by Rhett DeVane
Hannah took a deep breath. “I have these awful thoughts, sometimes. I hate to admit them to anyone.”
“You wish Mae would die before it gets any worse for either of you,” Suzanne said, her voice soft.
Hannah turned to face her sister-in-law. “Do you—?”
“Yes. And if most people in this situation were honest with themselves, they struggle with the same thought.”
“How unbelievably awful of me.” Hannah swiped her sweaty bangs away from her forehead. “I’m wishing for my mother to die. What kind of a person does that?”
“You aren’t wishing her dead. You’re hoping for her passage to be free of pain and that slow, steady loss. You want her to be able to skip the lingering-on.” Suzanne snapped her fingers in irritation. “Dang it! I can talk till I’m blue, and still not find the right words to say what I truly mean.”
Hannah bumped her playfully on the shoulder. “If you’re at a loss for words, Sis, this must be pretty hard to figure out.”
“I have a hankering for ice cream, all of a sudden.” Suzanne moistened her lips.
“Sounds like my craving for peanut butter. I can’t seem to get enough. As to ice cream, I have some low-carb stuff in the freezer if the kids haven’t eaten it all.”
Suzanne stood so suddenly, Snooker scrambled to his feet and regarded her with wide eyes. “Uh-uh. That fake stuff isn’t going to cut it. I need a double dip of rocky road fudge in an old-fashioned crispy cone. I want to wallow in it and lick the dribbles off my fingers. Nothing short of that is going to soothe what ails us both. We can get you some with peanut butter in it, I’m sure.”
“I’ll drive.”
No matter how hard she tried, Hannah couldn’t figure out her husband’s ongoing passion for power tools. Not only did Norman own every kind of cutting, measuring and drilling device, his shed bulged with yard-related gadgets. And he wasn’t especially handy with them.
The latest acquisition was an electric-powered pressure washer. As soon as he cut off the price tag, he took great pains blasting the front sidewalk until his hands could barely form a fist around the control nozzle. Not deterred, he figured a way to tie the release handle so that it didn’t require a heavy squeeze. Next, he moved to the driveway. The reflected glare from the newly-cleaned cement hurt Hannah’s eyes, even through celebrity-dark sunglasses. An entire Saturday spent washing away grime and mold. Norman, in power-tool heaven.
Today, though it was Sunday, Norman and his assistant Jonas had awakened early. They roamed the property, searching for anything that would stay still long enough to hose down. Snooker cowered beneath the deck, afraid of the bath of a lifetime.
Justine sat at the kitchen table, her head bent low over a bowl of soggy cereal. Between her elderly mother and teenaged daughter, the family mood swings seldom slowed to a complete halt.
“Bad morning?” Hannah popped a cinnamon roll into the microwave and topped off her coffee.
Justine poked out her lips and shrugged. “I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Don’t know what good it would do.”
Hannah slid into a chair with her cup and saucer. “Might not. Then again, it might. Only if you want.” Never, ever sound or look too interested in a teenager’s affairs; she had learned from experience.
“It’s just . . . Brittany.”
“I thought you two had a pretty good day yesterday. You didn’t get in from the lake until almost dark.”
“We had an okay time.” Justine stirred the spoon around, creating a miniature wave of milk and toasted oats.
From outside, Hannah heard the low-pitched rumble of the machine. Judging from the direction, she guessed the deck was under attack. Poor Snooker. He was probably pacing the back fence line by now. “Did you have an argument?”
“Not really.”
If discussions with Mae were like walking in a minefield, talking with Justine reminded Hannah of trying to land a hundred-pound grouper on a bream pole: inch by careful inch, cringing lest the line snap.
“Brit’s changed.”
“She kind of had to, don’t you think?” Hannah asked.
Another exaggerated shrug. “Guess.”
“What’s your perception of things, Jus? Has she changed for the better? Or are you worried?”
“She . . . oh, I don’t know really.” Justine flipped her long hair from one shoulder to the other. “She’s more blunt, or something. I can’t explain it.”
