by Rhett DeVane
“With those legs and that outfit, you wouldn’t have any trouble hitching a ride.”
The phone trilled the instant Hannah entered the house. She deposited her purse and laptop computer on the kitchen table and dashed to the portable phone dock.
“Hannah?” Helen asked.
“Hi, Sissy.”
“You sound out of breath.”
“Just walked in the door. What’s up?”
“Have you talked to Ma-Mae today?”
Hannah reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “Not yet. I wanted to come home and throw a salad together for dinner. I’ll go by later. Why?”
“I just spoke with her. She sounded . . . happy.”
Hannah took a large swig of water and wiped the dribble from her lips. “And this is a problem?” From the edge in her sister’s voice, she knew Helen was pacing, probably twisting a tissue in her hands.
“You do know what day it is, don’t you?” Helen asked.
“Even though you think I’m somewhat spacey, I do realize Pop died eight years ago today.”
“You don’t tend to remember dates, is all.”
“Norman reminded me at breakfast.”
“Don’t you find it upsetting that Ma-Mae is happy?”
“When she’s usually morose? Yeah. It’s different. But keeping with a lot of changes I’ve noticed in her lately, not surprising.”
“She doesn’t remember, is that what you’re saying?” Helen continued without benefit of a response. “How could she forget? How is that possible after all the years they were married?”
“It’s not that she’s forgotten Pop, Sissy. She misses him very much.” Hannah considered telling her sister about Mae missing her birthday back in March, then decided against it.
Helen sniffled on the other end.
“Suzanne and I had lunch today,” Hannah said. “We talked about how Ma-Mae’s been lately. She said something that helped me to understand.”
“Oh?”
“Ma-Mae’s living more and more in the present. She recalls the past, no problem there. She remembers bits and pieces of things coming up too, especially if she writes them down on her calendar. But like a child, she’s absorbed with whatever’s happening at the moment. It’s a natural part of all of this aging business.”
Helen blew her nose and snuffled. “Makes a certain amount of sense.”
“Suzanne’s seen the same pattern in her mother. She’s only a few months younger than Ma-Mae.” Hannah paused. “We’re all kind of feeling our way along with this. Too bad we can’t dash out to the bookstore and buy a manual.”
Hannah wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and searched the refrigerator for anything remotely resembling salad materials. A cucumber turned to mush in her hands and she pitched it into the garbage.
“There’s only you and me and Hal now, to mark Pop’s date,” Helen said. “How sad.”
Hannah heard the sound of muffled weeping, again. “Sissy, I know it’s hard. There are days when I come home from Rosemont crying my eyes out. Other days, I laugh hysterically at something she’s said or done. We’ve got to get through it somehow . . . together.”
“And one day, we’ll mark the date for Ma-Mae too, won’t we?” Another round of sobbing came from her sister.
Hannah’s eyes watered. “I’m afraid so.” Hannah shared the hiss of dead air for a moment. “That any of us think we have another day promised, is a bit presumptuous. We have to take it a little bit at a time.”
“Yes.” Her sister’s voice sounded weak.
“What are you doing on Sunday?” Hannah dumped the salad veggies into a colander and blasted it with cool water.
“Church. Dinner. The usual. Why?”
“Tallahassee Little Theatre is putting on a comedy with Southern characters. Why don’t we take Ma-Mae? She loves the theatre. I can call ahead and reserve tickets. I’ll call Suzanne and see if she wants to go along and take her mother. Kind of a girls’ day out. What do you say?”
Helen’s voice brightened. “I’ll have to skip church. But what the heck? Hell won’t freeze over if I’m not there one Sunday. Think Ma-Mae will go for it?”
“Are you kidding? Our mother is always ready to go.”
Chapter Thirty-four
“Oh, good!” Mae said when she answered Hannah’s knock. “You’re here in time for Singing and Pizza with Randy.”
“I can’t stay long, Ma-Mae. I still have to catch up on the laundry.” Hannah dropped several plastic grocery bags onto the bed. The weariness she felt so often, especially lately, threatened to shut her down.
