Sea Glass Summer

by Dorothy Cannell

  Her expression gave nothing away. ‘Seems likely to me he’s never spent much time around children, so doesn’t understand they’re all individuals. Don’t you go fretting on his opinion, OK? Truth is you do have an exceptional vocabulary for a child your age, part I’d say is a natural gift and the rest your grandpa’s influence, and that’s something to celebrate. I hope nobody went making Mozart feel bad because he could play the piano better than grown-ups at the age of two.’

  ‘Could he really?’

  Twyla laughed. ‘You get the point, lamb baby.’

  Oliver didn’t tell her what else he’d overheard of that conversation, remembering in time that this could seriously worry her. What Gerard had said was: ‘The boy’s too bright for his and our good, Elizabeth.’ What had he meant by the last part? The one person Oliver would discuss this with, along with what he’d overheard in the car when pretending to be asleep, was Brian. The part about Oliver’s being crazy and possibly getting worse. Together they would try to puzzle out why Gerard and Elizabeth seemed to prefer this idea to his being overly bright. Although maybe it didn’t mean anything other than they were just plain weird and nothing they said amounted to anything more than noise. Brian’s mother said Mrs Ellis down the road was one of those people.

  The waitress appeared at their table, asked cheerfully if she could remove their empty plates and did so without any suggestion she was hurrying them to vacate. She headed for the swing door at the back of the restaurant and Oliver saw Twyla was smiling at him.

  ‘I’ve got a piece of news I think you’ll like.’

  ‘What?’ He reached across the table for her hand, hope beating like fledgling wings inside him. It couldn’t be that Gerard and Elizabeth had changed their minds already? She would have told him that right off the bat, but it had to be something that would make things better.

  ‘It has to do with Brian’s Aunt Nellie. I said something about her spirit guides when we first sat down and I hope I didn’t sound like I was talking down about them, making fun of her beliefs, I mean. That would be unkind and narrow-minded. Who’s to say who has things right and who has them wrong? Like we’re taught – God moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. And these guides of Nellie’s do seem, from the way she tells it, the down-to-earth sort.’

  Oliver smiled to let her know he got the joke, but he was impatiently eager to hear what else was coming. ‘What do they have to do with the piece of good news?’

  ‘They told her to get in touch with me.’

  ‘They did?’ Oliver sat up straighter.

  ‘She phoned me yesterday morning about the possibility of a job in Sea Glass, more of a carer than a nurse, but one she thought would ideally suit me and this lady who’s in need of help. Nellie’s known her for a long time and says she’s as nice as they come. I’d be mainly handling the nighttimes so would have plenty of spare time to visit your grandpa and keep the house up till he decides what to do about it.’

  Something in Oliver’s throat prevented him from answering. It wasn’t exactly a lump, more a bubble of happiness. The rainbow glow showed on his face.

  ‘Well, lamb baby?’

  ‘You mean you’d be here – right here?’

  Twyla nodded. Oliver was sure she had bubble in her throat too. ‘Nellie called back after going to see the lady and I’m to meet her at nine tomorrow morning to work out the details. She lives up the hill a pace from Nellie and was more than glad to hear I’d be free to come and help out.’

  ‘Is she very sick?’

  ‘It’s her son that’s not well. What you could call a tragedy.’

  ‘A little boy?’

  ‘Oh, no. He’s in his late fifties and suffering from Alzheimer’s. Terrible for him and his mother. There surely can’t be many parents who have to face what nature would say is the wrong way round.’

  ‘Is his father still alive?’

  ‘Been gone some years. He and the mother were divorced and she married again, so her and the son having different last names. He’s Charles Norris and she’s Gwen Garwood. The second husband has passed away too and there’s no other children to help out, so she’s been battling on alone after bringing in carers that didn’t work out because Mr Norris wouldn’t accept them.’

  ‘He’ll accept you,’ said Oliver with total confidence, ‘and his mother will come to love you. How could anyone help it? Is she terribly old?’

  ‘Late seventies. She would have had him when she was very young. ‘I’ll know more about them after the meeting tomorrow.’ Twyla picked up the bill and stood up. The waitress had told them they should pay at the counter.

  ‘Theirs is such a sad story. It feels wrong in a way to feel so happy for us.’ Oliver got to his feet.

