Second Lives

by P. D. Cacek

  P.D. Cacek

  Second Lives

  FLAME TREE PRESS

  London & New York

  To my sons Mike and Peter, never stop believing. And to Edward W. Bryant, Jr. and Dallas Mayr, hurry back.

  PART ONE

  JUNE

  Chapter One

  Henry

  “Wanna go. Now!”

  “I know, Henry—”

  “Hank! My name’s Hank! Henry’s a sissy name.”

  “I’m sorry. Hank.”

  Nora gathered up her purse and car keys before turning toward the stranger who’d taken the place of the man she’d married fifty-eight years ago. Anger etched the creases of his face.

  He wanted to hit her.

  Again.

  The last time she told everyone she’d bumped into a cupboard door.

  “Did you hear me? Wanna go!”

  The stranger took a step forward, his right fist rising above his head.

  “Yes, Hank…I heard you.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Nora opened her purse and slowly reached inside. If she moved too quickly it could startle him into doing something he’d regret; and he would, because there was still enough Henry left that when he came back he’d know what Hank had done to her. Then he’d beg her to forgive him.

  And she would.

  “Look what I have, Hank.” Nora pulled out the cellophane-wrapped sucker and handed it to him. It was the kind of lollipop she used to buy their daughter Marjorie when she was still a toddler.

  “CHERRY! Gimme!”

  “Okay, let me unwrap it first.”

  He waited as patiently as any child could for a treat – shifting from one foot to the other, eager, hand reaching, fingers spread.

  “Here you go.”

  His fingers touched hers as they took the lollipop and Nora smiled as she released it.

  “Are you ready to go, Hank?”

  He looked at her, eyes big while his mouth worked the cherry flavor down his throat. “Umm?”

  “We’re going for a ride, remember? You like rides.”

  He gave her a red-tinted smile. “I like rides.”

  “Yes, you do. Okay, let’s go.”

  “Let’s go!”

  * * *

  Henry was back in time for his doctor’s appointment.

  “So, how have things been this week, Henry?”

  Henry took Nora’s hand and squeezed it. Nora squeezed back.

  “Think you’re asking the wrong Rollins, doc.”

  The doctor, who Nora thought looked like a young Sidney Poitier, nodded and flashed a million-watt smile. Her stomach did a little flip. Silly old woman, he’s young enough to be your grandchild.

  She cleared her throat and gave Henry’s hand another squeeze.

  “Things have been pretty good.”

  Dr. Cross gave her another kind of look. “And how pretty would that be, Miss Nora?”

  He always added the ‘Miss’ when talking to her. So respectful.

  “Well, he has his ups and downs, but who doesn’t? Still eats like a horse and he’s good about taking his pills – of course he’s better for the visiting nurse than he is for me. Still a flirt when it comes to the ladies, I’m afraid.”

  Both Henry and the doctor chuckled at that, even though it was a lie about him being a flirt. He was better when the nurse came on her biweekly visits, almost himself even when he wasn’t. It was the same when their daughter visited. It seemed as if she was the only one Hank didn’t like.

  Dr. Cross smiled. “Well, you can’t fault a man for flirting, can you? But other than that, how’s it been?”

  “About the same.”

  The doctor nodded and turned his attention to Henry. “You ready to join the day group? I think it’s art day.”

  “Ah…Basket Weaving 101,” Henry said.

  A nurse would put him into a wheelchair the moment they stepped into the hall. It was for insurance purposes they always told him, but Nora knew better – it was easier to move him from the doctor’s office to the Alzheimer’s unit two floors down then, afterward, back to the main lobby and out the door.

  Just plain easier.

  “See, Nora,” Henry said as he nudged her, “I always told you I’d be weaving baskets and drooling one day.”

  The doctor chuckled and Nora thought it sounded as phony as her laugh.

  “Oh, Henry!” she said. “You hush up, now.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Ready, Mr. Rollins?” a young feminine voice asked from the doorway.

  “Always,” Henry said as he sat down. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The nurse’s giggle sounded genuine as she pushed him from view. Nora smiled at the doctor.

  “How is he really?”

  Nora straightened her shoulders. “About the same.”

  “Mood swings getting worse?”

  “Some.”

  “How about the physical violence…has he hit you again?”

  “It was an accident. I told you that. He didn’t mean to.”

  The doctor leaned back in his chair. “Of course he didn’t, but that’s not what I asked you. Miss Nora, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but we’ve talked about your options before—”

  Nora took a deep breath. Yes, they had, almost from the first moment they’d met.

  But he hadn’t been the first.

  Even before there’d been a diagnosis and Henry could laugh off his lapses in memory and coordination as ‘gittin’ old’, their family doctor had hinted it might be something more serious. But Henry had been so sure it was just his age – “same thing happened to my daddy” – that Nora made up her mind to believe him.

  He was still Henry…more or less.

