by TJ Baer
“Oh, good,” I said brightly, “you’re up.”
Thomas tried to scowl at me, but it didn’t quite work, turning into a yawn halfway through. After a few more cavernous yawns, he seemed a bit more at peace with the world and managed a sleepy little half-smile as he asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” David said from the kitchen doorway, and I couldn’t help a grin at the sight of him standing there wearing boxer shorts, a white T-shirt, and a pair of oven mitts decorated with dozens of little dancing pigs. “Also eggs and something that would’ve been hash browns if I’d made them, but since I didn’t...”
“They taste the same,” I said. “Just because they’re not in perfect hash brown shapes...”
“Or any shape.”
I responded by throwing a pillow at him, but he retreated into the kitchen before it hit, leaving it to skid sadly to a halt somewhere out of sight.
I turned back to Thomas and decided that it was my brotherly duty to ruffle his hair, as it was long enough now that thin, dark strands of it curled against the curve of his shoulder. “How come Mom and Dad let you keep your hair so long? They used to freak out if mine got longer than a crew cut.”
Thomas was busy pressing buttons on his phone, probably trying to password protect it against further assaults by curious older brothers. “Probably ’cause I look like a guy even with long hair.”
“True enough.”
Thomas didn’t look up from his button pushing, but after a second he said, “So Dad was here last night.”
I stared at him. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“He was kinda loud.”
“Yeah. Well, yeah. But I thought you slept through it. Mom always says you can sleep through anything.”
“I can fake-sleep through anything.” He laid the phone down on the coffee table, then leaned back against the couch cushions and stared up at the ceiling. “Dad must think I’m pretty stupid, huh? I mean, he thinks I can’t come up with my own opinions, that I just copy yours.”
“Well, he’s an ass. Just because he’s Dad doesn’t mean he’s always right, you know.”
“It doesn’t mean he’s always wrong, either.”
“Maybe not. But this is one of those times when he is wrong. About you, and about Grandma. Especially about Grandma.”
Thomas sat silently for a few moments after that, an expression on his face I couldn’t really decipher. “Jessie...”
“Yeah?”
“Can we visit her?”
There was a raw kind of pain in his voice that actually hurt to hear. “Yeah, of course,” I said easily. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we can—”
“No,” he said, his jaw tight. “I mean...today. This morning.”
“Uh, there’s the little matter of work and school, unfortunately.”
“Please, Jessie. I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.
For all that Thomas had gotten to be a master of emotional manipulation over the course of the last sixteen years, I knew that this wasn’t a case of him laying it on—this was real. And even though I knew the responsible, adult thing to do, I also knew that I couldn’t deny him something that was really, truly important to him. Especially this.
“Okay,” I said softly. “We’ll drop David off at the elementary school and then go see Grandma. I can call in sick, I guess.”
And then to seal the deal, I caught him in a headlock and towed him toward the kitchen, feeling his arms go tight around my waist as we moved. Soon we were sitting at the table, waiting patiently while David ferried over steaming plates of food and a carton of orange juice I’d forgotten I had.
And while the hash browns were in fact more of a messy hash mountain, they still tasted fine. So there.
*
“Mom and Dad’ll kill me if they find out about this,” I muttered as I got out of the car.
We were in the parking lot of Waterford Retirement Community, a series of immaculately painted white buildings surrounded by a huge span of green lawn and a long picket fence. A big white signpost out front read, Waterford Welcomes You.
Thomas didn’t even glance at me as he got out of the car, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his book bag left behind on the front seat. His eyes were fixed on the retirement home, and despite how anxious he’d been to come here, I couldn’t help noticing that he looked a little scared now that we were actually here.
“C’mon,” I said gently, putting my arm around his shoulders and squeezing. “Let’s go see Grandma.”
It was a little too warm inside, with a heavy, humid feel to the air that made me want to run back outside and gasp in a few deep breaths of cold, clear air. Instead, I ushered Thomas over to the reception desk and gave the woman there a polite smile.
“Uh, hi. We’re here to see Grace Madison?”
The woman smiled and got to her feet. “Of course. If you’ll just sign in here, I’ll find her room number for you.”
I thought about signing in with a fake name, not wanting to leave any evidence behind of our visit, but in the end scribbled my real name and handed the clipboard back to her.
“Okay...Jess,” she said in a syrupy sort of way, “Grace is in room two oh four. Just go up those stairs over there and walk down the hall a bit. The room is on the right, across from the nurses’ station.”
The stairs were through an adjoining room, which turned out to be some kind of rec room—there was a TV blaring a morning news report in the corner, and a dozen or so gray- and white-haired people were arrayed in front of it, some in wheelchairs, some seated on small couches or comfy looking chairs. A few were joined by friendly looking men and women wearing staff badges, some of whom were repeating the words from the news report into faltering hearing aids, while others answered random questions or, in one case, kept a diligent watch out for drool.
