.” Lora motioned to Mae’s bed. “We’ll address this when she’s better.”
The silver and black wall clock showed 12:30 a.m., but Hannah could’ve sworn they had been lingering in the emergency room much longer than three and a half hours. No more than two visitors could stay with the patient at one time, so Suzanne and Hannah shared a shift, leaving their husbands in the waiting room. Though the minutes sailed along at a usual breakneck speed outside, inside the hospital, time slowed to a barely detectable creep.
“Sure wish that doctor would come back,” Suzanne said around a yawn.
On the gurney, Mae erupted with a series of wet, rumbling coughs, then grunted with the effort to breathe. Hannah studied her mother. Once a substantial woman—solid and strong with plenty of muscle—now Mae looked depleted. A husk with most of the life sucked out. Shrinking and curling up. How was it happening so fast? It seemed like just a few months ago when she was able and sure of herself; in reality, a long time had passed since Mae had stood as the stalwart, formidable head of the family.
Hannah ran her fingers through her damp, shoulder-length brown hair. “The doctor poked his head in here about an hour ago, right before you came back, long enough to look at the chart, then he took off like a shot dog. This place is a total zoo tonight.”
Suzanne glanced around the small room. “It surely is an improvement over the old ER. Remember it? Most times, it was standing room only, and they had to line people up in the hallways ’cause they didn’t have enough space. This one’s decorated nice, for a hospital.”
“If I hadn’t been following the ambulance, I might have missed the entrance. The doctor she had before practiced out of the other hospital.”
In the hall, a gurney rattled past. Hannah caught a glimpse of white sheets and a chrome IV pole through the door’s narrow window. Muffled conversation sounded in the adjoining room, punctuated by the pounding footsteps of someone dashing down one of the long hallways. Hannah imagined different life or death scenes playing out around her. The sounds melded into the background like elevator music. Predictable and familiar. Way too familiar, in the past couple of years.
“I could find my way around this place in a blackout.” Suzanne stood and stretched her arms overhead. “My mama’s been here twice in the past five months.”
Hannah frowned. “You should call me. Only fair that I come wait with you too.”
“Hal and my boys are good about helping out, honey. You got enough to worry over. Besides, I’m getting to the po
int I’m an old pro at this medical nonsense. It may be like the blind leading the blind sometimes, but I can help you muddle through all of the Medicare and insurance stuff, if you need. And your brother wants to help, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it.” Her sister-in-law plopped back into the chair.
“You don’t know how much I appreciate that, Sis.” Hannah squeezed Suzanne’s hand. “Suppose our husbands are going cathead crazy in the waiting room?”
“They were talking power tools when I left ’em. Ain’t hurting them to wait. Hal said he’d come in and take a shift, if it’s too much longer.”
“Good thing Hal’s here to help Norman pass the time. My husband’s like a little fidgety boy.”
“They’re all little boys, hon.”
Suzanne’s soothing voice continued as Hannah’s gaze took in the orderly room. No clutter on the countertops. Clean, shiny tile floors. Nothing extraneous. So unlike her house. Norman could make a sandwich and leave deposits on every surface. No matter how much she nagged, the kids left a slipstream of books, discarded clothing, and dirty dishes in their wake. And stinky towels.
Mae shifted and coughed. She opened her eyes and squinted at the overhead fluorescent fixture. “Can’t someone shut that off ? It’s too bright.”
“Be right back.” Suzanne jumped up and left, returning shortly with a soft white hand towel. She folded it twice and placed it over her mother-in-law’s closed eyes. “There you go, sugar.” Then to Hannah, “they keep the clean-linens cart parked in the hall past the nurses’ station.”
“And there’s a room with a little kitchen on each wing in this hospital, from what I recall.” Hannah rubbed her burning eyes. “We could give tours.” Her mind raced to its normal point: at least one step ahead. “Once we ever get her up to a room, if they admit her, I want you and Hal to go on home. No use in all of us being here all night. Norm and I can stay until she’s settled in. Of course, I’ll make him go home to be with the kids. I brought a bag so I can stay.” And Ma-Mae’s updated meds list and the medical power of attorney directive and Living Will and signed Do Not Resuscitate order . . . If she ever left the house without the paperwork she called “The Tool Kit,” Hannah would feel naked.