by Nancy Thayer
“What could I say? ‘It hurts my feelings that you want Sonny to marry Robin instead of me, that I suspect you tamper with the food I bring over, and after skating with you I think you’d probably kill me if you could!” Beth shook her head angrily. “No cozy talk with Sonny’s mother. She wants me to disappear.”
“Have you talked with Sonny about this?”
“Oh, vaguely, but I always end up sounding paranoid and as if I’m fishing for compliments. I haven’t told him I think his mother put tuna water in my casserole. I mean, Sonny’s mother is his mother, she’s sacred territory. I don’t think he’d believe she did anything wrong even if a panel of witnesses testified to it.”
Julia pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, digging her chin into her knees as she thought. “Your case is tougher than mine. Agnes is a pain in the butt, but you’ve got to feel sorry for her. She’s lost her daughter, and here I am, a strange woman, taking care of her granddaughter. She drives me nuts, but she drives Tim nuts, too. Tim and I are on the same side. You’ve got Sonny’s mother right in between the two of you.”
“And I won’t feel sorry for her!” Beth said with spirit. “I mean, Sonny’s old girlfriend is beautiful and a great jock, but Sonny didn’t marry her! He loves me, and he’s going to marry me!”
“Right. So we’ve got to cook up some kind of plan to get Sonny’s mother off your back.”
Readjusting the pillows behind her, Beth said, “My back and I thank you!”
21
Even in a hospital bed, naked from the waist down except for her silk tap pants, Claudia managed to look more regal than Queen Victoria.
Obviously she felt that way. “I don’t understand,” she said to Polly in a voice iced with contempt, “why this room doesn’t have a closet. It won’t do my skirt any good simply to be tossed over the back of a chair like that when it should be properly hung.”
Polly smoothed the skirt with her hand. She would have liked to sit down in the chair, but if she did, she might wrinkle the skirt. Then Claudia would really have a fit. “It’s an outpatient room, so I suppose there’s no need for a closet.”
“I just pointed out the need for a closet. Are you deaf?” snapped Claudia, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
She’s afraid, Polly reminded herself. She’s about to have a long needle inserted into her abdomen, and she’s frightened, not to mention dying of cancer and probably constipated and hungry, too.
“Would you like a sip of water?” Polly asked. “Or maybe some juice? The nurse said Dr. Monroe will be right in, but we might have a little wait.”
“I don’t think Hugh will keep me waiting,” Claudia retorted, just as the physician walked into the room.
“Hello, Claudia!” Exuding health, confidence, and the scent of cinnamon, he strode to the bed and grasped Claudia’s hand in a firm clasp. “You’re looking well!” With a nod toward Polly, he said, “Hello, Polly. Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you.” He’d remembered her name! Polly felt herself blush. She’d forgotten how attractive the man was, how sexy. Oh, Lord, she was developing a crush on him. Probably every woman did; women did get moony over doctors.
“We’re doing a paracentesis today,” Dr. Monroe informed them. “It’s a simple procedure. We’ll be draining some of the fluid from your abdomen, which will provide you some relief from the pressure and might allow you to eat more.”
A nurse wheeled in a stainless steel cart laden with bottles and boxes. As he spoke, Dr. Monroe pulled up a chair, opened the boxes, removed gloves and needles and other paraphernalia, and deftly arranged everything at Claudia’s side, chatting away the entire time as if he were at a summer luncheon.
“I don’t understand why I have this fluid,” Claudia complained.
“It’s a reaction to the tumor,” Dr. Monroe told her. “It’s called ascitic fluid, and it will continue to accumulate. Now, the ultrasound you just had indicated that we’ve got a nice little pocket of fluid right here on the left side, so I’m going to put a needle in—sorry, this will sting a bit—then we’ll just attach this drain. Nurse, if you would get the first bottle ready, please—and here we go. I saw your photo in Boston magazine, Claudia. You looked smashing in that red hat.”
Claudia looked pleased. “That was at the Penrods’ Christmas party. I’m surprised I didn’t see you there.”