“Housework is the nearest thing to perpetual motion the Good Lord ever invented. You can spare an hour.” Mae slipped the room key fob around her neck and grabbed her cane. “C’mon. I don’t want to be late.”
What the heck? Hannah gathered her remaining energy and fell into step beside her mother. Maybe I can put my head down on one of the tables and catch a nap.
In the dining room, residents gathered, some sipping lemonade, as the one-man band set up. Along with a pearl-inlaid, six-string Gibson folk guitar, Randy had a harmonica mounted on a holder circling his neck and a foot-controlled top-hat cymbal. Hannah followed Mae to the table where her friend Josie waited.
Randy smiled out at the crowd. “Howdy folks.”
“You’re late,” one woman commented.
“Was I?” Randy checked his watch. “I had to change out a broken G string.”
“He was on time,” Catharen said as she passed out slices of hot cheese pizza from a rolling cart. “We got seated a bit early because we returned sooner than usual from our afternoon drive.”
Randy settled onto a stool and adjusted a worn copy of Best Loved Songs of the American People on the tripod stand. A straw hat with a rainbow-colored brim sat on his head. His smile flashed with the easy familiarity of a traveling troubadour.
“Whew! It’s hot enough outside to barbeque the road kill.” He chuckled and fine-tuned the strings one by one. “Did the hurricane take off part of your roof? I couldn’t help but notice the crew when I pulled in.”
“No,” a woman in the front answered. “They’re putting on new shingles. But not because of the storm.”
“This place is solid as a castle,” Mae said in a loud voice. “We can barely tell when it’s bad weather outside.”
Randy winked. “I know where I’m coming next time we have one of our big blows.”
“Bring your pillow,” Catharen said. “We’ll find you a place.”
“He can stay in my room,” Maxine called out.
A titter of laughter rippled through the room.
The troubadour grinned. “Well now, Miz Maxine. I’ll consider that a red-carpet invite.”
The musician began with “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” then moved to jazzy versions of “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Buffalo Gals.” His repertoire ranged from folk favorites to old spirituals to comic pieces. Between songs, he kept up a running line of jokes and commentary.
“Play that Purple Cow song!” Mae called out.
“Only if our favorite social director will do the dance,” Randy said.
Catharen, always the good sport, scuttled to the front of the room. “Hit it!”
While Randy strummed and sang a tune about a purple cow who thought she was a chicken, Catharen strutted between the tables, doing her best to cluck in time. The harder the residents clapped and laughed, the louder she crooned.
“She beats all I’ve ever seen,” Mae commented. “I’ve never known anyone who enjoys her job as much as that woman.”
Hannah felt her spirits lift. For all of their physical, and sometimes mental, limitations, most of the seniors managed a cheerful outlook, enjoying each other and everyone who cared enough to join them.
Randy completed the set with “Good Night Ladies.” He walked around the room, speaking one-on-one with the Rosemont residents before packing up his equipment and swinging his guitar case over his sh
oulder. He tipped his hat and waved then ambled slowly down the hallway.
What kind of music will be featured at the facility when I’m Ma-Mae’s age? Hannah wondered. Old Doobie Brothers or disco tunes? Perhaps a few Eagles favorites? She envisioned her and Norman swing-dancing with their walkers.
“You still up for the play tomorrow?” Hannah asked Mae as they joined the residents leaving the dining hall.
“Bet your bottom dollar I am. I’m heading up to the Reminiscing Session in the sunroom. Want to come?”
“Really, Ma-Mae. I need to—”
Mae stepped into line in front of the elevators. “Go on then. You best find time for a nap. You look a little pale.” As the elevator doors closed, her mother blew her an air kiss and sang, “Thaaaanks . . . for the mem-mor-ries.”
Cicadas were the devil’s spawn; Hannah grew more convinced of it every summer. The insects’ high-pitched keening rose and fell in undulating waves, loud enough to be heard over the roar of two fans and the air conditioner. Between periods of blessed calm, her stressed eardrums echoed, only to be accosted anew by the swell of yet another round of cicada love ballads. Even the crickets packed up their little carpetbags and went looking for new digs.
