Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  It wouldn’t be nice, but she was tired of being nice. If the incident on the road out of Cheyenne had taught her anything, it was that here in middle-age, life was short and she’d better make the best of what was left. She splashed water on her face, flushed the toilet for cover, and opened the door.

  Across the room, Frieda waited.

  Karen walked slowly across the floor, hands jammed in the pockets of her robe. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Frieda, I’m sorry.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” The old woman started to get up.

  “Wait. Think about it. Sandy means well. She’s proud, like you. Don’t let one argument run you off. Make your peace with her, and stick around so you can see the baby. You know that’s the thing to do.”

  “Do you think it’s that simple?”

  “Unless I’m missing something.”

  “You’re too damn young to understand.”

  “Okay, let’s say you came with me. Once you got to California, how would you get back home?”

  Frieda’s gaze was direct. “Think about it.”

  “Come on. You’ll be around for a long time yet. I don’t see you slowing down any.”

  “Well, I am. You don’t know how bad it is because I fake it. That’s what you do when you’re old. You lie to yourself and keep going. Either that or give up.” She slumped in the chair.

  “You’re a good actress.”

  “Russ and I used to talk about what it was to get older, and that made it easier, but now with him gone there’s nobody as old as me and I don’t want to do it alone anymore. Everything is harder. I feel like hell all the time. My body is falling apart in a million little ways. Like, look at this. See my right ear?” Frieda tilted her head toward Karen.

  “The edges look red.”

  “It’s irritated because if I lay on my right side for too long at night, the cartilage gets infected. But if I turn over and lay on my left, I get congested and can’t breathe. And I can’t lie on my back very long because my heels burn.”

  “Isn’t there some kind of medicine you can take?”

  “I’m already taking so many things they’re destroying my stomach.”

  Karen didn’t know what to say. She felt guilty for being young.

  “All my friends are dying or dead, Russell’s dead, my sisters are all dead. There’s nobody left.”

  “You still have family.”

  “That’s her, right there downstairs. I never got along with your Aunt Marie and truth to tell, never liked your mother that much. Too damned nice. There’s no one left and no point in living.”

  Karen pushed her hair back over her forehead and exhaled. Common decency required a response. “A scientist friend of mine–she’s an atheist–once told me she thought the point of her life was to have fun and feel useful.”

  “Back home I had a certain amount of fun, and up until a few years ago, I felt useful. Now, I don’t.”

  “Never? Not one single minute of any of your days? What about when you let that kid mow your lawn and he was so proud he hugged you?”

  Frieda nodded. “That was nice.”

  “And at church. Weren’t you on the finance committee?”

  “Still am.”

  “Well, don’t you think they’re going to wonder where you are?”

  “That’s pretty pathetic.” Frieda planted her cane and started to get up, but then stopped. She stared at Karen, her eyes watery and red. “All I’m saying is, I’d like to see the red rock country again, and the Pacific Ocean. After that, I don’t care. You can put me on a Greyhound bus and I’ll go quietly back to North Dakota. But if you leave me here you may as well kill me.”

  Karen felt a tickle on her arm. The cuff of the robe was fraying. “How did you and Sandra leave it?”

  “We hugged. She’s hurt and I feel bad, but that’s beside the point.” Frieda rubbed her eyes. “She used to be independent like you. Now she’s afraid of her own shadow and bored out of her skull.”

  “She has Richard.”

  “Where was he tonight? He had to know we were here. No, his work comes first. If something happened to him, I don’t know what she would do. She’s very unhappy, down deep.”

  “Maybe you could help her. Show her how to be more independent.”

  “Don’t be naïve. I came here to die.” She shrugged at Karen’s shock. “I figured I’d come here and wait, but I wanted to see the baby first.” Frieda pulled a paper out of the pocket of her robe. “Here. I signed the van over to you.”

  “No, Frieda.”

  “Go on. You need the money more than she does.”

  Reluctantly, Karen took the pink slip. “I’ll sell it and send you half.”

  “Don’t bother.” The door closed and Frieda’s footsteps faded down the hall.

  Chapter Thirty

  KAREN LAY WATCHING the walls lighten, until the first clang of a pan and slamming door freed her. After a quick shower, she collected her things and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Sandra bustled around in a black velvet track suit, her hair knotted on top of her head with ebony chopsticks. Frieda sat at the breakfast table, wearing yesterday’s clothes and reading the local paper. She didn’t look up when Karen sat down across from her.

  Sandra clattered and banged, pulling a sheet of breakfast pastries from the oven. “Richard had to leave early, Mom, but he said to meet him at Zen’s for lunch. It’s the hottest new restaurant in town. They have the best sushi.”

  “I don’t eat raw fish.” Frieda’s eyes remained glued to the Denver Post.

  “And he says afterwards I should take you to Saks. Our treat. About time you went on a big-city shopping trip.”

  “What would I need from Saks?”

  “There’s always something pretty to buy.” Sandra set the pastries on the table and put one in her mouth, licking the frosting from her fingers.

  Frieda folded the paper. “I’ll probably just lie down after Karen leaves.”