Fluid the color of tea trickled from the long tube into a glass liter bottle. The physician adjusted it so the flow increased. “Comfortable?” When Claudia nodded, he said, “Well, you know Carol and I divorced a few years ago, and when we did, we sort of divided our friends between us, and Carol got the Penrods.”
Polly’s ears pricked up like a retriever at the quack of a duck. Glancing at Hugh Monroe, she saw him smiling at her, and she blushed again.
“Also, I have to admit, I’m not thrilled about going to social occasions alone.” He pressed a clip, momentarily halting the flow. “New bottle, please, Nurse.”
“I’m surprised you’re alone,” Claudia told him. “You must have any number of suitable women who would be only too glad to be your companion.”
“I suppose the sticking point is the definition of suitable.” Now he looked at Polly quite openly.
Claudia noticed. “Polly, I would like a ginger ale.”
Polly gave herself a mental kick. There poor Claudia was, stuck like a dilapidated automobile having its oil changed, while Polly and Hugh Monroe, still, by comparison, relatively young and hearty, flirted with each other.
“I’ll get it for you right away.”
Polly hurried down the long corridor and into an elevator to the basement and the food court, lecturing herself silently. Dr. Monroe probably flirted with every woman, as a therapeutic service. It certainly got her blood pumping. Spotting a restroom, she darted in to check her appearance in a mirror. Her green eyes, enlarged by the eyeliner Julia had suggested she try, sparkled, and a becoming flush brought color to her milky skin. Carolyn had told her she looked a little like Julianne Moore—of course, Carolyn was just being kind. Enough! Polly scolded herself, and dashed off to get the ginger ale.
By the time she returned to the room, Dr. Monroe was gently removing the tube from Claudia’s abdomen. With a square of gauze, he patted antiseptic ointment over the small wound.
“You should be fine now. This will heal quickly, and you should have quite a few good days with a good appetite. Eat as much as you can, to buck up your strength.”
“Thank you, Hugh.” Claudia awarded him a brief, regal nod.
He took one of her hands in his. “You promise you will call me if you have any symptoms that make you uncomfortable.”
“Very well.” She looked away, as if he were being rude.
The nurse wheeled the cart with its three liter bottles from the room.
Dr. Monroe pressed his case. “Constipation, indigestion, pain, even if it’s minor. We’ve got all kinds of palliatives to help you. We want you to enjoy every day as much as you can.”
Claudia pulled her hand from his. “Good of you.”
“At some point, you’ll want to check into the hospital.”
Anger molded her face into a cold mask. “Never.”
Dr. Monroe folded his arms over his chest and considered his patient. “Never?” he asked genially.
“Absolutely not. I abhor hospitals. I intend to die in my own home.”
“Even though we can make you more comfortable in a hospital?”
“Nothing could make me comfortable in a hospital. I intend to spend the last remaining moments of my life surrounded by my own things.”
He nodded. “I can understand that, Mrs. Lodge, certainly. Many people feel that way, actually. That’s why we have such an excellent home health and hospice program. That way nurses can visit you—”
“No. No strangers.”
Hugh Monroe bent close to Claudia and lowered his voice, as if calming an injured animal. “We know you don’t
want strangers in your house. But please consider it. You might need pain medication, for example, or help bathing—”
Claudia shuddered visibly. “Hugh. If you continue like this, I shall either consult another doctor or refrain from taking any medical advice at all.”
The physician studied her face. “Very well.” He straightened, shot Polly a look laden with rue, then became, once again, brisk and hearty. “I’ll leave you, then, Mrs. Lodge. I’ll be glad to hear from you anytime.”
“Must I stay here now?”
“If you want. You might want to rest a little. Or, if you’d like, you’re free to leave anytime.”
“I’ll leave now. This is not the most attractive room.”
He laughed. “I agree. Good-bye then, Mrs. Lodge.” To Polly’s delight, he crossed the room and took her hand in his. “Nice to see you again, Polly.”
She knew she was flushing like a schoolgirl. “Nice to see you.”