  He still liked to putter around the garden, even though she’d sometimes find him hunched over crying because he’d forgotten the name of a flower or what you called those long green things on the poles. “Beans, honey, they’re called beans,” and then she’d help him pick some for dinner and he’d be all right again.

  He still recognized their daughter and grandsons – most of the time – and if he happened to call the boys the names of childhood friends long dead and buried, one of Nora’s oatmeal cookies and a whispered reminder that “Granddaddy’s just getting old, baby” made it all better.

  Those were the good days.

  Other times he’d wander around the house muttering or sit down in the chair by the window and not move until the sun went down. Not even to go to the bathroom.

  Those days weren’t as good.

  Then Hank showed up….

  “Miss Nora?”

  Nora blinked.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Nora could lie to herself and to Henry, even lie to Hank sometimes, but she found it impossible to lie to a man who looked like Sidney Poitier. “No…. I’m sorry. Maybe I’m getting like Henry.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet.” He took a deep breath and released it. “I said I think it’s time, Miss Nora.”

  Nora glanced toward the office’s window bright with California sunshine until the burning in her eyes stopped. Everyone, their daughter, the doctors, their friends, the neighbors, even Henry himself, when he was himself, had said the time would come…and here it was.

  Finally and officially.

  When she turned back her eyes were dry. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. Of course he was sure, but Nora wanted to be able to tell Henry that she’d asked.


  If he remembered.

  “When?”

  Dr. Cross seemed surprised, as if he’d expected her to put up more of a fight. It’d surprised Nora too, but only a little bit.

  “I believe you and Henry have already taken the tour of our assisted living unit?”

  Nora nodded. They had been given a tour after Henry’s second visit/evaluation – just to have a look, should they want to consider it, when the time came. Henry had jokingly asked if he could bring Nora with him because ‘it was such a nice place’.

  And it was, for what it was: a sprawling, beautifully appointed one-story building that was separated from the main medical center by a parking lot and parklike ‘Memory Walk’ green belt. A miniature hospital in itself, the unit had its own medical staff, art and therapy classrooms, a twenty-four-hour emergency shuttle to the main hospital complex and a one-hundred-and-ten-bed ‘permanent care’ facility.

  Each room was private with its own handicap-accessible bath, a twin bed (that could, their docent/tour guide told them, be replaced with a hospital bed when needed), end table, reclining chair, dresser, desk and chair, and wall-mounted flat-screen TV. If it hadn’t been for the two ready-access oxygen outlets and three emergency call buttons in the room – one next to the bed, one in the bathroom and one in the TV remote – it could have been a college dorm room.

  “Our guests are never more than a few feet away from being able to summon medical help,” the tour coordinator told them with pride, “which their caregivers find most reassuring.”

  They’d talked about it when they got home and both agreed that it was certainly an option…when the time came.

  Nora licked her lips and tasted the sweet/chemical tang of the lipstick she’d put on that morning.

  “Okay.” Dr. Cross nodded. “I think the faster we get Henry settled in the better it will be for both of you. Don’t you agree, Miss Nora?”

  She nodded again because she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

  “Good. I know how hard this must be on you, but I promise it is the best thing for Henry.” Picking up his cell phone, he swiped the screen, punched a number then looked up and smiled at her the same way Sidney Poitier had smiled at the old Mother Superior in Lilies of the Field. “Yes,” he said to whomever he’d called. “This is Dr. Cross. We will be admitting Mr. Henry Rollins to the memory unit. Yes. Fine. Thank you.” He swiped the phone again and set it down on his desk. “It’s done.”

  “That fast?”

  “That fast.”

  Standing up, the handsome young doctor walked around the desk to Nora’s chair and offered his hand. She took it and, as she always did when shaking his hand in greeting or in parting, marveled at the softness of his skin as she got to her feet.

  “Thank you. Well, I guess I’d better collect Henry and head for home. We have some packing to do.”

  Dr. Cross cupped her hand in both of his.

  “Miss Nora. I think it would be best for everyone if you went home and he stayed here.” When Nora tried to pull away the pressure on her hand increased. “I know, but it will be less traumatic for both of you in the long run.”

  “But— Please. He’ll think I abandoned him.”

  “We’ll make sure he understands that you didn’t.”

  “But….” Her thoughts raced around the inside of her head like a hamster in a wheel. “But…he doesn’t have his pajamas or toothbrush.”

  The doctor laughed and gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’m sure we can find something for him tonight and tomorrow I’ll arrange for the visiting nurse to stop by and pick up a few of his things. Now, go home and get some rest, doctor’s orders.”

  They walked out of his office and down the brightly lit hall hand in hand, and he didn’t let go until they reached the entrance in the main lobby. Her hand felt cold after his touch.

  “One more thing, Miss Nora. It would be best if you didn’t come back for a few days.”

  Nora’s cold hand touched the hollow of her throat. “Why? Henry’ll wonder what happened to me. And I’ll have to bring him his favorite slippers – he has these ratty old slippers and I….”

