Twenty-Seven
“O tidings of comfort and joy.”
—“God Rest Ye Merry, Gentleman”
Zelda and Spencer had started fires in the wood stove in the corner of the living room and in the separate open fireplace that was the focus of an L-shaped furniture arrangement formed by two full-sized couches. One was to help heat the house and the other for ambiance. The weather channel had forecast that the temperature would not get out of the single digits today, and the young people had resolved to spend it in their flannel pajamas in front of crackling logs. They were each stretched out full length on one of the sofas reading a book they’d bought long ago, but had somehow never gotten to.
“Zelda, we are going to have to accept winter will be our slow season and should try to enjoy it. On a typical day, there might be four or five hours of chores to do. At the most. We still have to feed the animals and monitor their silage and hay. I’ll tend to the cheese room, especially when it’s below zero outside. On the warmer days, we’ll have fencing that needs to be repaired, and I’m sure other maintenance projects will turn up from time to time.”
Zelda thought about Spencer’s ideas. “I like how we got up early this morning to milk the cows and take care of them, and then came back to shower. It was fun getting back in bed today, but we won’t be able to do it every day. Still, you’re right—compared to our work schedule in the summer, it’s going to feel like we’re on vacation.”
Their lazing around had led to some fooling around, although Zelda still felt restricted by her long recovery. After the sweethearts were done snuggling, Spencer went down to the kitchen to get them coffee. When he came back to his bedroom with two mugs, he found Zelda crying into her pillow. She grabbed her abdomen and said, “It’s this aching, Spencer. Sometimes I can’t stand it.”
“Zelda, I told you not to lift anything. You don’t have to work until you’re ready.”
“I didn’t. Just moving in the wrong direction can make it start up. The doctor tells me I’m clear to do anything I feel well enough to do, but I’m still in pain. I don’t know how you deal with it, Spencer. How have you managed all this time when you still suffer?”
“I don’t stand it without help. I’ve been taking OxyContin for five years, but I don’t take as much of it now as I used to. Then, they have me on a cocktail for neuropathic pain. As long as I take all the pharmaceutical favorites, too, I get my prescription for oxies. My doctors pay attention to how many I take, but they don’t have any easy answers. I might have to live with phantom limb pain for the rest of my life.”
“What do you mean by ‘pharmaceutical favorites?’”
“Oh you know, the latest and most expensive drugs. The kind that are provided free of charge as samples and then cost a fortune when they are prescribed to you and you actually have to buy them. The pain specialist told me patients with chronic problems get depressed, so I had to take an SSRI antidepressant that’s similar to Prozac, but always the newest one and not available as a generic. Then, there was the latest Advil cousin that’s an NSAID—an anti-inflammatory drug. That was prescribed to me until it was proven to cause heart attacks. The physician’s assistant from my doctor’s office called half-hysterical and told me to stop immediately. Everybody knows opiates cause withdrawal, but the worst I ever had was from an SSRI and an NSAID.
“One of the companies got approval by the FDA for an anti-seizure medication. They decided to market it as a nerve pain medication, as well. That’s what they call off-label. When my doctor insisted I take it, I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t add numbers or put a sentence together on paper. I told my specialist it didn’t help and it caused terrible side effects. He was stubborn about giving my body several months to adjust to it and swore the pharma company had proved the medication helped people with problems like mine. In fact, he was annoyed with me because the therapeutic dose was four times the amount I was taking. I thought the drug just turned patients into zombies, and apparently, zombies don’t really feel pain. Or, maybe they don’t have the energy to complain about it, but I couldn’t handle it.”
“What did you do?”