Would they summon the fellows in the crisp starched jackets if she ran into the middle of the yard and hollered “shut up! shut up! shut up!” at the top of her lungs? Hannah envisioned a T-shirt with the silhouette of a cicada printed on the front, a large cross-hatched circle stamped on top. She would own one in every color.
Hannah was entertaining the notion of cicadas for target practice when she heard the bang of the kitchen door.
“Hello, sister!” Helen dashed by. “Be right back!” She returned shortly. “Lord help me, I can barely go an hour without a potty break. I hate to drink anything if I’m traveling, or I’ll have to pull off to pee.”
“It’s part of being middle-aged,” Hannah said. “Bladder the size of a field pea.”
“Ma-Mae riding with us?”
Hannah nodded. “Soon as Suzanne and her mama get here, we’ll pick her up. You know Ma-Mae. She’s been sitting on go since breakfast. She’s already called three times.”
“Our mama has always loved the theatre. Me, too.”
“Mom?” Justine walked into the kitchen, wrapped in a pink chenille robe. “Okay if I wear jeans?”
“Sure. Tallahassee Little Theatre has always been kind of casual, especially for the Sunday matinee.” When her daughter left the room, Hannah said, “Justine decided to join us. Can you believe it?”
“Maybe there’s hope.” Helen pulled out a kitchen table chair and sat down. “She always has been mature for her age. Other than the one incident, you have to admit, she’s not been a hard child.”
“Especially when I hear about other parents dealing with drugs and, heaven forbid, early pregnancy or STDs.” Or having a child with bulemia. Missy’s daughter could actually die.
“Whatever happened to the days when the worst thing a child could do was sneak a cigarette behind the school, or drink a beer?” Helen checked her watch for the second time since she arrived.
Hannah dug in her purse for the car keys. “Changing times—not for the better sometimes. I was playing with Barbie dolls at the age when some of these girls are beginning to have sex.”
Suzanne stepped through the back door following a courtesy knock. “Mama’s in the van with the air conditioner running. She’s not feeling very spry today.”
“The heat,” Helen said. “Zaps it right out of me, too. I hardly go out of the house this time of year.” She glanced in Hannah’s direction. “Probably the reason you’ve been so tired lately.”
Suzanne smiled. “Glad you made an exception and came out, for the likes of us.”
“Figured y’all needed someone along to provide a little class,” Helen said.
Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. My sister, making a joke? Pinch me.
Over the years, Hannah had attended many quality musical, dramatic, and comedic performances in the single-story brick building on Thomasville Road. As the family entered the cool semi-darkness, a sense of anticipation washed over her.
“We’re right up front,” Suzanne glanced at her ticket. “Great seats, Hannah!”
“I tried to pick a spot where Ma-Mae and Ruthie wouldn’t have to climb stairs or crawl over people,” Hannah said.
They settled into thick-cushioned chairs.
“The theatre.” Mae’s gray-blue eyes twinkled. “Something about it all unfolding in front of you makes you feel a part of the action in a way a television can’t.”
Suzanne helped her mother get seated. “I wish we could have popcorn.”
“That would be rich,” Helen said, “hearing a poor actor try to deliver his lines with someone smacking and crunching behind you.”
Suzanne wiggled into her cushion. “I just love popcorn, is all.”
The lights flickered three times, the signal for the audience to quiet.
During the second act, Suzanne and her mother slipped from their seats and exited toward the lobby. When they failed to return, Hannah waited until a pause in the action to seek them out. She found her sister-in-law hovering over Ruthie, who was seated in a folding chair.
“You guys okay?” Hannah asked in a low voice.
“Mama’s not feeling well.”
Ruthie’s round face appeared pale and a fine line of sweat beads trailed across her upper lip. “I’m all right. You two go on back in.”
Suzanne shot a look to Hannah. “Says her chest is hurting.”
“I get this way sometimes,” Ruthie managed between gasps.