  Sandra bustled out of the kitchen. Karen tore apart a cinnamon roll and smeared a chunk of butter on the hot surface.

  Sandra came back a few minutes later with a thick photo album, which she dropped on the table next to Frieda’s plate.

  “What’m I supposed to do with that?” Frieda asked.

  “I thought we could look at it later.” Sandra stood next to her mother’s elbow. “It might make you feel better. You can tell me all about the old days.”

  “You were never interested before.” Frieda pushed the heavy album a half-inch away.

  “Well, I am now.” Sandra sat down next to her mother. “Or we could look through my catalogs to find a wall color for the game room. I’m thinking something cinnamony with navy accents. Don’t you think that’d pop?”

  Karen snuck a glance over the edge of her coffee cup at Frieda.

  Their eyes met.

  Karen looked away.

  “And I thought I’d have the housekeeper move one of the computers into your room. It’s crazy. We have five of them.” Sandra held up her hand, fingers spread like a starfish. “Five. Can you imagine? And I don’t use a single one. I’m so behind the times.”

  “Frieda just learned how to do email,” said Karen.

  “Fantastic. She can teach me.” Sandra’s acrylic nails tapped Frieda’s arm. “Earth to Mom. Hello in there.”

  Frieda had been sipping coffee, her eyes frozen on an indeterminate point across the kitchen. “Oh. I don’t really know that much about computers, dear.”

  Karen finished her coffee, set the mug down with a definite clunk, and sighed loudly.

  “So soon?” Frieda asked.

  “I’m kind of anxious to get going,” Karen said. “It’s a long way across the desert.”

  Frieda looked down at her plate.

  “Hey, Mom, I got a call from a gal yesterday at the club,” Sandra said from over at the sink. “Belinda something or other. The social committee needs volun
teers to help with their big Fourth of July barbecue. I told her to count us in.”

  “I don’t know, honey. I’m not much of a joiner.”

  “But what a great way to meet people, doncha think?”

  Frieda blew her nose on a cloth napkin.

  “I’m always begging Richard to go with me but he’s so busy,” Sandy said. “But now I have you. We’re gonna have so much fun.” She glanced over at her mother. “What’s the matter? You haven’t touched your roll.”

  “I’m not really that hungry, dear.”

  “Well, we’re gonna change that in a hurry. I am going to fatten you up.”

  Karen pushed her chair back, trying not to make any noise.

  “You’re going to see some beautiful country,” said Frieda.

  “Not really. It’s desert. Very boring. And it’ll be hot. You’re just as well off sticking around here.” Karen inched toward the door. “Thank you for breakfast. The pastries were delicious.”

  “You are so welcome. I get most of my ideas from Rachael Ray. You know she has a house here, right on the ninth fairway? Maybe we’ll even run into her at the clubhouse.” Sandra danced back to the sink with the empty plates and began rinsing.

  “Have a good trip,” Frieda said from behind her newspaper. Sandra flicked on the garbage disposal. The roar obliterated all sound in the kitchen.

  Karen slipped back toward the table and tapped the newspaper. Frieda lowered it. “What?”

  Karen leaned toward Frieda’s ear. “I’m going to load my suitcase, then I’ll be back.”

  “You’ll never be back.” Frieda raised the paper.

  Karen glanced toward the sink. “How soon can you be ready?”

  Frieda, her mouth open, processed it for about three seconds.

  Then she tossed the paper aside, scooted her chair back, and hurried out of the kitchen.

  Sandra shut off the disposal and the faucet, wiped her hands and looked around. “Where’d Mom go?”

  Karen held up a saucer. “You know, your china is exquisite. I love the pattern.”

  Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. What’re you two cooking up?”

  Karen remained silent.

  “Is she leaving with you? I swear to God, she’s not leaving with you.”

  “Sandra.”

  “No.”

  “It’s her decision.”

  “My ass. You take her out of here, I’m calling the police. I’ll tell them you kidnapped her at gunpoint. And you stole my mother’s van.” Sandra leaned against the sink, arms folded against her chest. The dishwasher clicked on, started chugging through a cycle.

  “She’s here because she wanted to see you and the kids. She even talked me into this crazy trip just so she could come. It wasn’t that cool of you to lie to her.”

  “Fuck you. You think you’re some kind of hero, but you’re gonna kill her if you take her across that desert. Look at her. She could go any time.”

  “It’s her decision. She’s old, but she’s still got her marbles.

  Frieda’s one of the most alive people I know.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You think you’ve got all the answers.” Sandra glared at Karen. “Did she tell you she almost burned her house down last fall? She was cooking and a pot holder caught fire. It’s a miracle she didn’t get hurt. I tried to get her to move then but she wouldn’t even listen. We went back and forth for days, and finally she stopped answering the phone. I gave up and hired a man to go in and clean out the smoke damage and repaint everything. She was even mad at me for that. Said I was meddling.”

  Karen walked over to the sink and stood by Sandra. Outside, the trees waved gently, but the closed window barred the fragrance of pine. “Don’t you think it’s her choice, though?”

  “No I do not. At that age, they’re like children. You can’t leave them alone to do whatever they want, any more than you would a five-year old.”

