by Rhett DeVane
Hannah dropped her purse and keys on a chair and sat on the side of her mother’s bed. “How are you?”
“Better.” Mae rose up and plumped her pillows. “Josie brought me a bowl of soup.”
“I thought the dining room staff usually did that when you weren’t well.”
“They do. Good about it. But you know Josie has that rolling walker with the little tray.”
“You are better?” Hannah noted the sallow cast to her mother’s skin. The tang of camphor reached her nose. Besides laxatives, Mae believed mentholated chest rub cured every ill.
“I had a case of the stomach sours. Never did upchuck, but I was nauseous all the same. Didn’t eat much—just drank—until the soup. And Josie brought me a nice slice of pound cake.”
“I’ve been worried.”
“That’s why I didn’t let the staff call you. No use you running over here every time I toot. I raised three children and nursed a husband with a heart condition. Reckon I can get through a stomach ache.”
Hannah removed the dish tray and sat it on the bureau.
“Leave that. Someone from the kitchen will be by to fetch it later,” Mae said. “There is one thing you can do for me. The three-way light in my pole lamp’s blown. I thought I had a spare, but I’ve searched high and low.”
“I’ll buy a couple tomorrow. You okay until then?”
Mae motioned to the bedside table light. “Got this one here. I’ll live.”
Norman snored: a soft, snorting noise with an even rhythm that usually lulled her to sleep. Not tonight. Tonight was a hot flash/worry night. One minute she shucked the covers and the next she dove beneath, shivering.
Hannah took the opportunity to stress about everything and anything: the kids, the glitch-infested software program at work, the extra pounds around her midsection, Suzanne’s mother’s heart condition, the spittle bug infestation in the front lawn, Ma-Mae’s declining health.
She finally moved to the couch. Slug joined her. He bathed for fifteen minutes, then settled beside her, purring. Two hours later, exhausted, she finally drifted off.
In the dream, Randy the one-man band played to a room of Rosemont residents. His folksy voice crooned, “He’s got the whole world in his hands.” Hannah looked around her at all the hands, clapping along and gesturing to the old spiritual song in the manner learned in elementary school.
Something about those elderly hands—hands that had held babies, wiped feverish brows, comforted lovers—filled her with a deep peace.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Hannah caught a whiff of her underarms as she waited in line at Chattahoochee Drugs, her mother’s favorite hemorrhoid ointment in one hand and a bottle of antacid in the other.
“Jeez,” she muttered, clamping her arms to her sides. How is this? I’ve been in an air-conditioned cubicle all day. I layered on deodorant and a topcoat of powder.
Hannah envisioned contented bacteria festering in the dark moisture of her armpits. A sulfurous haze hung over their cozy little neighborhood. No Irish garden, dew-drop, linen-fresh concoction could smother them. Like cockroaches, bacteria were indestructible, bound for eventual world domination.
Hannah longed for the cool, dry breezes of fall—and a tepid, sudsy shower.
“What’s the matter, sugar? You look like you sucked a sour lemon,” Mae commented when Hannah returned to the idling SUV.
“I stink! That’s what’s the matter.” Hannah shoved the gear shift into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.
“Now that you bring it up . . . ”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mae slapped her hands in her lap. “How in Sam Hill do you say something like that?”
“You say, ‘Gee, my sweet daughter, you smell ripe. You need to wash your pits.’ That’s what you say.”
“That would be plain rude.”
Hannah looked away from the road long enough to shoot her mother a smoldering glance. “So if I had a piece of spinach stuck between my front teeth, you wouldn’t tell me?”
“More than likely, I’d stick my fingernail between my teeth and nod and hope you’d get the message.”
“Ma-Mae, when I was growing up, you didn’t hesitate for one split second to tell me if a dress was too short, or that my makeup was too heavy.”
“That was different. A parent’s role is to guide.”
Hannah chuckled. “Excuse me. When did you stop being the parent?”
“When you grew up and became the mother.”
They rode in silence until Hannah made the turn into the Rosemont parking lot.
“Am I being too bossy, Ma-Mae?”