“I think you’re having one of your anxiety attacks, Mama.” Suzanne said. Then to Hannah, “She’s gotten to where she has these whenever we’re anywhere except my house or hers. I knew better than to come over here.”
Hannah frowned. “I don’t know, Sis. Her color doesn’t look right. Maybe we ought to take her to the hospital and let them check her over.”
“It’s the heat. That’s all.” Ruthie slapped the air with one hand.
Suzanne propped her hands on her hips. “Mama, maybe Hannah’s right. I’d hate to ignore this and have it turn out to be something else.”
“Whatever you think best.” Ruthie’s words sounded strained and breathy.
“I’ll go motion for the rest.” Hannah turned to leave.
Suzanne grabbed her sleeve. “Mae has looked forward to this since you first mentioned it. I’ll take Mama on around to the ER at Tallahassee General. You know how hospitals are. It’ll be a while before they decide what’s to be done, if anything.”
Hannah hesitated. “I hate for you to be alone.”
“I’ll call your brother, if need be. Now get back inside.” Suzanne pointed.
“We’re only five minutes away. I’ll turn my cell on vibrate. If you need anything, call.”
“Will do.” Suzanne tipped her head. “C’mon, Mama. Let’s get a move on.”
Ruthie stood slowly, wobbled slightly before she balanced, and ambled toward the door. Suzanne turned to her sister-in-law and whispered behind her hand, “I know it’s one of her spells.”
Chapter Thirty-five
“Hey Miss! It’s just me!” Hannah called as she helped herself to a cup of fresh coffee. She spotted the unwashed dishes in the sink: yet another sign of Missy Rodgers’s transition to the world of imperfect humans.
At some point, Hannah and Missy Rodgers had morphed into back-door friends. Neither bothered to ring the doorbell, and each knew the spare key hidey-hole in the rare event the rear entrance was locked.
Missy appeared in a cotton robe, her hair gathered in a haphazard ponytail. “Hey, you.” She motioned to the refrigerator. “Got some of Joe Fletcher’s sweet potato biscuits, if you want to reheat one. I’d go with the toaster oven. The microwave makes them gummy.”
“Coffee’s enough. Thanks. I’m trying to cut back.” Hannah huffed. “Can you fathom me drinking coffee when it’
s already in the high eighties outside? It’s going to be close to the hundred degree mark again, today. God help us.”
Missy bustled around the kitchen, depositing dishes in the washer and wiping down the countertops before pouring a cup and joining Hannah at the table.
“It’s never too hot for good coffee. I keep on drinking it and turn the thermostat down. I dread to see my electric bill.” She sipped. “So tell me about Miz Ruthie.”
“How did you know? I mean, it just happened yesterday afternoon.”
“The Triple C. I treated myself to a manicure. How else?”
“Ah, the hair salon hotline.”
“So tell,” Missy said. “Mandy and Melody didn’t have all the details.”
“Ruthie started having problems. Suzanne took her to the ER, and we followed after the play was over—at Suzanne’s insistence. I sent Helen, Justine, and Ma-Mae on home after they dropped me off at the hospital. They admitted Ruthie to the cardiac care unit for observation.”
“She had a heart attack?”
“Angina. But the tests showed damage from previous attacks: the silent ones—you know where there aren’t strong symptoms. Or Ruthie ignored them.” Hannah pursed her lips. “She’s functioning with about forty percent of her heart. They found blockages too.”
“Will she have surgery?”
Hannah shook her head. “The doctors think she wouldn’t survive the operation.”
“How very sad. I know your sister-in-law is frantic.”
“Suzanne’s holding up, all in all. It’s been one thing after another for the past few years, with her mom’s health issues and all.”
“I’ll call and have Jake make a nice cut flower arrangement as soon as Ruthie comes home.”
“Put my name on the card, and I’ll split the cost with you.” Hannah eyed the plate of russet-colored biscuits and willed herself to ignore them.
“I just remembered.” Missy jumped up, removed a stack of cookies from a Ziploc baggie, popped them into the microwave for a few seconds and sat the warmed plate on the table.