  “She’s sharp enough to be pissed off about you using Jessie and the baby as bait.”

  “I did what I had to, and she’ll thank me for it. Or she would have if you hadn’t interfered.”

  They turned at the sound of the door opening.

  “You’re wrong about that, too.” Frieda stood in the doorway with her coat and purse.

  “Mom, you can’t traipse off across the country like this. You’re not well. It’s not safe.” Sandra’s face crumpled. “Please don’t go.”

  “Karen, would you mind getting my bags?”

  Karen picked up the photo album and left the room, Sandra’s voice ringing in her ears. “You don’t even know her. What if you get sick?”

  “She’s a good girl. I’m not worried.”

  “You should be! What’s the plan, Mom? Are you going to let her stick you in some ratty rest home in California to die?”

  “Sandy, you’re overreacting.”

  Karen tiptoed past the kitchen, carrying Frieda’s bags. She saw Frieda reach out and grasp Sandra’s hand.

  “We all have to make our own minds, Sandy. I want to see the ocean before I die.”

  Karen closed the front door as quietly as possible, went down the stairs, and loaded the van. A gardener pulled up on the other side of the street, his lawnmower soon drowning the banda music pouring from the truck. Sprinklers went on in the garden, their spray creating a rainbow in the morning sun. Her phone rang but Karen kept her eyes on Sandy’s door, waiting for the two women to emerge. If she were ninety years old, assuming she lived that long, she wanted to live life on her own terms. The risk was Frieda’s choice to make.

  The massive door closed on Frieda. Karen helped her down the steps. “Will she be okay?”

  “She’s got Richard.” Frieda stared at the house as Karen started the engine.

  “Are you absolutely sure this is the right thing to do?”

  Frieda nodded, her chin trembling. Karen put the van in gear and pulled away from the curb. The guard waved as they passed through the gate. “I know it’s your decision, but I feel terrible.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I spoke with Sandra while you were packing. She’s difficult, but she cares about you, and she means well.”

  “Guess that makes me a bad mother,” said Frieda.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  Silence fell between them as Karen drove toward the freeway, where she turned west toward the Rockies.

  “Thought you were taking the southern route to Albuquerque,” said Frieda.

  “We’re spending the night in Aspen, it’s my treat, and I don’t want you arguing.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  KAREN RECHECKED HER mirrors and stepped on the accelerator, sending the van up the first part of the grade that would take them up and over the Continental Divide. Cool air rushed in the window, and the traffic dropped away behind them as they left the city and its pedestrian concerns. As she urged the van up the grade, the clicking in the motor returned. Karen tilted her head. The sound seemed to come from beneath the floor, between the driver and passenger seats. When she accelerated harder, the noise remained the same.

  So she put it out of her mind. They were off to a late start and already a summer storm was taking shape over the pass. Clouds turned the mountains gunmetal-gray, and a light drizzle spat at the windshield. Behind her, the skyscrapers of Denver shot heavenward, a handful of glass spires punctuating the high plateau. Up ahead, the steep roadway gained in elevation.

  Frieda cried out and pointed to a small herd of buffalo grazing amid patches of snow. Mining equipment from the last century lay rusting alongside the highway like giant yard art. Lush pine forests marched up the slopes on both sides of the road, and Karen felt happy with her decision.

  An hour out of Denver the Eisenhower Tunnel appeared, cutting through the Continental Divide. The narrow chute bored through the mountains at eleven thousand feet, well-lit but tight. She kept to the right, working to stay ahead of the grumbling parade of trucks while trying not to push the van t
oo hard.

  After almost two miles, the van shot out of the tunnel into a light snowfall, and the women gasped, for the terrain had changed as dramatically as if they had passed through a time warp. Snow lay deep across the landscape in every direction, unmelted even in early July, the glacial crags cloaked in white. One peak, taller and steeper than the rest, resembled the fabled Matterhorn.

  “How are you doing with the altitude?”

  “I feel fine,” said Frieda. “I’m glad we came this way. I never would have imagined.”

  “Me neither.” Karen drove carefully, avoiding holes in the weather-worn blacktop as she started downhill on the rain-slick roadway. She dodged a small boulder in the middle of her lane, and passed two runaway truck ramps, their gravel surfaces groomed and ready to capture brakeless eighteen-wheelers, whose wheels could spew rock with the velocity of shotgun pellets.

  As the elevation dropped and the roadway widened, she began to relax. The snow gave way to grass again, and small mountain communities appeared. She wondered what it would be like to live in this wintry Eden. Surely there would be snow storms that trapped the residents for days on end, and the late-summer monsoons would be horrific, but the spectacular beauty of the place would compensate.

  The clouds parted, exposing cobalt sky. Rivulets of snowmelt poured off the rocky hillsides, creating ponds on both sides of the highway. Wildflowers blanketed the western slopes in hues of yellow and blue and white.

  They passed Vail, its condos and cafes swarming the base of the ski lifts. In Glenwood Springs they saw multi-colored tulips decorating every front yard, and stopped at a restaurant warm with the aroma of freshly baked bread. The waitress brought sandwiches and iced tea, and by the time they had satisfied their hunger, it was mid-afternoon.