Mae tried twice to unfasten the seatbelt clasp before allowing Hannah to assist her. “Who says I don’t want to be bossed around a bit, huh? I don’t want to make all the decisions anymore, or worry so much about little details.” She winked. “Besides, you’re so good at it.”
“I should be. I learned at the feet of a master.”
“Maybe so.” Mae steadied her cane before getting out. “But this master is tired and retired.”
“Must run in the family.”
Hannah jerked so hard when she heard the deep male voice, her coffee sloshed onto her lap. “Hal!” She stood up and flapped the moisture from her shorts. The porch swing pitched and yawed. “You scared the daylights out of me!”
“Sorry, sis. I thought you heard me slam the patio door.”
Hannah steadied the porch swing, sat down, and dabbed a napkin over the trickles of coffee trailing down her thighs. “If I wasn’t awake before, I surely am now.”
Hal sat beside her on the swing. “You were in a heavy conversation with someone.” He fanned one hand through the air. “Out there.”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I was talking to Pop.”
“Suzanne’s always catching me. Especially when I’m working out how to build something, it helps me to explain it to Pop, even if he’s not technically here. I always ran things by him before.”
Hannah reached over and tousled his hair. “Got fresh coffee on, if you want a cup.”
“I’ve had three already. At this rate, I won’t slow down till midnight. But thanks. You know I’d help myself, anyway.”
Hannah nodded, then asked, “Think Helen does it too, the whole talking to Pop thing?”
“Knowing Helen—she probably emails him too.”
She took a long sip of coffee. “You think I’m bossy, Hal?”
“Is this one of those loaded female questions where there’s no right answer—like, ‘does this outfit make my butt look fat?’”
“No. Legit. Do I?”
“You can be . . . somewhat forceful at times.” He held up both hands. “Not an awful quality, necessarily.”
“Ma-Mae has started referring to me as her mother.”
“I’ve heard her say that. I thought she might be imagining a ghostly visit from Grandma, until I figured out she meant you.”
Hannah turned to face him. “Really?”
“It’s not a bad thing. Not like she’s upset or anything.”
“I’ve tried so hard to let her hang onto whatever shreds of independence she can. Her judgment isn’t so hot anymore. I don’t pull rank unless I think she’s doing something that might prove harmful.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Hal leaned back and slipped his arm across his sister’s shoulders. “Each of us has a role. I’m the man.” He flicked his fingers in mock quotations. “She looks to me when it comes to business dealings—the sale of the house, for instance.”
A brilliant red male cardinal swooped to one of the bird feeders, squabbled with a blue jay over dominance, scattered seeds until he found one that suited him, then flew off.
“I take care of her checkbook and pay bills, and she still thinks you’re in control of the finances,” Hannah said.
“I’m a substitute for Pop, I guess. The male figure head, the monarch. You know, like in England. But the real leader is the prime minister—yo
u.”
“Glad you’ve worked this all out, your majesty.” Hannah dipped her head. “What about our sister? Where does she fit in to this hierarchy?”
“Helen is . . . ” He thought for a moment. “the ambassador. Kind of a counselor/good will type. You know she can cry at the drop of a hat. Always thought she would’ve made a good soap opera actress. Too much empathy for her own good. I think Ma-Mae reaches out for Helen when she needs someone to ease a burden of the heart.”
“She talks to me all the time, Hal. You saying I don’t treat her with compassion?”
“No, no.” Hal shook his head. “Not what I meant at all. Ma-Mae can talk to either of us. We get things done, take action. She tells Helen about stuff when she needs someone to feel with her, emote, carry on. Clear as mud?”
“About that.”
“We’re lucky all three of us share this, Hannah. Suzanne has to be everything to her mama. It’s a tremendous strain.”
“I thank my lucky stars every day.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Did you just stop by to offer words of wisdom?”
Hal pulled a measuring tape reel from his jean pocket. “I came to get a rough idea of how much pressure-treated lumber Norman and I need for your deck extension.”
“Thought y’all weren’t starting that until the weather cooled off.”