The staff all seemed great, and everything was very clean and nice to look at, but even so I wanted to be far, far away from that room. I mean, you spend your life struggling and living and trying to find happiness in any way you can, and you end up like this, regressed back to infant days of drooling and staring and needing someone’s constant care just to get through the day? It just wasn’t fair.
I felt Thomas’s hand on my arm and realized I’d ground to a halt halfway through the room, staring at the scene in front of us while my stomach churned.
“Come on,” he murmured, and together, we headed upstairs.
On the second floor, we found ourselves in a bright, sunny hallway decorated with pictures of flowers and a few non-scary Halloween decorations—pumpkins and cutesy witches and dopily smiling ghosts. A nurse passed us as we made our way down the hall, and she gave us a high-wattage smile as she went by. Somewhere in the distance, an oldies station was playing big band music, and I could hear the murmur of voices from inside some of the rooms as we passed, as well as less pleasant sounds like coughing or wheezing or, once, someone softly crying.
The bad feeling in my stomach intensified as we got closer and closer to Grandma’s room, shifting from vague unease into something more like a heavy, lead-like dread. But Thomas was walking beside me, looking meditative but not as scared as he had before, and I knew that we had to keep going. This wasn’t something we could run away from, however much I might want to.
Soon we were standing in front of the closed door to Grandma’s room, the nurses’ station desk right behind us, which also turned out to be the source of the big band music. We paused there for a second, exchanged a glance of mutual nervousness, and then I turned the doorknob and pushed open the door.
The room was small but very neat and nicely decorated, and the bed wasn’t the bland hospital-type bed I’d been expecting, but rather a nice old brass number with a plush maroon comforter and a heart-shaped pillow on top. Grandma wasn’t in it, but instead was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out through the glass with her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t turn around when the door opened, or when I cle
ared my throat a second later.
Thomas and I looked at each other, and I motioned for him to go forward.
He took a small step, stopped, then took a deep breath and crossed the rest of the distance between the door and the chair by the window. He reached out as if to touch Grandma’s arm, then stopped and let his hand drop back to his side.
“Grandma?” he said softly.
There was a second when she didn’t react, just sat there in her yellow cotton nightgown and continued staring out the window. Then, just when the dread was starting to curdle in my stomach, she turned her head slowly from the glass and, finally, looked over at Thomas.
Her lips curled up into a small smile. “Tommy.”
Thomas nodded and reached out to take her hand; I couldn’t help noticing that his fingers trembled a little as he reached for her, and when he spoke next, his voice was shaking. “Hi, Grandma.”
And just like that, he was crying. His face crumpled, and I watched the first tears work their way down his cheeks in a slow, sad crawl. “I. Um. We came to see—” The words stopped as a sob choked its way from his throat. “How you were doing.”
He started crying harder then, one hand going to his face to cover the tears, and I was just about to step forward when Grandma suddenly pulled him close. He ended up on his knees beside her chair while she hugged him tight, rocking him gently back and forth as he cried into her nightgown.
“Tommy,” she murmured, smiling a little as she stroked his hair, “Tommy, don’t be silly. Don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about.”
He shook his head and went on crying in harsh, ragged sobs that I could feel as well as hear. Each sob shuddered through me like it was my own, and it hurt.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was really only a minute or two, he started settling down with a few gaspy breaths and a cough or two. For all that I’d stood useless and helpless at the door while he cried, I was at least able to step forward with a box of tissues when he lifted his head; he plucked a few free and ducked away from Grandma in favor of blowing his nose.
Grandma’s eyes met mine, then, and they were the same as they always were, sharp and clear and just slightly amused. While Thomas grabbed another handful of tissues, she peered at the soggy spot on the front of her nightgown and arched an eyebrow.
“I appreciate your coming to cheer me up,” she said.
Thomas laughed a little at that, and took one last swipe at his face with the wad of tissues before turning back to Grandma. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tommy, shouldn’t you be at school?”
Thomas launched into a very realistic impression of one of my goldfish, his mouth forming a perfect O, at which point I stepped forward. “He’s going in a little late today.”
Grandma nodded, the eyebrow still raised. “Well, as long as you’re here, fetch me something appropriate from the wardrobe, will you? Whatever the staff may say, I’ll be damned before I walk around this place in my nightgown.”
I grinned and headed over to the wardrobe in the corner, which was nowhere near as large and grand as the one Grandma had at home, but was still decent enough. Inside hung a number of pants suits and dresses, and folded in a wicker box below them were some more casual ensembles—the grandmother standards of comfy, embroidered sweatshirts and brightly colored sweatpants.
I turned around to ask Grandma what she’d prefer—and stopped when I saw Thomas lifting a book from the windowsill, which Grandma had evidently been reading at some point before we came in.
The front cover was black and made to look like a starry sky, and while I couldn’t read the full title, I saw enough to catch the word “séance” written there in mystic-looking letters.
Thomas stared at the book for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, then he went to lay it gently down on the bedside table. Grandma watched him, saying nothing, and the silence might’ve stretched on forever if I hadn’t cleared my throat and asked, “So, um, sweatpants?”