“When I know a drug isn’t doing me any good I stop or take only the minimum dose. I continue to let my parents’ health insurance pay for the refills, and I throw them away at the rate I’m supposed to be taking them. The truth is, the only thing that has helped me over the long haul is a narcotic. Opium has existed for thousands of years. I just wonder if there aren’t more effective ways of delivering it to the places that hurt. Why are the damn drug companies manufacturing their own synthetic versions? It’s interesting these new designer drugs are so terribly addictive,” he added. “I’m not an expert, but I wonder about the stuff that numbs pain like when you go to the dentist. I had a dream once about a pump putting lidocaine into my shoulder and it was numb. Numb would be so much better than what I live with now. Zelda, I think there is something much worse than drug dependence. It’s unending pain. It’s suffering with no hope. It’s giving up the idea you have anything to look forward to and curling into a ball, wishing you could die. The first few years after I regained consciousness were brutal.”
She asked him, “Aren’t your doctors worried about the pain pills?”
“They didn’t think I’d live. They never thought I would get to be as healthy as I am now. My pain was the least of their problems. No, I think Dr. Gluck is proud of me. I could be asking for more medication, but I don’t. In fact, every year that passes, I set goals for myself and cut down. I’m starting to think the problem is complicated by the fact we work so hard. The more I do during the day, the more it hurts at night, but I love what we’re accomplishing. It’s hard to figure out how to pace myself.”
Zelda let out a sigh and said, “Night is always the worst for me too. It’s been months since I slept more than a few hours, and I really believe that if you can get a good night’s sleep you will be in less pain.”
“Take one of my pills. Just take a break from the torment, it’s only one day. You are healing. This isn’t going to last forever.”
“Then you are left short and that’s not fair to you . . . we could stretch out what you have.”
“How?”
“We could crush it, and snort it.” Zelda’s face reddened because she believed she had gone too far, and he must be shocked.
“Look at your face. What an expression! I hope you don’t really believe it’s the first time I’ve done it. Zelda, I’ve asked myself many times, ‘How is it we put astronauts in space, but we don’t know how to treat chronic pain?’ It’s nearly beaten me many times. Let’s take a vacation today. Do some and let’s relax.”
“What would happen if your mother found out? Not to mention Kenny.”
Spencer picked up his notebook and began to jot down some of his thoughts. He ignored her question, opened a prescription bottle, and handed a pill to her. Zelda went into the bathroom, got a hand mirror, and went downstairs and found a razor blade in the kitchen junk drawer. When she came back into the room, Spencer handed her his wallet and she took out the cleanest bill he had and rolled it. She chopped the pill up on the mirror and separated it into separate lines. When Zelda was sure the powder was fine enough to be inhaled efficiently, she handed the mirror and the rolled bill to Spencer. He deftly snorted the length of one the lines. She took the next turn. It made her left sinus sting and she gulped a little bit, but in less than thirty seconds, her world of hurt vaporized.
Later in front of the fireplace, Spencer was still adding notes to his journal. He said to Zelda, “It’s December twenty-third, and I’m looking back on all we’ve done this year. Even with your accident and all, we’ve come so far.”
Zelda put her book down across her chest. “You did most of the physical work, but it still feels pretty good. We cleared the first two riding trails and their campsites. We built the lean-tos and put up hitching posts and we got the fire pits dug out and lined with stone.”
“The ord
ers for our cheese far exceed what we are going to have when it ripens. So that will be a nice nest egg when it comes in. Maybe it’s time to buy more cows,” he mused.
“Let’s set some goals for next year. It would be fun to do some planning. Will you write them down, Zel? First, I think we should try to bring in ten parties with their horses to ride and camp for a long weekend. If we do more, that would be great, but ten minimum.”
“We should also try to double our milk production. I think that’s realistic.”
Yvonne walked in wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She must have been in the kitchen, but the young people hadn’t heard her. “Don’t you kids look comfy.”
“Mom, sit down for a minute, would you?”
“All right, let me get my coffee. You kids want anything while I’m up?”
“I think we’re good.”
When she returned, she sat on the couch cushion near Zelda’s feet because she didn’t really take up the whole length of the sofa. “What’s up?”
