by Rhett DeVane
Their peals of manic laughter alerted the nurses at the nearby station. A concerned voice called from the opposite side of the curtain, “Y’all doing okay in there?”
“As well as can be expected.” Hannah said. She turned the control lever and the hose abruptly ceased its spinning samba. “Good thing I brought extra linens.”
Hannah guided Mae to a bench. After she helped her mother dry, powder, and dress, she used a fresh towel to blot as much moisture as possible from her own clothes and shoes.
Mae grabbed her daughter’s hand and gave it a weak squeeze. “Thank you, sugar pot. I know that was a trial. Never thought I’d live to see the day when one of my own would have to bathe me. This old age trip I’m on is full of surprises.”
As much for me as you, Hannah thought. “We’ll get through it together, Ma-Mae.”
Mae slipped her arthritic feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers. “When you were a baby, I called you my caboose, on account of you were my last child. Now it seems you’ve turned into my engine.”
Hannah’s throat constricted. Had her mother paid her a compliment?
Later when Hannah recounted the scene to Suzanne, she said, “I’ve done some things in my life—thought I’d had some pretty amazing experiences. But until I took a shower with my eighty-five-year-old mother, I had not truly lived.”
Chapter Seven
Hannah scrolled though the family-locator roster. Helen was taking a turn at Enable Healthcare, a list of questions in hand for the attending doctor. Hal and Suzanne had taken Jonas to a movie in Marianna. Norman had volunteered, finally, to take her car in for a tune-up and oil change, and Justine was hanging out with Brittany. Lately her daughter spent more time at her best friend’s house than her own.
Why should she feel bad about taking a few minutes of down time? It had been a heck of a week. Three people were out sick at the office, and the extra workload shifted to the remaining personnel. Each day at lunch, then again after work, she trekked to Enable for the daily visit and update on her mother. Then she drove the forty-five mile commute home to Chattahoochee. To make dinner. To wash clothes. To be the mother, wife, and loving companion. All the places she needed to be.
The gift of time had been air-dropped at her road-weary feet, tied up with a plump, pink bow and a card that read: Good for a few minutes of solitude. Use it wisely.
She settled into her favorite worn easy chair and rested a tall mug of lukewarm coffee and a plate on the end table. Heaven forbid if anyone stopped by for an unannounced visit. Her sweatshirt was gray with age, the jeans faded and ripped at the knees, and her unwashed hair was clipped haphazardly on top of her head. No makeup. Bliss. Slap ’em if they didn’t like it.
After a bite from a warm banana-nut muffin and a swig of coffee, she opened the chiller-thriller novel she had checked out—for the third time in three months—from the public library. A Delta Airlines electronic ticket fell onto her lap.
“Emily Tucker,” she read. “Flight 1274. Seat 28-C. Origin - Tallahassee. Destination - Atlanta. One checked bag. Departs 7:10 a.m., Gate B 01. January 31.”
Hannah sipped the tepid coffee, careful to funnel it to the side opposite her errant tooth, and stared absently at the e-ticket.
“Where were you going, Emily Tucker?” Since Atlanta provided the hub for this part of the U.S., it could’ve been most anywhere. She studied the pristine paper. No multiple fold-lines, like one might have after clearing the ticket-counter, then cramming it into a pocket or handbag.
“Wait a minute! Maybe you didn’t go? You poor dear.”
The scenario unfurled in her imagination: Emily Tucker at the Tallahassee Regional Airport. Excited, a little flushed. She hates to fly, but wants to be anywhere else besides here. One bag is delivered to the handlers, the other trails behind her like a tethered dog. She visits the Starbucks counter. Orders and pays. Sips the sweet latte, licks the foam from her upper lip. She strolls at a leisurely pace around the lobby watercolor exhibit. Time to kill. No need to rush.
It’s a beautiful morning outside. Perfect flying weather. The front from the previous two days has pushed through, and now the skies promise to remain a clear crystalline blue—a perfect end-of-January day in the Panhandle of Florida.
