“What?” I found myself blurting as embers in my stomach quickly ignited. “I’ve never had problems with managing the household expenses,” I roared back argumentatively.
Looking at me, his face conveyed that same fatherly love I’d witnessed throughout my life when he felt proud of my accomplishments.
Oh goodie, he’s going to throw me a bone. I can feel it now. His last bank statement said he had over $600,000 in cash in just that one account. What would $50,000 hurt?
“I’ve got a great idea!”
“Yes?”
“Go get my wallet.”
Jumping up, I ran to my office to get his billfold but brought back the checkbook too. Since I’d been doing all his finances for the past couple of years, he probably forgot that there wasn’t a lot of extra dough in the leather folds.
“Got it, Dad!”
“Okay, this is what you do. There’s a $20 in there, right?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to take that and go buy a book by Suze Orman. She’s got some amazing tips on how to manage your money.”
“Huh?”
“You never want to listen to me. Maybe reading her books will help.”
Are you kidding me? I have to read a book? Can’t you just write me a check?
Desperately trying not to show my disappointment, I put my hands in my pockets and grabbed my thighs. Sure, I was raised to figure things out on my own, and for most of my life put me in good stead, but how I wished, just for once, that someone would take care of me.
“Okay, Dad. I’ll get onto that next time I go to Borders to buy you more books on tape,” I replied with a sigh. When I spend my own money buying you more tapes your $400 won’t cover.
“That’s my girl. I know you can figure it out. You’ll be just fine.”
Walking back to my office, I wanted to kick a few walls along the way. I had some huge bills coming. The mortgage alone was over $5,000 a month.
Opening his checkbook, I stared at the ginormous amount of money sitting in his account and wondered how I could siphon a few bucks off the top. He’d never see the statement. I could just lie to him and mentally add back in what I took when we reconciled it at the end of the month.
But his bean-counting mind always knew exactly what should be on the bottom line every month, and with my propensity for screwing up math problems, I knew I’d get busted big time. I never had a good poker face.
Just as I was feeling defeated, the light bulb in my brain lit up.
Oh my God! I forgot I have an equity line on the house. If my money runs out, I’ll dive into that.
Despite the fact I was pissed at him, I had renewed hope that everything would work out. I didn’t need some financial wizard telling me how to run my life. I would be all right, thank you very much.
Entering his room one last time to make sure he was covered up properly and that his music was still on, I saw him fast asleep, apparently worn out from our discussion. I couldn’t help but smile. He probably knew exactly what I was aiming for, but unless I came right out with what I wanted, he never bit the bait—not when I was young and certainly not now. He believed in my ability to find a way on my own.
Leaning over to kiss him one last time, I found myself ashamed that I had gotten myself into this money mess at all. Maybe if I stopped being such a little Spendy Wendy with frivolous things for my kids, I’d have more money to spend on him.
I needed to get back to that woman who couldn’t wait for him to move in. This journey we were on was going to take time—his time—and I didn’t want to look back on any of it with anger.
CHAPTER 16
Love Revelation
“Dad, what’s that lump on your lip?” I asked the following morning as I watched him suck on a piece of pineapple. “Does that make it hard to chew?”
Moving the fruit to the other side of his mouth, he masticated the morsel until it was mash before swallowing. Nodding with a scowl, he confirmed that it was painful.
While my father never wore a bathing suit in his life—why would you if you don’t know how to swim—skin cancer still found a way to plant its seed and grow over time. The proof was already on his arms. After years of working in the yard in a short sleeve shirt, thick, dry skin lesions covered his body. Now, an equally ugly crater was erupting inside his lip.
“Dad, I think we need to have that looked at,” I instructed, moving in closer for a better look.
“No, just leave it alone,” he grumbled, gesturing for Enemi to feed him his oatmeal. “I hate going to doctors.”
“I know, but you keep biting it when you eat. Wouldn’t it be nice to have it gone?”
Sucking down the soft cereal, he thought for a moment. “It’s been hurting for a long time.”
“I know just the doctor to take you to. You’re going to love him,” I happily announced, coming from a place of experience. In my youth, I thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of the sun’s rays all over my nearly naked body. By the age of thirty-two, I saw my dermatologist on a regular basis, as he cut, burned, and examined every inch of my now leathery hide.
“Tell you what—I’ll make the call right now.”
The following day, we loaded Dad in the car for what I thought would be a quick visit, only to find doctors are all alike. Once again, the wait time was insufferable.
“My body is killing me,” he said, squirming to find a more comfortable position in his wheelchair. “Let’s go home.”
“We’re here now. Let’s see this through,” I answered, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth that formed when he’d been asleep for too long or was about to hyperventilate.
“Mr. Madden? Mr. Madden?” a cute nurse with bright green eyes called. Holding a clipboard with his name on it to her chest, she said, “It’s your turn.”
“Okay. That’s us!” I cheered. “Get ready to be impressed.”
Wheeling him into the room myself, I instructed Enemi to take a walk. I wanted time alone with my father, especially if the news wasn’t good.