“Mom, we’re doing some planning for next year. We’re satisfied with what we’ve accomplished so far and trying to enjoy our lazy day here, but the truth is while we’ve made some money, we’re still living off you and Dad. Well, you, Dad, and Kenny.”
Yvonne’s hackles instantly went up. “Spencer, you know there’s no rush. You haven’t had a seizure in quite a while, and I’m happy for you, honey, but the doctor can’t guarantee it won’t happen again. Zelda is still getting checkups twice a month to make certain she gets well. I think you should both take your time. There’s no reason to push yourselves before you are completely healed.”
“Well, Mom, I’m sorry to break this to you, but I think I’m as healed as I’m going to get. In order for Zelda and me to feel like contributing adults, we need to start thinking about how to become independent. We always feel welcome here at home, and we thank you, but remember the time when you and Dad couldn’t wait to be on your own? We’re no different, and we want to start working toward getting our own place.”
Yvonne turned her eyes away from him and sniffed. “Something to think about in the future.”
Zelda went further. “Yvonne we’re thinking about our future because it seems like everyone we know is getting into their first place. Sebastian and Christopher pooled their money and are fixing up that old farmhouse. You should see what they’re doing. Even Margot is settled in her new condo up at the mountain. It’s crazy how buying that place led to a job with a real future. She can practically roll out of bed and be in her office at the ski resort. All of this has got us thinking.” She put her book on the end table and turned her attention back to Yvonne. “But the first thing we want to do is save money to go to Boston and talk to them about Spencer’s arm.”
“What about it?” Yvonne asked her carefully.
“They are doing incredible things down there. Robotic limbs, you name it, but it’s not the kind of thing that’s covered by insurance. It’s a practical thing for us really. The work Spencer and I like to do is hard and physical. We need to find out if they can help us maximize his potential.”
“What will happen after you get that taken care of?” Yvonne questioned.
“We save up to buy a place to live. In the meantime, we’ll work hard to grow the business.”
Spencer teased, “My mother doesn’t want us to leave.”
Yvonne pondered the truth in what Spencer said. “It would be awfully quiet around here.” She stood up and stretched her back. “Remember we all have dinner at Georgia’s tonight. She’s excited to be hosting her first holiday party at Double Loon Lodge. What a great investment that turned out to be . . . so I see your point, kids. Thank you for keeping me in the loop. As you know, Zelda, Spencer is my only child. My feelings can get hurt rather easily when it comes to him, so I very much appreciate you taking me into your confidence.”
“Should we drive over to Georgia’s together? What time do you want to leave?” Zelda asked her.
“Five forty-five or so. She was insistent no one was to worry about bringing anything, but I know for a fact Linda baked a cake.”
Zelda said, “We’re going to bring a big wedge of our cloth-bound cheddar as a hostess gift.”
“That’s wonderful, she’ll love it. Rolland called to tell me he picked up two bottles of really nice wine. Despite what Georgia says, I never like to show up empty-handed.”
All ten invited dinner guests had been to the house before, but that was when Georgia was still in various stages of unpacking. The front porch wouldn’t be added on until after the spring thaw, so a temporary stairway had been erected to get her through the winter. At six o’clock, Georgia was so excited to see everyone that she met each of them at the front door, threw their coats on her bed, and led them to the kitchen. She had a spread of appetizers laid out on one side of her granite island counter-top, and the other side was set up as the bar.
“Kids, thank you so much for the cheese. I have been dying to try it.” She removed the cloth wrapper and added the wedge to two other varieties that were on a decorative red slate cutting board. Crystal glasses glittered in a curved line around a red enameled beverage tub filled with white wine, beer, and soft drinks. There was a large trivet where Georgia was rotating baking pans of hot hors d’oeuvres. As her guests arrived, including all three of her children, her best friends, and their spouses, they first gathered in the kitchen. She told them they could take a tour of the upstairs of the house whenever they felt like it. “I’ve got curtains on every window now, and all my artwork is hung. I’m starting to feel like I’m settled in. When everyone has a drink in their hand, I’d like to take you all downstairs to the ground floor. I guess you don’t call it a basement if it has walk-out French doors and windows on three sides. Does everyone have something?”