Emily passes through security. One small handbag and the novel in the plastic bin. The carryon bag flat on its side. A security officer motions her to one side where she pirouettes as the sensor wand passes over her. She fights the urge to strike a silly ballet pose.
After a few minutes of rereading the same passage of the novel Hannah now holds, Emily Tucker’s cell phone trills with the stupid ditty-song her son programmed from the Internet. She hates the little communication device. Loathes the intrusion into her privacy. She senses before answering that she’ll never leave the ground this morning. She talks—nodding, frowning—retracing her steps down the concourse to sweet-talk the counter staff into locating her luggage. So close. So doggone close.
Poor, poor Emily Tucker. She really could’ve used the vacation.
Hannah returned the boarding pass to the back of the book where it would wait to serve as a handy bookmark. She read the novel’s first page three times before glancing up to enjoy the view from the sun porch. A number of trees, tricked by a hint of early warmth, had sent out tentative shoots of lime green. Her gaze wandered to one of three hanging bird feeders—a cylindrical piece of hand-worked pottery fashioned on two sides to resemble long, comical faces, with tongues sticking out for perches. The early spring rains had prompted some of the seeds to sprout, making the feeder appear more of a planter than a haven for chickadees and wrens.
Amazing, she thought. You turn your focus away for a few weeks and everything goes to hell in a hand basket.
She closed the novel, not bothering to mark her place, and left the house for the yard. The small pre-fabricated greenhouse that doubled as a tool shed was packed with tender potted plants.
“You guys can’t come out to play just yet,” she said aloud as she rooted beneath layers of greenery for the rake, garden gloves, and a bin of birdseed.
Hannah surveyed the yard. Should she remove the dead limbs from the butterfly bush? Was it too early to fertilize?
The first weeks of March in the Florida Panhandle could be deceptively cruel. One day, the temperatures might creep into the low eighties. A collective jolt of greenery would ripple through the countryside. Then the winds would shift, coming from the north with a howling growl to nip the innocent early buds. Gardeners followed the siren song in droves to purchase plats of annuals and perennials, only to grudgingly replant in three to four weeks when spring regained its grasp.
Hannah used a stick to rake the moist goop and sprouted seeds from the bottom of the feeders, then refilled all three. Safflower seeds had proven the least delectable to the marauding squirrels. No matter which brand of tamper-proof feeder she had wasted money on in the past, the fuzzy little yard rats managed to dine with ease. The previous year, Norman had proudly presented Hannah a battery-powered squirrel-proof feeder for her birthday. Woo-pee. Some inexpensive jewelry would’ve been nice.
According to the manufacturer’s claims, the offending raider would be swished around in circles, thwarting plans for free seed. Hannah’s squirrels quickly organized a strategy conference and arrived at a solution. Taking turns on the spinning feeder, they rode it like rednecks on a one-price-for-all fair tilt-a-whirl until the two C-batteries expired. The entire punch-drunk extended family feasted until every morsel of the expensive wild-bird mixture disappeared. As frustrated as they made her, Hannah had to admire any creature with such tenacity and total lack of shame.
Snooker dropped a filthy tennis ball at her feet and wagged his tail. “Gross! You expect me to touch that thing?”
Snooker barked twice.
“Oh all right.”
She picked up the foul toy with two fingers and lobbed it through the air. As she raked around the daylily bed, the game of slime-ball continued. Slug ambled
across the yard, narrowly dodging the charging dog. The Persian padded over to where Hannah stood and twirled in lazy circles at her feet.
Slime-ball and all, Hannah had to admit how peaceful she felt. Breathing the warm, scented air—so different from hospital atmosphere—eased her tangled spirit. The sudden slam of the sunroom screened door caused her to jump. Justine spied her mother across the tiered backyard and charged in her direction. So much for tranquility.
“Hi Mom!” Justine flipped her long blonde hair and stood with her slender hips cocked to one side.
Hannah studied her long-legged, willowy daughter—the kind of coquettish teenaged girl men of every age lusted for, pawed over, and lured with promises. God help her and Norman to get this one to eighteen without bloodshed. Or an unplanned pregnancy. Too bad chastity belts had gone out of fashion before the turn of the last century.