“We can knock this project out in a weekend, if it’ll stop raining long enough. Suzanne’s put in for a gazebo, so Norman and I can start that project as soon as your deck’s finished. My dear wife read some article in Southern Living about outdoor living rooms and decided we couldn’t live without one. She has the big ideas, and I get to hammer them together.”
Hal thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Man! I’d forget my head if it wasn’t tied on! Suzanne wanted me to invite y’all to our church this Sunday. They’re having a special Parents’ Appreciation Day and a big dinner on the grounds. We thought Ma-Mae would really enjoy it. She knows a lot of folks over our way. Suzanne’s mama will be there. She really likes Ma-Mae. If you don’t want to go, I’ll drive over and pick up Ma-Mae.”
“Who in their right mind would miss an old-fashioned dinner on the grounds? All the cooks break out their best recipes.”
“Suzanne meant to tell you at dance class. Guess she got too busy sashaying around.”
Hannah grinned. “She’s really into this belly dancing thing. I’m sure you enjoy it too.”
The male cardinal returned, this time booting a female of his species from the feeder. Why did everything in nature seem like a struggle?
“If most men were honest, who wouldn’t like feeling like a sultan. I’m a sensitive type of oasis king. I’ll go with whatever role she wants me to play.” Hal smiled. “Long as I can choose jeans and a four-wheel drive pickup over robes and a camel.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Why isn’t Justine coming with us?” Norman asked as he steered the SUV through Rosemont’s parking lot.
Hannah studied her reflection in the passenger side vanity mirror and dabbed her lipstick with a tissue. “It’s kind of a moral high ground, from what I could understand. Brittany’s coming home next weekend.”
“In honor of that, Justine can’t eat?”
“She said she couldn’t support the epitome of gluttony when her best friend is struggling to eat at all.”
“Jus is a nut case,” Jonas commented from the back seat.
Hannah turned around. “Not kind of you to say about your sister, Jonas. She has the right to her opinion, no matter how odd it may seem.”
“She was afraid I’d touch her with my alien feeler.” Jonas waved his withered, now-cast-free arm in the air.
Hannah smiled. It was hard to be stern with her son for very long.
“You should’ve seen it when they first took the cast off, Mom. The skin was all creepy, and boy did it stink!”
“Spare me the details, son.” Hannah pulled a frown.
“I wish it would stay all skinny like this forever. It’s pretty radical.”
“It won’t.” Norman glanced in the rearview mirror. “The muscles have atrophied from lack of use. Pretty soon, it’ll look like nothing ever happened.”
“Bummer.”
“You want me to go in and get Ma-Mae?” Norman asked Hannah when they pulled to the covered front entrance.
Hannah slid from her seat. “Y’all keep the car cool. She should be ready to go.”
When Hannah unlocked and entered Mae’s room, her mother was still in her purple velour robe.
Mae’s brow wrinkled. “What are you doing here? You should be at work.”
“It’s Sunday, Ma-Mae. We’re all going over to Hal and Suzanne’s church. I called to remind you last night.”
Mae trundled to the bulletin board that held her calendar and traced the grid with one finger. “Oh. Here it is.” She threw up her hands. “Reckon I’m not going. I don’t have on the right clothes for church.”
Hannah took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Let me tell Norman and Jonas to come in and wait in the living room. I’ll help you get dressed.”
“Do we have time? Am I going to be late?”
Hannah checked her watch. “You’ve had your bath?”
“I could do a quick whore bath.”
Hannah stifled a smile at her mother’s terminology for bathing only the essential parts. A whore bath before church. What a concept.
When Hannah returned from the parking lot, outfits dotted the bed and Mae struggled to coax a pair of support hose over her damp feet and legs.
“I was up, helping our new table mate,” Mae explained as she inched the thick hosiery up her calves. “Reckon that’s why I wasn’t dressed.”
Hannah let the statement pass without challenge. One day, she might need fabrications to bolster her own tattered tether to reality. “This purple pantsuit is pretty, Ma-Mae.”