  ‘It shouldn’t, lamb baby. There’s always times in life when sorrow walks hand-in-hand with joy. That’s part of the great mosaic, as I’ve heard your grandpa say many a time. Let’s go see him.’

  They sat in companionable silence for most of the short ride to Pleasant Meadows. So much to think about. Oliver couldn’t see why Gerard and Elizabeth would try to stop him from seeing Twyla every day if she could manage. Probably they would be glad to have her drive him into Ferry Landing on weekday mornings until school was out if that could be agreed with Mrs Garwood. Of course, he wouldn’t want Twyla tiring herself out if she wasn’t getting much, if any, sleep at night. She would say she was used to that and had long ago worked out a routine of naps. With Mrs Garwood there she might be able to take them without one ear on the listen, but even so he mustn’t be selfish. Just knowing she was close by was the biggest thing. His thoughts turned to Aunt Nellie and from her to Reverend Marjorie Ansteys’ sermon about the two men on the train. And how the one who was out of work had never afterwards taken the time to seek out his old friend and thank him for the gift of the gold cuff links that he’d been able to sell so he could look good when he went for the job interview, even though getting the job had changed his whole life for the good. Oliver understood that Reverend Ansteys was pointing out how often people forget to thank God for answering their prayers. In this case He had worked through Aunt Nellie. It wasn’t the big miracle Oliver had begged for – that Grandpa would get well – but it wasn’t small either and maybe just the start of something even more wonderful. He would definitely go and thank Aunt Nellie.

  ‘That man and lady in church next to us were rather inspiring, weren’t they?’ he said as Twyla came to a stop at a red light. ‘You could just see how much they loved each other. I wonder if they’d been married a very long time?’

  ‘I was just thinking about them. That’s what I took them for at first glance – husband and wife, but then I noticed what looked like a family resemblance and wondered if they were brother and sister. Now it’s come into my head . . .’ Twyla’s attention returned to the road when the light turned green.

  Oliver gave her a couple of minutes. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘It crossed my mind . . .’ A car from the opposite lane swerved with nothing to spare in front of them. Twyla had to break so sharply that Oliver lurched forward. The seat belt did its job but the jolt momentarily took his breath away.

  ‘You all right, lamb baby?’

  Oliver nodded. They were turning into the Pleasant Meadows parking lot and in the excitement of seeing Grandpa he forgot all about the man and lady in church. The nursing home was a one-story cream-sided building with a brown roof. It might have been an insurance office made to look friendly by the surrounding lawns and flowerbeds. The rhododendron bushes were already in deep pink flower and the forsythia was brightly splashed with yellow. He remembered Grandpa saying they looked as though they had been produced by an artist of the Impressionist period. Oliver hadn’t known what that was and Grandpa had brought out a book with glossy pictures of famous paintings. Some by someone named Monet and another man whose name had sounded almost the same. Oliver had agreed about the forsythia. He asked Twyla as they got out of the car if they could bring G
randpa out in a wheelchair to look at these bushes.

  ‘Sounds a great idea. We’ll see if he’s up to it.’ She took his hand as they walked to the entrance. His heart was beating fast. There was nothing miserable or scary-looking about the outside of the building. But they had to make it look that way, didn’t they? If it were anything like the Cully Mansion no one would allow their old and sick relatives to live there. It never occurred to Oliver that people might be guided by desperation or self-interest. What scared him was knowing that however cheerful-looking the inside of Pleasant Meadows might be, it couldn’t get away from being the final stop between this world and the next. Some of the patients must feel panicky and hopeless. The sense of being imprisoned would reach down empty hallways and creep into every room, like mildew from a cellar. And Grandpa would breathe it in. He would pretend not to notice, but Oliver wasn’t sure he could do a real good job of pretending. He’d never been able to fool Grandpa. He held on tighter to Twyla’s strong brown hand as they went through the door into a short narrow vestibule with a big window on their left looking into an office lined with gray file cabinets where a man sat facing them at a computer. Ahead was another door with a brass bell alongside. A notice above read: Ring and wait for buzzer. Twyla pressed the bell, the man at the computer looked up, shifted a hand sideways on the long counter desk top and they heard the buzz.