Justine turned on her orthodontist’s-vacation-home smile. “What cha doin’?”
“Playing a rousing game of pitch and filling the feeders. Keeping the country safe for generations to come, winning the war against drugs. Important stuff like that.”
Justine rolled her blue eyes and dragged out the word Mom until it had at least four syllables.
“And you, what’s happening in your young and increasingly dramatic world?”
“Stopped by to pick up some money. Brit and I are gonna ride over to Wal-Mart in Marianna with her mom if that’s okay.”
“You came to the National Parents’ Bank and Trust for a quick withdrawal?” Hannah smiled. “There’re a couple of twenties in my purse. Enough?”
“Guess so.”
“If you see anything you simply must have, tell Missy I’ll pay her back. Bring me the receipt.”
Justine dug at the dried grass with the toe of one Nike.
“Something else on your mind?”
“You know, Mom. Spring break’s coming up.”
“Honey, your father and I have already discussed it. I don’t think we can take off to the beach this year. Not until your grandmother’s well enough to go back to Rosemont. I know how much you and Jonas look forward to St. George Island, but—”
“That’s not it.”
“Oh?”
“Brit’s cousin has a place on the Ochlocknee River. She asked if I could go with her this year.”
“Brit’s mother going?” Hannah’s trouble-radar zoomed in.
“No Ma’am. Just her cousin and husband. And a couple of other girls from class. Like . . . no big deal.”
“I’ll talk it over with your father, sweetie. As long as you aren’t by yourselves and there are adults supervising, I don’t see a reason why you can’t go.”
Justine flung her arms around her mother and blessed her with the brush of a kiss. “You’re the best.” She pushed away and dashed toward the house.
“Hey!” Hannah called. “Leave me a little cash, will you?”
Inside, piles of soiled laundry waited like an unwelcome boarder. Jonas’s socks alone could be used to win the war against terror. Hannah took one last sweeping look around the neglected yard, then returned her worn yard gloves, rake, and birdseed dispenser to the shed. Maybe tomorrow she’d start the novel. Again.
Chapter Eight
The floral-upholstered wingback chairs in Rosemont’s front lobby were filled with the residents Hannah referred to as “the regulars”—Miz Maxine, Miz Nancy, and Mr. Barney—along with two elders she recognized, but didn’t know by name.
“Hey!” Beth, the front desk manager, called when she saw Hannah. “I heard your mother was back with us. I must’ve been at lunch when she came in.”
“It’s been a long, hard road.”
“We still have two over at Enable. One with a bad fall and one had the same bug as your mother,” Beth said. “We’ve had some of the staff out too. Maybe if the weather holds and stops flipping from cold to warm, we can finally get everyone well.”
“Amen to that.” Hannah signed the visitors’ log.
“Hey, Sugar.” Barney Thompson held out his shaky arms.
Hannah stepped over to his chair, bent down, and hugged the small elderly man. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. Barney reminded her of an overgrown leprechaun. His shamrock green eyes danced with mischief and the corners of his thin mouth turned upward in a permanent smile. The ravages of age had stolen a few inches of his height, but none of his impish spirit.
“How’s your mother? Heard she’s back.”
“I’m on my way down to see her right now. I’m sure she’ll be up and about soon.”
Barney nodded. “Good. I miss her at Bingo. It isn’t as much fun without my darlin’ Mae.” He patted Hannah’s arm and winked. “Be sure to give her a hug and a pinch for me.”
“You bet, Mr. Barney.”
Maxine called out, “Tell your mother I’ll be down to visit later. All of us have missed her, not just him!”
Maxine fired a glare in Barney’s direction. The two seniors kept the fires stoked of an on-going, lively feud. No one could explain their differences. They bristled in each other’s company, but were seldom very far from each other. Barney sneered back and jabbed a finger in the air with an eyebrow-raised nod.
“All right you two.” Beth shook her head.
Hannah chuckled as she walked down the hall to her mother’s room. She knocked softly, then used her key. Mae rested in bed amidst a pile of clothing and toiletries.