“Give me an example.”
“Well, like, Brit always asked me what she ought to wear. All the time. She never picked out anything. And yesterday she was ready when I got there. She kind of got all huffy when I gave her a hard time about it. It was so weird. Like, it’s so not Brit.”
“Are you upset about her changing or that you aren’t the one telling her what to do?”
Justine’s brows knit together. “I don’t get it.”
“I’m going through something similar with your Grand-Mae. I see things I want her to do, or ways I think she should act. When she doesn’t follow along, it frustrates me to no end.”
“Okay . . . ”
“I had to realize that, for all of my good intentions, Ma-Mae has the right to live her life without me controlling it totally. Our relationship has shifted. I have to step in and take over in some areas where she’s no longer able, but she still has some independence that I don’t need to take away. The hardest part is figuring out exactly when to intervene and when to step aside.”
“You think I’m trying to rule Brit?”
“I don’t know, honey. Are you?”
Justine considered. “She’s always wanted me to tell her how to, like, be.”
“But not now?”
Justine nodded. “She’s not the same since she went into that place.”
Hannah heard Snooker yelp. Should she stage an intervention? Scared dog versus troubled daughter willing to talk. Daughter won.
“The way she was before wasn’t working for her, Jus. If Brittany had kept going like that, she would’ve died. She nearly succeeded in destroying herself.”
“So now, I just stand back and . . . what?”
“Be her friend. Like you always have.” Hannah stood and refilled her coffee. “Friendships change. Relationships change. Whether or not you choose to change along with Brittany is up to you.”
“I don’t know how to act around her anymore, Mom. It feels so strange.”
“And it will. For a while. Until the two of you settle into new roles. Is she worth the effort?”
Justine pursed her lips. “Um, yeah.”
A stack of dishes teetered in the sink. Bits of dried egg. Toast edges. Coffee grounds. A rubber band? Clean kitchen versus conversation with daughter. Daughter won. Hannah took her fresh cup of coffee and sat down.
“You solved the dilemma, then. If it’s worth your time and energy to maintain a close friendship with Brittany, you’ll find a way.” Hannah slid the bowl of soggy uneaten cereal away from Justine. “Why don’t I make you some French toast?”
“With lots of cinnamon sugar?”
Hannah tousled Justine’s hair. “As much as it takes to turn your pouty lips upward.”
She and Justine cleaned the breakfast dishes, then Hannah curtailed Norman and Jonas’s pressure-washing rampage to get ready for Sunday School and church. After two unsuccessful attempts at donning pantyhose over sweat-dampened skin, Hannah wadded them into a tight ball and slung them into the wastebasket. Good riddance. At least she didn’t pitch them from a car window this time.
“Looks like I wear pants today,” she grumbled. Another challenge: finding a pair she could button.
The phone rang. Her mother’s voice. “Are you on the way out to work? Did I wake you?”
Hannah closed her eyes and fought a wave of bone-weariness. “No, Ma-Mae. It’s Sunday. I’m getting ready for church. What’s up?”
“I forgot to tell you about today. My mind’s not good.”
/> Understatement. “What about today?” Hannah glanced at the digital clock radio on the bedside table.
“Family Appreciation Day. Eleven to one.”
Responsibility sat squarely on her chest, making it hard to breathe. “I wish you would’ve told me before the last minute. You know I’ve tried to attend every function they’ve had there since you moved in. I can’t make this one.”
“Well . . . ” The disappointment in her mother’s tone was unmistakable. “It’s my fault. I didn’t tell you. It’s . . . all right.”
“Please try to understand, Ma-Mae. I’m supposed to be at church in fifteen minutes, after which we’re going over to Quincy to eat a quick lunch and buy groceries for the week. If I don’t, I’ll have to shop after work one afternoon. Then, I need to come home and make sure everything’s ready for the kids to start school tomorrow.”
“You’re busy with your family. I know.”
“I’ll come by later in the evening to visit for a bit. Is that okay?”
“I reckon.”