She led the group into the entryway. Next to the coat closet, tucked under the stairs, was a door that led down. Georgia had left a floor lamp turned on in the lower level to help guide the way, so she easily found the light switch at the bottom of the stairwell. The walls along the steps were completely unfinished as were the wooden risers they walked on. Once in the rough but large room, she opened the doors to the outside and asked everyone to step outside for a minute. “So, you see I had them pour this cement patio. It will serve as a footing for the porch that will be built directly above us, but also a veranda for the living space down here. You can head back in; I know it’s cold. The only wall without windows is the back one, so that’s where the furnace room is. Just to compensate for being underground, I decided on a nine-foot ceiling to make it feel more open. The entire slab has radiant heat although it’s turned down very low right now. This is what I call my ‘flex space.’ When you kids get older and have your own children, you might want to spend time here by the lake. We’ll have to see what the future brings. As our family grows, I want to be able to entertain all of you.” Georgia sounded a little giddy, but everyone present was happy for her and glad to be a part of her first holiday party in the new house.
When they headed back upstairs, she went back to work cooking. The table was already set, and candles around the kitchen, dining, and living rooms were lit. She had a music streaming service turned on; she had started with Ray Charles, and the playlist automatically selected artists of a similar genre.
“Boys?” Georgia addressed her sons. Sebastian and Christopher turned toward her in unison. “Will you put on an artist you young people like?”
They headed into the living room to debate their choice and reset the playlist while Georgia popped three pre-prepared pans of food into the oven to warm. She had made Cornish game hens stuffed with rosemary, lemon, and crumbled sausage. A variety of potatoes had been roasted in oil laced with duck fat, including dark blue, orange sweet, and yellow Yukon. As they were in the oven crisping up, she had asparagus laid out waiting to be dropped into boiling water in a pan on the stove. “Linda? Will you dress the salad? It’s on the table with a pitcher of my dressing right next t
o it.”
Linda raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Homemade dressing? When did you have time to do that?”
“I’ve been in the mood to cook lately. And I’ve been sleeping so soundly. I haven’t had a hot flash in weeks.”
Linda exchanged a smile and a long look with Yvonne, who widened her eyes and tilted her head forward. The two friends had picked up enough clues to have a notion something romantic was going on between Kenny and Georgia. But they weren’t sure if she was energized by her move and all the work it required or something else. Both of them meant to encourage the pair if they were asked, but they hadn’t been. In fact, Georgia rarely spoke about Kenny at all.
Yvonne told Linda the day before, “Georgia’s children lost their father. Trust me when I say I know her as well as one person can know another. She believes there’s no need to tell them about a potential relationship right now. They have no idea. Her boys are busy working and renovating their own house, and Margot hardly has time to leave the mountain, now that she both lives and works at the resort. I bet Zelda is a more immediate concern, to be sure, but even she spends more and more time at our farmhouse.” Linda and Yvonne agreed that it was even possible that Georgia and Kenny were already lovers but had decided to keep it quiet for now.
It was all Linda could do to stop from asking her, “What exactly is going on with you two?”
Georgia’s dinner was delicious and the company memorable, with even her daughter on her best behavior. Margot was very proud of the fact she had contributed to the meal. “Save room, everybody. I made two kinds of ice cream and Linda brought her famous double chocolate cake. What a feast! Mom, I’m so proud of you; your house looks beautiful.”
“As does yours. You will all be stunned when you see what Margot has done with the condo. It’s already homey. Oh, we need more wine brought to the table.”
Kenny surprised everyone by jumping up and blurting, “Sit still for a minute and enjoy your meal.” He brought two new bottles, opened them and put one on either end. Once he’d set them down, Yvonne took charge of refilling glasses in her vicinity and Linda at the other end of the table.
The Opposite of Never Page 18