“Lord help! Can’t a person get a dab of privacy?” The furrow deepened between Mae’s eyebrows. “Oh, it’s just you.”
“Sorry, Ma-Mae. I was trying to be quiet. I thought you might be sleeping.”
“Who could sleep? It’s like someone ran a freeway through my room. First the nurse dropped by, then it was that young gal who runs this place, then folks who’ve caught scent of me being back. I’m purely worn out.”
Hannah picked up a stack of folded underwear. “Everyone’s glad to have you home.”
“Leave those be. I know where I want them put.” Mae’s tone sounded sharp. “I’ll be glad to be back to normal. Everyone’s kicking up such a fuss.”
Hannah settled into the rocking chair. “You’re certainly in a mood. Thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy, and I’m not in a mood.” Mae shoved a king-sized pillow behind her back and slugged it several times before nestling into place.
“I saw Mr. Barney on my way in. He missed you. Every time I stopped by to check your mail while you were gone, he asked about you.”
Mae fanned the air with one hand. “I’m not studying him.”
“But he’s so sweet, Ma-Mae. And he seems to genuinely like you.”
Mae narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t move in here to find a boyfriend, daughter of mine. I was married for fifty-two years to your father—a perfectly wonderful man—and I certainly don’t need anybody to care for, at my age.”
Hannah couldn’t stop herself from goading her mother for a reaction. “They take care of them for you here, Ma-Mae. You could always pick out one to play with, if you wanted.”
Mae sniffed. “Men are after one of two things when you get to be my age. They’re either looking for a purse or a nurse.”
Hannah bit her lower lip to avoid laughing, given her mother’s testy disposition.
Mae frowned. “And that Barney? He’s a player!”
“Really?”
“He’s broken his share of Rosemont hearts, and he’s not gonna get a’holt of mine.”
Hannah rocked gently back and forth before deciding to drop the subject of romance. “I can help you unpack.”
“You most certainly will not. I can do it myself.”
Mae Mathers’s spunk had returned with a ticker-tape parade and fanfare.
“Is there anything you need, or want? I can run to the store and—”
“What I need is to be left alone. I’ll get up a list later. I got to rest up. The therapist from e-Bay’s starting in on me tomorrow.”
Had she missed someth
ing? Had someone started a physical therapy department on the popular Internet site? “e-Bay?”
“e-Bay. You know, that place I just come from. Lord, your memory is as long as my pecker.”
“Enable, Ma-Mae. It’s Enable Healthcare.”
“Yeah,” Mae nodded emphatically. “What I said. e-Bay.”
Once her mother fixated on a thing, it was futile to fight; e-Bay it would be from this point forward.
“One of those therapists is coming three days a week to work on my walking. I can do the exercises on my own—I told them that—but they’re coming all the same. I told them it best be in the mornings, ’cause Bingo’s in the afternoons.”
“Wouldn’t want you to miss that.”
“Get yourself on home, now. Hal and Suzanne fed me a good lunch at the buffet place in Tallahassee before carrying me here. I’ll be going down to supper in a few minutes, if I can muster the gumption.”
Hannah rose to leave. “Okay, Ma-Mae. If that’s what you want, I’ll go on.”
“One thing, though. You kids need to get on the stick about my house. I want it sold to a good family, one who’ll love it like we did. Hurts my heart thinking of it sitting empty.”
Hannah sensed the emotional minefield looming. “You really ready for us to do this?”
Mae surveyed her cozy apartment. “It’s mighty hard to live in one room when I’ve been used to a whole house. I wish I could go home.”
“Ma-Mae,” Hannah said softly, “it was your decision to move to Rosemont. Aren’t you happy here?”
“Happy as can be expected, I suppose.” Mae’s eyes watered. “I guess I miss the idea of home—the way it used to be.” She smiled wistfully. “When it comes right down to it, what I really wish is that I wasn’t so darned old.”
“Think of dealing with your mama like you were riding a roller coaster,” Suzanne said. “One day, all will be fun and games and she’ll be like a little kid with an all-day lollipop. The next day, her lip will be hanging half-way down to her navel and she’ll be crying and carrying on like no one in the world gives a hoot.”