Grandma’s gaze stayed on Thomas for a second more, then she turned to me with a scathing look. “Certainly not. My good blue dress, please.”
We ended up accompanying Grandma over to the smaller, quieter rec room on the second floor, where the TV was turned to a travel show about European cathedrals and no one was around except a blue-haired lady dozing in a chair by the window.
We sat together on the couch in front of the TV, sitting shoulder to shoulder since the couch was kind of small. For a little while, we all watched the travel show in silence, then Grandma said, her eyes still on the screen, “It’s not so terrible, being here. I’d much rather be in my own house with my own things, of course, but it’s not so terrible.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I didn’t say anything, wondering if maybe she was trying to convince herself more than us.
“We can bring you some of your stuff, if you want,” Thomas suggested, through bites of a doughnut one of the nurses had given him—one of the perks of always looking a little underfed.
Grandma looked suddenly pained. “No, that’s all right. Better it stays...where it is.” There was a small pause, then she said more brightly, “So, since you’re here, tell me what’s new in your lives. You wouldn’t believe how dreadfully dull the conversation here is. Just because you reach a certain age doesn’t mean you have to stop being interesting, but I have yet to have a conversation here that isn’t about grandchildren or medication or television programs. So, tell me something interesting.”
“Well,” I began slowly, wondering if there was anything going on in my life that was actually appropriate conversation for Grandma.
“Jess and David finally got together,” Thomas said, and before I’d managed to squeak anything out in response to that, Grandma was nodding in a satisfied sort of way and giving me a kind pat on the knee.
“I’ve never met the man, of course, but from what Tommy has told me, he seems decent enough. Finally got over that ex-wife of his, then?”
I sat there in stunned silence, wondering if there was anyone left in the world who did not know the intimate details of my love life.
“Um,” I said. “Yeah, it looks like it.”
“Good. Though I’d be wary if I were you, Jess. If he’s changed allegiances once, he could do it again.”
“No, Grandma.” Thomas cut in, the words a bit difficult to decipher since they came through a mouthful of doughnut. “He’s a really good guy. I don’t think he’d do that.”
“Hm,” Grandma said. “Well, even so, be careful. I’d hate to see you hurt again, especially when you’ve cared for him for so long.”
“Did you tell her everything about my life?” I asked Thomas.
Thomas had the decency to look a little embarrassed, but he still couldn’t seem to help grinning as he answered, “Not everything. Just most of it.”
“Well.” I turned back to Grandma. “Grandma, has Thomas told you about this girl Daphne at his school?”
Thomas leaped to his feet before I could continue. “Hey!” he said, loudly enough that the sleeping woman let out a surprised snort. “Let’s go for a walk!”
Grandma and I shared a look, but we both got to our feet and followed Thomas toward the rec room doorway. As we moved, Grandma reached out and took my arm in a very stately, royalty-being-escorted kind of way. Thomas stayed several steps ahead of us as we walked down the sunlit hallway, and for a few moments, despite where we were and all the problems that had been piling up recently, I found myself feeling like maybe, somehow, things might turn out okay.
Our stroll lasted for about ten minutes, Grandma giving us a less than enthusiastic tour of those facilities she’d had a chance to sample during her short stay. “This is where they insist we play dull board games in the evening,” “This is where those interested in mindless drivel may watch television,” et cetera, et cetera.
Even so, I couldn’t help noticing that the place was as nice a retirement home as I could
’ve imagined, and that the vast majority of the residents seemed fairly happy here. It seemed like an ideal place for people who legitimately could no longer care for themselves, but no matter how I squinted or struggled or tilted my head, I still just couldn’t see Grandma fitting into that category. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
And if it was so obvious to me, why the hell couldn’t my father see it?
As we made our way back to Grandma’s little room, she seemed to shrink a bit with each step, getting smaller and slower and older the closer we got to room 204. And I knew, with the absolute clarity of something you just instinctively understand, that if she stayed in this place for much longer, she was going to become someone who did belong here. That fierce fighting spirit that had kept her going strong for her entire life was going to crumble away in this place, because there was something about everyone in your life thinking you couldn’t take care of yourself that made you start to believe that it was true.
“Thomas,” I said as we stepped in to Grandma’s room, “go see if the nurses’ station has any more tissues.”
He shot me a quizzical look, but when I shook the mostly empty box at him, he gave an embarrassed nod and ran off. Grandma, meanwhile, settled herself back into the chair by the window, folding her hands in her lap with the slow, careful precision of someone with no pressing engagements today, tomorrow, or maybe ever again.
Quietly, I closed the door.
“Grandma, you don’t belong here.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Maybe I do,” she said finally, tiredly. “I may just have to accept it.”
“No,” I said. “No. You don’t belong here, and whatever I have to do, I’m going to get you out of here.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Jessie, but how on earth do you plan to do that?”
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
“I’m going to talk to Dad.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled faintly and turned back to the window. “I suppose it’s worth a try. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t get my hopes up.”