  When they went through the door the man came out from the office to greet them. He was thin on top, had a bristly moustache and was of a comfortable and somehow encouraging sort of build. Rather like that nice man at the Post Office who pretended to look fierce when someone came in with an armload of packages, then winked at Brian and Oliver. Brian collected stamps. He was sure the one he’d bought of Elvis would be worth millions one day. Oliver drew in a slightly relieved breath. The air smelled faintly of what the lady in the Victorian Parlor gift shop had told him was called potpourri. He didn’t exactly like it, but supposed it had to be there. He had to admit to being reasonably impressed. Wide openings connected one space with another and there were lots of windows, bringing the outdoors in. Oliver glanced around him, taking in the seating area with its walls painted the pinkish red of the rhododendrons. Its window showed a glimpse of them. There were a number of homey-looking sofas and chairs along with coffee and lamp tables. Inside the fireplace was a large brass plant pot. The plant wasn’t real but it was doing its very best to look like it could sprout new leaves any minute. On one of the sofas was a thin-faced old lady. Sitting next to her was a much younger man wearing a baseball cap. She reached out, took it off his head and put it on hers. Oliver saw the man smile; it was a gently amused smile.

  ‘That looks good on you, Grandma.’

  ‘I bought it this morning. There’s a nice shop in my room.’

  ‘That will be her roommate’s closet,’ said the man who had come out of the office to greet Twyla and Oliver; he dropped his voice low enough not to be overheard. There was a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Many of the women all like to shop. Labeled clothing enables us to keep track of where items really belong and a sense of humor on the part of staff and visitors can do a lot to lift the general mood, as you’ll know, Mrs Washburn. Even our most confused residents respond to atmosphere.’

  ‘Very important,’ Twyla agreed.

  Oliver was sure they were right. The lady wearing the baseball cap did look very pleased with herself, in a straight-backed self-important sort of way. But, he reminded himself, Grandpa wasn’t confused. Or only late in the evening when he was very tired.

  ‘This is Mr Braddock who’s in charge here, Oliver,’ said Twyla.

  ‘Hi, Mr Braddock.’

  ‘Make it Kevin, or better yet, Kev.’ He had a similar twinkle in his eye to the man behind the counter at the Post Office. ‘I was the resident RN here before they shuffled me sideways.’ Oliver liked that he didn’t say ‘moved me up.’ That could have sounded braggy. He also thought Kev had mentioned he was an RN because he knew Twyla had been Grandpa’s nurse, and so hoped that information would be reassuring. ‘Good to meet you.’ He shook Oliver’s hand. ‘I’ve been looking forward to doing so. I know just how important grandsons are. I’ve one of my own, just three months old.’

  ‘I expect he’s lots of fun even though he can’t do much yet.’ Oliver had always thought it must be kind of boring being a baby, but he didn’t let this show. ‘How is my Grandpa? I don’t see him out here.’ Oliver looked around again, this time focusing on taking in the dining room with soft green paint and white-topped round tables. There were eight people seated at them in light-colored wooden chairs, mostly women, and all looking like residents. A young woman in a smock with cats on it was passing out brownies. Grandpa wasn’t at any of the tables. The large area opposite, with folding chairs lined up around the walls and a music center, was empty.

  ‘Is Grandpa in his room?’

  ‘He hasn’t been out of it today.’ Oliver could tell Mr Braddock hoped this didn’t sound worrying. ‘It’s very common for residents to be extra tired for a few days following their arrival. It’s a huge emotional adjustment, in addition to the physically taxing experience of being transported here.’

  ‘I saw how much it had taken out of Frank when I came yesterday,’ agreed Twyla. It was why she had suggested on the phone yesterday morning that Oliver wait until today to come. ‘We were just talking about taking him outside in the wheelchair, but we’ll size up whether it would be better just to sit with him, don’t you think, Oliver?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Can someone help me?’ A woman with a ragged face and shoulder-length hair wearing a long flannel nightgown and fuzzy slippers was coming down the hallway to their left. An aid in a pink smock went over to her.

  ‘It’s all right, Muriel. Let’s sit down. I was just coming for you to do your nails. How would you like blue polish this time, like I’m wearing?’

  ‘There’s something wrong with me – am I going to get better? Where’s my husband?’ The distressed voice rose.