Hannah hung up and the guilt oozed into every pore. She ticked through the family roster. Hal and Suzanne: at the coast for a much-needed weekend respite. Helen? No way could she make it on such short notice. The image of her mother sitting alone and neglected amongst a herd of visiting other-people’s relatives flashed in her imagination.
Michael Jack answered on the third ring. His voice: groggy with sleep.
“Hi, sweetie. This is your favorite auntie calling.”
“Hey.” He yawned. “What’s up?”
“I know it’s early and Sunday, but do you and Mili have any pressing plans for today?”
He mumbled a muffled question before answering. “Just hanging out. Too hot to do much of anything.”
“In that case, I need a huge family favor.”
Josephine Harrison rolled her walker up to the front desk where Hannah stood, signing the visitor’s roster. “Good evening, Hannah.”
“Hi, Miz Josie.”
“Have you seen your mother?”
“I just came from her room. She’s settling in for the night.”
Josie’s eyes sought hers. “She thinks the world of you. You’re a good daughter.”
“I try to be. Sometimes I fall short. I hated missing the family thing today.”
“Your nephew and his intended sat at our table. Nice young couple. Your mother had a good time introducing them around.”
Hannah smiled. “I’m so glad Michael Jack and Mili could come. Did your son make it?”
Josie’s eyes watered slightly. “He intended to. But, no.”
“I’m sorry.”
The older woman dropped her head slightly. “I have your mother, and we manage to have an enjoyable time.” When Josie paused, Hannah sensed her indecision. “Mae is slowing down. You know that, don’t you?”
Hannah’s chest felt tight. “Yes.”
“Here lately, she doesn’t get out to as many things.”
“I’ve mentioned it to her nurse practitioner. I don’t really know what else to do.”
Josie fiddled with a stack of newspapers in her walker’s basket. “Can’t be helped. Natural part of it all. I suppose.”
“Thank you, Miz Josie, for being concerned. And for being Ma-Mae’s friend.”
Josephine smiled. “Wish I had met her years ago. We have so much catching up to do and so little time left to accomplish it.”
Michael Jack’s Homemade Barbeque Sauce
1- 32 ounce bottle of catsup
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup white vinegar
1 lemon, rind and all, cut in half
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 /2 tsp. crushed red pepper (Italian-style) or 1 tsp. red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste.
Combine all ingredients in a small saucepot and simmer over low.
Reserve a little sauce to use at table. The rest is for the meat.
Apply generously to chicken, beef, or pork after meat has mostly cooked on grill.
Chapter Forty-one
Insomnia: Hannah’s latest delightful hobby. It required no special tools, cost no money, and could be accomplished on any flat surface. Hannah noticed everything. Norman’s nose whistle blew as long and lonesome as the midnight train out of River Junction. Slug’s nightly cat bath sounded like wet noodles slapping against her pillow. The ever-present and maddening screech of the cicadas echoed in her ears.
She checked the digital display and calculated how few hours remained before the alarm. Finally, she got up and grumbled all the way to the couch in the family room. The nubby fabric pricked her skin, so she dragged a sheet from the linen closet.
Hannah reclined with a sigh. She noticed the loud tick-tock of the mantel clock, the faint drip of the kitchen faucet, and the rock-bump of the slightly off-balance ceiling fan. She stuffed wads of cotton into her ears. Her own exhausted heart beat thumped.
Thoroughly chapped, Hannah rose, located a novel, and flipped on the pole light. She read three pages before the letters melted together and dripped off the page.
With her eyes held purposely half-closed, she rose and padded down the hall. The bed was soft. The linens were cool. She slipped into place beside her husband and closed her eyes. At four in the morning, she finally fell asleep.
“I would sell my soul for some sleep,” Hannah told her nurse practitioner several days into the insomniac’s marathon.
Kimberly Grant scribbled onto Hannah’s chart. “You’re not alone. Too bad we can’t hook up all of the women of a certain age and let them talk to each other in the wee hours.”