  Then she ran out of breath and couldn’t say another word.

  “I know how hard this seems,” Dr. Cross said, “but it will make Henry’s adjustment a lot easier if you aren’t here. And I’m only talking a couple of days…although a week would be best. Think you can give us a week, Miss Nora?”

  Nora took a deep breath. “All right.”

  Dr. Cross touched her shoulder. “Thank you. Now before you think you’re off the hook or anything, I expect at least a dozen of those wonderful oatmeal cookies on my desk when you do come back. Dare I hope?”

  Nora let herself chuckle and nodded. “I’ll have enough time to bake cookies for everybody.”

  She hadn’t thought about that before, but, finally she would have enough time to bake and sleep and watch whatever TV show she wanted to and not have to worry and wander the house checking up on Henry and placating Hank and making sure he hadn’t started a fire or gone outside without telling her or fallen down the stairs or….

  She’d have enough time to sit and think about what she’d just done.

  “Mmm-mmm! Can’t wait.” His smile softened. “It’s going to be okay, Miss Nora, it really will. I know this is going to sound impossible, but try not to worry. I’ll talk to Henry myself and explain things and I’m sure he’ll understand this is all for the best.”

  Nora looked out through the entrance doors to the bright summer day and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You are more than welcome, Miss Nora. Get some rest.”

  “I will,” Nora promised, “and then I’ll get to baking.”

  Dr. Cross pressed both hands to the front of his lab coat, just above his heart, and rolled his eyes. Nora smiled as she walked out into the bright summer sunshine and kept smiling until she heard the automatic door whoosh shut behind her.

  Chapter Two

  Timmy

  (1956)

  HONK-HONK!

  “Honk!” Timmy answered, then fell back into one of the sofa pillows he’d put on the floor. “Honk! Honk! Honk!”

  HONK! HONK! SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

  Timmy lifted his head just in time to watch Clarabell the Clown squirt Buffalo Bob with seltzer and laughed so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. He’d caught what Grandpa Jake called a ‘bad case-a the chuckles’ and couldn’t stop…

  …until he heard his second favorite song in the whole world.

  It made him so happy he just had to sing along.

  So he did.

  “Clarabell! Clarabell! CLARABELL!”

  “Timothy Patrick O’Neal!”

  Even though Buffalo Bob was saying something and Clarabell was honking his answer, Timmy quickly put the pillow back on the sofa where it belonged, then jumped up to join it and sat like a human being: hands in his lap, back straight, and sneakers nowhere near the coffee table. He might only have been five (and a half), but he knew what the rules were and how they were supposed to be followed.

  When he remembered.

  Always say please and thank you.

  Eat everything on your plate because there are starving children in China.

  No elbows on the table.

  No running or yelling in the house.

  No sitting too close to the TV.

  And especially no noise in the morning if Mommy and Daddy had gone out the night before.

  Like they did last night.

  “Timothy. Did you hear me calling you, young man?” his mother asked.

  He sat straighter. “Yes, Mama?”

  Timmy could hear – and feel – the heavy thump-swish, thump-swish of her slippers as she walked out of the kitchen. Mama was mad.

  When she finally reached the living room and turned off the T
V, he could tell she wasn’t feeling good either. She was still wearing her robe and PJs and her eyes were all red and funny-looking.

  But he didn’t laugh.

  “Timothy Patrick, what have we told you about—?”

  “You gotta cold, mama? You look like you gotta cold.”

  For a minute his mama’s face stayed angry, then it changed and she smiled. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Timmy shrugged because he didn’t know.

  His mama sighed. “What have we told you about yelling in the house?”

  “But I wasn’t yelling, I was singing.”

  Timmy didn’t know why, but that made his mama smile even more.

  “Yes, but you were singing very loudly and your mommy and daddy were up very late last night and…we have headaches.”

  “Sarr-reee.”

  His mama walked over to the sofa and sat down next to him, pulling him into a big hug. Timmy buried his face into her side and took a deep breath. Her robe smelled like sunshine and soap and flowers and her, all good things.

  “I know you’re sorry and you’re a good boy. I just forget how little you are sometimes.”

  Timmy lifted his head and felt his lower lip pooch out. “I’m not little. I’m five and a half. I’m gonna be six in this many days.”

  He held up five fingers.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” his mama said and put down one of his fingers, “you’re not little. You’re a big boy, a very big boy…and I have something to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  His mama lifted him onto her lap. And even though Timmy was a big boy and would be six in four more days, he liked being there. Liked the smell and warm and safe of her.

  “You know how your daddy and I went out last night and Grandpa Jake stayed with you?”

  “Uh-huh. We watched Rin Tin Tin and ’Ventures of Jim Bowie!”

  “Now, the reason your daddy and I went out last night is because we were celebrating. You see, there’s going to be a little stranger in the house soon.”

  “Strangers are bad,” Timmy reminded her. “Don’t talk to strangers.”

  She laughed and her belly went up and down. Timmy liked that.