  ‘We’ll have a nice talk. Let’s go and sit at your favorite table.’ The aid led her into the dining room, where another resident could be heard complaining that there was a man under her bed.

  ‘I’ve yelled at him to go away, but he won’t. I know what he’s after, filth, filth, filth. Men! They’re all the same and he’s worse because he’s got two of them. He showed me – the disgusting pig – and I told him I’d cut them off, but I can’t find my scissors; someone’s taken them.’

  ‘Try your brownie, Lucy,’ said the aid with cats on her smock, ‘they’re really good. Made from scratch. I know how you feel about things out of a packet.’

  Oliver looked at Twyla. The outer doorbell sounded and Kev said he’d let the person in and then go down with them to Frank’s room if they would like him to do so.

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ replied Twyla. ‘We don’t want to keep you. Whoever’s coming in could want a word.’

  ‘I expect it’s Mrs Robbins with her visiting companion dog; she brings him regularly at this time on a Sunday. A lot of the residents really brighten up when Goldie comes in. He’s trained to size up which ones to pet him. We have another dog and its owner on Wednesday.’

  Kev turned toward the door and Twyla and Oliver started down the hallway to their left.

  ‘A great idea that,’ she said, ‘especially as some of those in here won’t often, or ever, have anyone come to see them. Out of sight, out of mind. I know that sort of neglect is hard to understand, but it’s a sad fact of life, lamb baby. And it doesn’t do to judge. It’s not always that people don’t care; they just can’t take seeing loved ones so terribly changed. They convince themselves the person they’ve come to see won’t even remember they were there.’

  ‘But their family person would know at the time,’ Oliver protested.

  ‘Not perhaps who it was visiting, but that it was someone familiar who cared enough to talk and listen – yes, I think that has to get through.’

&
nbsp; ‘What’s Grandpa’s roommate like?’ Twyla had explained that Pleasant Meadows had been unable to provide Grandpa with a private room. There were only six of them, all presently occupied. The twenty other residents all had to share.

  ‘I didn’t see him when I was here on Friday or yesterday. He must have been out in the communal space, unless someone had taken him out for a while. I do know he doesn’t have Alzheimer’s, which Kev said is the case with two thirds of the residents. Except for your grandpa all those with Parkinson’s have private rooms and it’s a matter of waiting for one to become available for him.’

  Which meant someone else’s loved one would have to die. Oliver couldn’t wish, let alone pray for that. They had reached a door on their right close to the end of the hallway. Tucked into a meal holder was a white card with the name Willie Watkins printed above and that of Frank Andrews below. Oliver felt like his smile was printed on his face. It was so important that Grandpa should believe he was only happy and excited to see him.

  The room could have belonged in a motel. Oliver had only been in a motel once when he was seven and Grandpa had taken him for a weekend to Orchard Beach outside Portland, but he remembered the plain furniture, the metal-framed window, the door opening into the bathroom and, most strongly of all, the feeling that it had no stories to tell. Nothing was left, or would ever remain, of the people who had stayed in it over the years. In this room there were two single beds, with two mid-brown dressers across from them, and two chairs with wooden arms tucked into corners. There was no one in the bed closest to the hallway door; it was made up with a faded patchwork quilt and a frog-green pillow case. Grandpa was in the bed by the window. It was brightened by the new red comforter Twyla and Oliver had picked out together. They had been able to tell on entering that Grandpa was asleep. His face was turned toward them, his skin a whitish gray stretched over his now painfully prominent bones. For the first time Oliver saw the impact of death’s reshaping hand, the shedding of the flesh, the stripping down to the skull. He recalled, with a clutch at his heart, Grandpa saying before they left for that trip to Orchard Beach, ‘He who travels light travels fastest.’ The thought crept into Oliver’s mind that he could understand why some of the relatives couldn’t bring themselves to visit their family member; it hurt too much. If you didn’t see it might not be happening; easier to think that death had already come. Oliver was horrified at the possibility that for the slightest moment he might have been thinking of himself and Grandpa. He would never, ever stop coming here. However much Grandpa changed on the outside, he would still be the same inside; even if the time came when he could no longer talk he would still be there breathing out love. Frank Andrews’ mouth slackened and a trickle of saliva slid down his chin. Reaching for a tissue on the bedside table Oliver wiped it away.