“Kind of a hot-flash hotline chat room.”
Kimberly glanced up. “If you could figure a commercial angle on that idea, you’d make a fortune.”
“Am I finally cracking up, or what?”
“Not at all.” Kimberly rolled her chair closer to the cushioned exam table. “You have teenaged children. That alone is enough to rob you of sleep. Not only that, but you’re helping your elderly mother through a difficult part of her life.” The nurse practitioner paused. “What are you doing for you, Hannah? For recreation, for exercise?”
“Belly dancing.”
Kimberly grinned. “Always thought that sounded like fun.”
“It is. For at least two hours a week, my mind is not on anything but trying not to look like a complete klutz.”
“It’s a good thing, having a hobby. I knit,” Kimberly said. “What about the rest of the week? Any other forms of exercise?”
“Most days, I’m too exhausted to do much of anything except throw together a meal and flop down on the couch.”
“Maybe you and your husband could start walking a little.”
“It’s been so doggone hot. Even at nine o’clock, it’s too humid to do much outside.”
Kimberly nodded. “Do you know anyone in Chattahoochee with a pool? That way, you could get some movement in and remain cool.”
Hannah said, “My brother and sister-in-law have one. Good idea. I’ll talk to Suzanne.”
“How about your diet? Are you getting proper nutrition?”
“Pretty healthy. Mostly salads this time of year. Too dang hot to eat heavy.” Hannah considered. “I do like my ice cream, though. Justine sees to it that I always buy the low-carb kind, so it’s not quite as bad. Girl’s got to have some vices.” Like my morning cinnamon rolls.
“If a bowl of ice cream is the worst thing you do, you’re okay. Now, the rest of my suggestions. Avoid alcohol and caffeine as much as possible, especially close to bedtime. Your exercise shouldn’t be within two hours of sleep. Your body needs time to wind down.”
Kimberly slid the wheeled stool to a low countertop desk. “I’ll get you a prescription for a mild sleep aid. It’s useful when you really need a good night’s rest and you haven’t been able to accomplish it on your own.”
“You know how I feel about taking drugs. But after three consecutive nights without sleep, I start to see things. Than
ks for listening to my litany.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’ll write the orders for some blood work to make sure your aches and pains aren’t related to the beginnings of some type of auto-immune issue.” She consulted the chart. “It’s been almost a year since we checked your cholesterol level. Might as well add that in. Means you’ll have to fast before the test. Also, I’ll check your hormone levels. Chances are, some of your symptoms are related to perimenopause. When you add the stress into the mix, it really raises the bar.”
“I heard that.”
“When was your last period?” Kimberly asked.
“Over two months ago maybe? I sometimes skip a few months, then back to regular.”
The nurse practitioner referred to Hannah’s chart. “What are you using for birth control?”
“Lack of sex?” Hannah chuckled. “I can only stand human contact for so long before I get hot, and not in a pleasant, arousing sort of way.”
“Still, it’s a time when pregnancy can occur. Easy to let your guard down.” Kim jotted a note on the chart. “Unless you plan on extending your family, be aware.”
“The only pitter-patter of little feet in my house is either the cat, the dog, or me getting up for the zillionth time to pee in the middle of the night.”
Missy Rodgers stopped in mid-stride, a plate heaping with homemade cinnamon rolls in her hand. “Are you sick or something? I can’t believe you’re turning these down! I just now pulled them from the oven. I even slathered on extra powdered sugar icing, the way you like them.”
Hannah’s mouth watered. “I’m taking that cereal challenge. The one where I eat cereal for two meals a day, then one normal meal. It’s supposed to help me lose a jeans size in two weeks.”
“You’re not that overweight, Hannah.”
“I’ve put on weight, enough to make my clothes feel uncomfortable. I can’t afford—I won’t afford— a new wardrobe.” Hannah continued after a sip of coffee, “All this has magically appeared since Ma-Mae . . . ” Hannah sat her mug down. “I can’t blame this on her. I do a lot of nervous eating when I’m stressed.”