He seemed about to say something else. Then a nurse came in, and he gave everyone another nod and left the room.
It was as if all the lights went out.
“Polly?” Claudia was impatient.
“Here,” Polly said, rushing forward with Claudia’s woolen skirt. “Let me help you dress.”
——————————
Polly and Claudia walked back out of the hospital through halls streaming with patients in wheelchairs, on crutches and walkers. The parking valet brought Polly’s Subaru around. Polly helped Claudia into the passenger seat, then settled behind the wheel. “Is there anywhere you’d like to go before I take you home?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I want to go straight home. I’m tired.”
“All right, then. Would you like to hear some music?”
Claudia shrugged. “I suppose.”
Polly clicked on the radio, tuning it to the classical station. Vivaldi spun into the air. Claudia leaned her head back against the car seat. Polly drove to Dover, grateful for the music filling the silence.
At Claudia’s house, Polly stopped the car and unfastened her seat belt.
“Don’t fuss, Polly. I’m quite capable of walking into my own home without your assistance.” Claudia gathered her purse up and opened the car door.
“All right, then,” Polly answered brightly. “I’ll be back this evening with some dinner for you, and perhaps a nice little dessert. I’m meeting Carolyn Sperry for tea, and maybe we’ll find one perfect cake—”
Claudia’s head whipped around like a cobra’s. “Whom? Whom did you say you’re meeting?”
“Carolyn Sperry. She—”
“Carolyn Sperry of the Sperry Paper Company?” Claudia’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly melded with her hairline.
“Yes.”
“How do you know Carolyn Sperry?” Two spots of red bloomed on Claudia’s pale skin.
Polly swallowed her exasperation. Trust Claudia to assume Polly wouldn’t be of interest to someone of Carolyn’s vaunted social value. “I met her at The Haven, out near Concord, and we’ve become friends. She’s—”
Crankily, Claudia cut her off. “But why would she be your friend? You’re closer to her father’s age than to hers.”
“True. But her mother’s dead. And her father just married a young woman whom Carolyn doesn’t—” Polly slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t gossip.” She didn’t mean to be ingenious, but as she spoke, she realized nothing could have whetted Claudia’s appetite more. Claudia froze like a retriever who’d just flushed out a quail from the underbrush.
“Well.” Claudia presented Polly with an impressive imitation of a smile. “Run along to your little tea. I’ll see you this evening.”
Polly watched Claudia as she slowly, with great deliberation, made her way up her sidewalk to her house. Claudia did not like to be touched, and she did not like to seem to need assistance, but Polly was amazed that the older woman didn’t collapse, so bone-thin were her legs. Perhaps she ought to phone Dr. Monroe to discuss Claudia’s state and what could be done to help her.
But if she phoned Dr. Monroe, would he think she was just flirting with him?
Damn! Was nothing ever plain and simple?
——————————
Later that day, after the early winter dusk had fallen, Polly let herself into Claudia’s house, stamped the snow off her boots, hung up her coat and handbag, and went down the hall to the gloomy living room where no lights, not even the television, glowed.
“Hello? I’m going to turn on a lamp, Claudia, I want to show you what I’ve brought.”
“Mmmfh,” Claudia replied, sounding slightly disoriented. No doubt Polly had awakened her from a nap. She suspected Claudia napped a lot these days.
The light came on just in time for Polly to see Claudia, slumped in a thin, sunken curl on the chaise, trying to maneuver her false teeth into her mouth.
Oh, jeez, Polly thought. Old age is so hard on our vanity! Quickly she turned away and busied herself setting a new plant on a table. To give Claudia more time to compose herself, she went into the kitchen and began dinner preparations. She poured two glasses of sherry, put them on the tray, and carried it into the living room.
Claudia had her teeth back in and was sitting up straight in her chaise. She’d patted her hair into place, although the back of it stuck up like a cockatoo’s comb, detracting from her dignity as she said in plummy tones, “The azalea is lovely, Polly, thank you.”