“Do you think he’ll be long? I get so angry that these doctors think we have nothing better to do than sit and wait around for them,” Dad bellowed.
But before I could say, “Want a drink of water?” Dr. Menkes walked in.
“Hi, Mr. Madden. What seems to be the problem today?”
Without saying a word, Dad just pointed to his lip.
Putting on magnifying glasses, Dr. Menkes, a maturing man of my generation, wheeled his stool up.
“It’s a squamous cancer lesion,” he announced as if it were a mere spider bite.
“Is that bad?” I asked. It sounded bad.
“Well, it’s cancer and if left untreated will continue to grow.”
Poking his nose in ever closer, studying the specimen, he reassured, “Mr. Madden, you won’t die from it, but it needs to come off.”
Remembering how I’d had several thick buggers cut off my skin, I was fearful of what “come off” meant.
“Can you freeze it?” I questioned, noticing my father begin to sink into his quiet place.
“No, we’ll have to cut it off. I’ll have to go inside his mouth, start deep and remove half his lip.”
Horrified, I instantly envisioned my handsome father sitting in his recliner for the rest of his life with a piece of his face missing.
“Cut it off? I don’t think so,” I blurted loud enough to make a nurse come running in to see if everything was all right. “You’re not cutting into my father’s face. He’s ninety-six, for God’s sake. There has to be a better way for him to be comfortable! Can’t you just numb it, so it won’t hurt if he bites into it?”
Realizing that my cheeks were burning red (and not because of my rosacea) and I was about to lose it, Dr. Menkes sat back and thought for a moment. “Hmm, maybe we can radiate it.”
Remembering how a girlfriend had recently been handed the scarlet letter C on her breast and how radiation became the means to treat it with high-energy waves t
hat killed the tumor but did little damage to the rest of her body, I became excited.
“That’s perfect! Please, find out if that will work.”
He left to make a quick phone call as we sat quietly, holding each other’s hands, fearful of what the outcome would be.
Before long, Dr. Menkes re-entered the room with good news. “I didn’t know this, but apparently radiation is used all the time on the face because it can save the healthy cells and tissue without any scarring. I’ll write you up a prescription. The oncology center is just around the corner on South Drive.”
“Dad, isn’t that great?” I said, cupping his face in my hands. “They won’t be cutting your lip.”
In true Jack Madden fashion, there was little emotion, just a nod of his head and a polite smile.
“Jack, you’ll need treatments every day for six weeks.”
Now it was Dad’s turn to be heard. “Every day! How long do they take?
Readjusting his wire spectacles, the kind doctor studied my father, then me, and reassured us as if it were nothing. “Only ten minutes.”
It was hard enough getting him to regular doctor visits every so often. Monday through Friday for six weeks would be torture.
I saw my life going down the tubes with this daily inconvenience.
When we arrived home an hour later, Enemi transferred Dad to his chair. It was only 1:00 p.m. and too early for bed, but I could tell by the droopy look in his eyes that he’d be asleep for the rest of the afternoon.
Getting ready to go back to the office, I bent over to kiss him.
“Honey,” he said, opening his eyes. “I want you to try to get out more at night. You’ve been locked up for too long. Please make arrangements to see your friends. You can ask Elizabeth to come. I like her too! Did you know she sings to me? We even pray together. I’ll be fine.”
Smiling at his consideration, I patted his cheek and said I’d try, but wondered where I’d go. All my friends were busy with their husbands and grandchildren.
It would be nice to go on a date, I mulled. It’s been well over a year since I had one of those.
But since there were no guys in the wings waiting to take me out, I decided to resort again to that new age way of introductions: Match.com.
Later that evening, after getting him settled for the night, I climbed into bed with what had become the only warm body I’d slept with in years, my computer, and logged on. In the years after my divorce, I expected to use this site to find my true love, only to be highly disappointed. For whatever reason, the only guys that came sniffing also came with issues: alcohol, wife hating, children that hated them, or a lack of money and want to spend mine. But it’d been six years since I last tried. Maybe they all had received a little therapy and were ready for a real relationship.
Let’s see if my old profile is still in here, I thought as I logged on.
Pulling it up, I changed the wording to reflect what I was currently doing and updated the photos. It took me all of ten minutes and then I was launched.
Okay! Bring on the men. I chuckled, hoping this time, things would be a little different. Before I knew it, the “likes,” “winks,” and “favorites” came flying through cyberspace.
Doesn’t anyone send a note to introduce themselves anymore? I complained, sadly realizing the game hadn’t changed. As if you telling me you “like” me is going to get me excited. I know nothing about you.
Then, just as I was about to turn off the light, it happened! A decent-looking guy (with his teeth still intact), geographically desirable (not on the other side of the world), who could not only spell but was prolific with his words, reached out.
“I read your profile and loved your photos. I think we have a lot in common. Would you like to meet for a drink?”
“Great!” I yelled as I responded with a hearty, “Yes! How about this Thursday?”
The date was set. I had three days to highlight my hair, get my nails done, and go shopping for a new outfit.
“I haven’t had a date since grandpa moved in,” I exclaimed to Lauren excitedly over the phone. “I don’t think I even remember how to act.”