Mae bounced three times, stood, then teetered for a moment before leaning to pull up the hose. As much as Hannah was tempted to butt in, she hung back.
“I positively hate putting on hose,” Hannah said, removing Mae’s pantsuit from its tubular plastic hanger.
“Don’t know one woman who doesn’t.” Mae wiggled the pants up and over her distended stomach. “But they keep my legs from swelling up so bad.” She frowned. “I’ll be dog-goned!”
“What?”
“I’ve got to pee.” Mae shuffled to the bathroom.
At this rate, we’ll be lucky to make it in time for the after-service dinner, Hannah thought.
The toilet flushed and Mae emerged. “Help me with my top. Mind my ’do. I just had it fixed yesterday.”
Hannah worked the tunic over her mother’s sprayed-stiff hair.
“That new woman that sits with us at mealtime, she’s from Ft. Lauderdale,” Mae said.
Hannah straightened her mother’s collar. “That right?”
“She’s having a time fitting in. Don’t know why she didn’t move into a place like the Mont down there.” Mae sat down with a grunt.
“Does she have any family?”
“One son. Lives over near Quincy.” Mae motioned to the closet. “Look in there and hand me the navy sandals. They don’t worry my bunions.”
“I can understand why he’d want to have her up here. Close by.”
Mae slipped the leather sandals on and secured the Velcro straps across the insteps. “She came down for breakfast this morning and left before she could eat.”
“Wasn’t she feeling well?”
“That wasn’t it.” Mae rose and gestured toward the bathroom vanity. “Let me put on a dab of lipstick so I won’t look like death warmed over.”
Hannah stood behind her mother with a hair pick and attempted to fluff the flattened spot where sleep had crushed her hairstyle.
“It was crazy down there in the dining hall this morning,” Mae continued. “Folks asking for things the cooks didn’t have. People sniping for no reason. Some days are like th
at with us old folks.” She puckered and applied a thick layer of rose-tinted lipstick, then smack-kissed most of it off on a tissue. “The servers didn’t get her order fast enough. Then when it came, something was missing. She got up and left!”
“Close your eyes.” Hannah spritzed hairspray across Mae’s curls. “There. I’m no stylist, but it’ll do.”
“I’ll need a wrap, baby.”
“It’s in the nineties outside. I hardly think—”
Mae pushed past her daughter and rummaged through the hanging clothes to locate a soft white shawl. “I’ll take this thing Helen gave me for Christmas last year. Gets cold in the sanctuary. You’ll understand one day when your blood gets old and thin.”
“I’m the opposite. Hot most of the time.”
Mae scanned the room. “Do I need my glasses?”
“Sunshades. It’s overcast, but bright.” Hannah handed Mae her neck key fob. “Ready?”
“As I ever will be.” She reached up and felt her earlobes. “Damnation! Forgot my earbobs!”
Hannah felt a grin tempt the corners of her mouth. Damnation: the one curse word somewhat condoned by Mae Mathers. If it was good enough to be printed in the Bible, it was fair game.
Mae rooted around in a small velvet case, then snapped a pair of pearl studs in place. “Now we can go.”
As they walked down the corridor, Mae continued her narrative. “I took the woman’s breakfast up to her.”
“That was nice of you.”
“From talking to her, I gathered she doesn’t feel ‘good enough,’ like folks are looking down on her.” Mae shook her head. “I told her a little story. Think it made her feel better. She ate some of her eggs and a slice of toast. Remember that seafood shack we used to eat at down in Eastpoint?” Mae asked.
Ah, the story about the handmade sign with the worn cliché. Hannah thought about putting a stop to it, but decided to listen, again. As if she hadn’t heard it a million times.
“Try as I may, I can’t remember the name of the place, right on the water off Highway 98. It got blown down in one of the hurricanes. We would sit and watch the oystermen coming in after a long day on the Gulf. There was a plaque hanging beside the checkout counter. I can see it plain as yesterday. Had a cartoon of a bedraggled fellow, a bum—patches on his knees and elbows. He was smiling to beat the band. Know what it read?”