Polly nearly dropped the tray. Compliments from Claudia? “I’m so glad you like it.” Setting the tray on the table, she handed Claudia a glass. “It’s six o’clock. Shall we watch the news?”
“Of course.” On her own, Polly paid little attention to the news, but Tucker had been a news junkie who would no more have missed the six-o’clock news on Channel 5 at the end of the day than a priest would have skipped Sunday-morning mass. So Polly relaxed in her chair, sipping her sherry and only halfheartedly listening to the commentators, instead, remembering how cozy her evenings had been with Tucker, how he’d made her laugh with his editorial comments on the news. Now as she sat with Claudia, she felt even lonelier than she would have felt if she’d been alone, because Claudia insisted on absolute silence, even during the commercial breaks, which was probably a good thing. Claudia was conservative, Polly liberal. They already had enough to disagree about. Tucker had always—
“I think Natalie Jacobsen’s new hairstyle is quite attractive, don’t you?”
Claudia speaking? Polly was so surprised she almost tossed her drink across the room. “Yes,” she agreed weakly, not having thought much about the anchorwoman’s hairstyle.
Claudia said nothing else, and Polly was floating back in her memories when, during the weather forecast, Claudia announced, “Dick Alpert annoys me sometimes. I wish he’d be a little less perky.”
Polly snapped to attention. “I suppose he’s trying to jazz up the weather.”
“Perhaps. Although you’d think all these new graphics would be sufficient for that.”
Good golly, Polly thought. We’re having a conversation!
She had a pretty good idea why. Now that Claudia knew Polly was friends with Carolyn Sperry, Polly’s social value had jumped several levels in Claudia’s mind. Well, Polly was grateful for anything that would make her relationship with Claudia a little smoother.
Claudia switched channels to CNN while Polly prepared a plate of beef and rice casserole, which Polly had made using her richest recipe, because, unlike Polly, Claudia needed all the fat she could get. As she dished it up, Polly tried to think of a way to broach the subject of arranging new household help for Claudia. She wanted to do it tonight, while Claudia was in a receptive mood.
Back in the living room, she set a tray over Claudia’s lap. The pungent aroma of gravy, wine, onions, and beef rose in the air. Polly poured a glass of merlot for each of them, then curled up in a chair across from Claudia, and prepared to stare at the television as she had every other nigh
t for the past few weeks.
Claudia flicked the remote and the screen went blank. “How was your tea?”
Oh, Polly thought. Of course! “It was fine. We met at the Ritz.”
Claudia’s eyes brightened. “The only place for tea.”
“Yes, and it’s near Carolyn’s doctor’s office.”
“And how is her health?”
“She’s got slightly elevated blood pressure, which has her doctor concerned, but she’s doing what she can to manage it, even though it’s hard when she has a company to run.”
“Her husband, Hank, is an excellent man. Went to Andover and Williams. Involved with many conservation societies.”
“Yes, and he’s a wonderful husband, from what Carolyn tells me.”
“You mentioned earlier something about Aubrey Sperry’s new wife.”
Polly hesitated. Carolyn had given Polly the okay to discuss her private life with Claudia, but Polly wanted to stress the necessity for discretion. “This is in confidence, you understand.”
Claudia looked insulted. “Of course.”
“Carolyn doesn’t like her at all. Doesn’t trust her. She’s much younger than Aubrey, and she feels just a little off to Carolyn.”
Claudia’s eyes gleamed. She was almost smiling.
Thrilled to be the source of such pleasure, Polly elaborated, “Heather—his new wife’s name is Heather—has withdrawn, over the past month or so, over two hundred thousand dollars from Carolyn’s father’s personal credit line.”
Claudia elevated one eloquent shoulder. “Certainly he can afford it.”
“True. Still. Carolyn’s worried that Heather has some kind of scam going.”
“Really?”
Polly had Claudia’s entire attention. “Heather did sign a prenuptial agreement, so that’s not the worry. And, yes, they can afford two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of furniture—that’s what she spent it on—but he certainly can’t afford two hundred thousand dollars flying out of his account every couple of months.”
“What sort of furniture did she buy?”