My twenty-six-year-old laughed and informed me that dating was like riding a bike. You fall off, but, if you’re brave, you get right back on again. “I’m so proud of you, Mom. I want to hear about it the minute it’s over.”
For the next couple of days, I thought about what to wear, how to act, and tried practicing stimulating conversation. Finally, the night came.
Taking a selfie, I texted my girls for their opinion on my appearance. Fortunately, all three gave the thumbs up, so off I went to my favorite watering hole in town, The Los Altos Grill.
Arriving five minutes early, I found him already sitting at the bar. He had saved me a seat.
Wow, a gentleman! And he’s cuter than his picture! Could I get any luckier?
Saddling my fanny on the bar stool, I coyly asked, “Are you Ken? I’m Jackie.” Before I knew it, we were two drinks in and deep in discussion of our lives, down to minute detail. All except one.
“So, you’re a realtor. What else do you do with your days?”
I wondered if I should be completely honest and decided to let it all hang out.
“Well, my ninety-six-year-old father lives with me, so I spend a lot of time caring for him.”
As he studied my face, I wondered if he were dissecting every pore and hair follicle like I was some lab experiment. I could not read his expression, so I couldn’t tell if he thought this was good or bad.
I wondered if he heard me and should I tell him again?
Then, as if he’d changed the channel from a science documentary to a photo-finish high-stakes horse race, his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.
“You’re shitting me! You’re taking care of your dad? I’ve never known anyone who’s done that before.”
“Yes, it was something I promised him long ago.” Hoping to impress him with my altruistic nature.
Fiddling with his napkin, he downed his fresh drink in one swallow.
“That’s to be admired, I guess. When do you think he’ll die?”
“What?”
“Well, you said he was ninety-six. Do you think he’ll leave soon? I mean, really, how long do these old people need? I bet he can’t do anything for himself.”
“Does that bother you?” I asked, swirling my wine in the glass but wanting to throw it in his face.
“It makes my sleeping over a little creepy, don’t you think?”
Sleeping over? Who said anything about that? We just met.
“Hey, we could be right in the middle of something when he decides he needs you. Kinda breaks the rhythm.”
Seeing this Ken doll for all his plastic shallowness, I wanted off my stool and to drive away as fast as I could.
“So I take it you don’t date women with children or elderly parents,” I asked, surly.
Laughing, he ordered another drink, put his hand on my knee, and with an aggressive squeeze said, “Let’s face it. None of us have a lot of time left, so I don’t waste it on women I can’t have sex with. Yep, no complications for me.”
Sliding off the stool, I grabbed a $20 bill and threw it on the counter, wanting to call him every four-letter word in my arsenal but deciding to be a lady. Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I simply growled “Good luck” in disgust, and out I went.
Later that night, as I watched my father sleep, I began to study the face of the first man who ever loved me. He was perhaps the only man who ever truly loved me. I was thrown back in time to the very moment I knew how tethered we were to each other’s hearts.
I think every woman remembers their first big romantic moments: the first flutter over a boy, the first kiss, the first real heartbreak. I was no different. When I was twelve years old, I thought the sun rose and set on a boy named Don—a black horn-rimmed specimen of acne, greasy hair, and crooked teeth. But to me, he was perfection. Surely he was the boy I’d marry one
day.
Just as I traveled back to that age of innocence, Dad woke up.
“Hi, honey. Did you have a nice night out?”
Sitting on the chair next to him, I hoped he’d be up for a late night chat. I needed a real man to talk to.
“Dad, did I ever tell you about the first time I knew you loved me?”
Wiping the drool from the corners of his mouth, he looked up and smiled. “No, tell me.”
“I was about three years old, so that would have made it 1955. Mom used to bundle me up in that quilted pink onesie and stick me in the sandbox to play while she got dinner ready.”
“How you loved that sandbox.” He grinned. “You could sit in it all day.”
“It was late in the afternoon, and the wind was blowing all around me, messing up my castle. I remember getting frustrated, but then I looked up and you were at the gate to the yard just staring at me.”
Closing his eyes, I could see he was trying to remember as well.
“I was? I was just standing there?”
I adjusted the blankets under his chin and took his hand through the safety bars of his bed.
“You weren’t just standing there; you were smiling. I remember we just looked at each other for a minute or two. Then, you walked toward me, never saying a word, as I waved at you.”
For a moment, we both sat in silence going back in time.
“I do remember,” his mind now recalled. “You wanted me to play with you. But I didn’t, did I?”
“No, you were still in your suit, so I imagined you didn’t want it to get all messed up. But what you did was so much more special. You picked me up, despite me being covered in sand, and just held me. I can still feel how warm your cheek was next to my cold one.”
“That’s a sweet memory, honey. Thank you.”
“I’ll treasure it always because it was at that moment I understood love. Not all women get to feel that.”
As his eyes grew heavy, I leaned to kiss him goodnight and thank him one more time.
“I’m one of the lucky ones, Dad. I love you.”
CHAPTER 17
The Promise I Kept Page 14