Riverside Drive

by Laura Van Wormer

  “He’s in Connecticut, at the house,” Henry said, pulling clothes out of a duffel bag and throwing them in a pile on the floor.

  “I know,” Cassy said. “We’ve talked.”

  “That’s what he said.” Henry glanced at his mother. “Are you still going to that place with Mr. Wyatt?”

  “Uh-huh,” Cassy nodded. Henry was finished with that bag and tackled another.

  “Do you think I could go with you one night?”

  Cassy was surprised. “Sure,” she said. “I’d love it.”

  “He came out again. To camp, I mean,” Henry said without looking at her. “He was in pretty bad shape.” He dragged the bag over to his stereo and started transferring cassettes into a storage rack. Evan talked to me about it afterward. About Dad’s drinking, I mean.”

  Cassy started to say something but didn’t.

  “Evan’s father had a problem too.” Pause. “He’s dead now.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Cassy murmured, “I don’t think it’s going to come to that.”

  Long pause. “So, Mom,” Henry said, dragging the bag back to the pile, “what happens now? Dad said he doesn’t want to come home right now.” He shook the remaining clothes out of the bag and dropped it, turning around to look at her. “Or won’t you let him?”

  “Both, “Cassy said. “I want him to get help to stop drinking,” she said, lowering her head, “and he doesn’t want to. So...”

  “But if he does—get help, I mean—he can come home, right?”

  Cassy hesitated. Finally she nodded. “If he stops.”

  “Good,” Henry said, walking over to the bench press in the corner, “that’s what I told him.” He straddled the bench and lowered himself down onto it. “This is really great, Mom. Thanks.”

  Cassy smiled.

  Henry sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Evan said he wished his mother had thrown his father out. He said that maybe if she had his father might have stopped.” He sat up suddenly, turning to look at Cassy. “You love him, Mom, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He bit his lip and then lay back down. After a moment, “I love him too. But, “he paused, “I almost hated him when he came out to Colorado.” He paused again. It was awful, Mom. And in front of everyone.”

  Cassy closed her eyes.

  “Evan and I had to carry him into his motel room.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cassy said quietly.

  Silence.

  “Evan says it’s a disease. Do you think that’s true?”

  Cassy opened her eyes. “Yes,” she said. Whoever you are, Evan, she thought, thank you for helping my son.

  “Mom, it’s for you!” Henry called from the kitchen. “It’s Alexandra Waring.”

  Cassy came in from the living room. She started to say that she’d pick up in the bedroom, but stopped herself, thinking, Don’t do anything different. And so she sat on a stool in the kitchen, picked up the phone, and watched Henry fix himself a snack.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi.” Alexandra’s voice was in that low, rushing tone that Cassy had recently become so familiar with.

  “Hi.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Great.”

  “Mom—sorry. Do we have any mustard?”

  “If there isn’t any in the door of the refrigerator, look in the pantry. Second shelf.” Back into the phone, “Hi. Sorry.”

  Alexandra was laughing. “It’s so strange to hear you in your mother voice again.”

  “Again?”

  “That’s the way you used to talk to me.”

  “Oh, boy,” Cassy sighed, smiling. Henry came back, holding the mustard up.

  “You can’t talk, can you?”

  “That’s right,” Cassy said, overly cheerful.

  Alexandra laughed again. “This is going to be something to get used to.”

  “Right,” Cassy said.

  “He sounds great,” Alexandra said. “How does he look?”

  “He’s six foot three now,” Cassy said, smiling at Henry. He flexed his muscles for her benefit. “And as strong as an ox.”

  “Yeah,” Henry growled, going back to building his sandwich.

  “How was your meeting today?”Cassy asked her.

  “Great! We’re moving to nine o’clock the week after next.”

  “Hey, that’s terrific,” Cassy said, holding the phone under her chin and moving over to Henry. Alexandra related some details of the meeting while Cassy nibbled on the cold cuts Henry had out on the counter.

  “You’re gonna get fat,” Henry whispered.

  “Never,” Cassy mouthed, tossing a piece of liverwurst in her mouth with a wink.

  “Cassy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know this isn’t a good time,” Alexandra said.

  “Well,” Cassy said.

  “When can I see you?”

  Cassy moved away from Henry and slipped back up on the stool. “I’m not sure.”

  “Friday?”

  “Can’t.”

  “Saturday night?”

  “Um, I think so. Henry,” Cassy said.

  “What?”

  “I’m invited to a dinner party Saturday night. Would you mind?”

  Henry shrugged. “No. Skipper’s probably coming over.”

  “Saturday’s fine,” Cassy said into the phone.

  “Terrific,” Alexandra said. “Now I have something to look forward to.”

  Cassy laughed.

  “I know you can’t say anything,” Alexandra said, “so I’ll just say it. I love you.”

  “Yes,” Cassy said brightly—shaking her head, “no,” to Henry, who was holding ham out to her.

  “Yes, she says,” Alexandra said, laughing. “This is going to take some getting used to. All right, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sleep well.”

  “You too.”

  “I love you.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye-bye.” Cassy hung up the phone. “Think you’ve got enough food there? You won’t starve?”

  “Yeah.” He cut the sandwich in half, no easy feat since it was nearly six inches high. “So you guys are friends now?”

  “Who?”

  “You and Alexandra.”

  “Uh, yes,” Cassy said, coming over to start clearing the counter.

  “I’ll do that,” Henry said.

  “No, sweetheart, I’ll do it. It’s your first night home.”

  “Dad really likes her.”

  “I know,” Cassy said.

  “She isn’t mad at him or anything, is she? I mean, he didn’t do anything—”

  “No, Henry,” Cassy said, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. “Alexandra thinks a lot of your father.”

  Henry picked up a half of his sandwich with both hands. “I’ll tell him that,” he said, taking a bite.

  35

  A CONVENTION IS HELD

  IN THE ROOM OF

  MRS. EMMA GOLDBLUM

  “She’s already got two visitors,” the aide said under his breath, “but here.” He handed her a pass. “Don’t worry, it’s Miss Peabody’s.” Amanda frowned slightly. “Doesn’t Miss Peabody get any visitors?”

  The aide looked around and then whispered, “Miss Peabody’s the name we use for anything extra we need for someone else.” He winked. “Last night we gave Lois Peabody’s complimentary puppet to the sister of a kid in pediatrics.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said, smiling. “Well, thank you, Steve. And do thank Miss Peabody for me when you next see her.” She walked on toward the elevator bank.

  “Hey, Amanda!” a voice called across the lobby. It was Rosanne, waving, on her way to the visitors’ station. Steve gave her one of Miss Peabody’s passes too. “Hi,” Rosanne said, walking past Amanda to slap the elevator button. “Man,” she said, wheeling around and collapsing against the wall,

  “I’m beat. Althea threw some kind of pa
rty last night and I’ve been vacuuming confetti off the ceilin’ all day.”

  “How are the Wyatts?”

  “Good, I guess. Mr. W bought Jason a baseball glove.” The elevator arrived and the women stepped into it. “See?”Rosanne said, opening her bag.

  Amanda touched it. “It looks like a very good one.”

  Rosanne snorted. “Like you would know.”

  They both laughed.

  Rosanne shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching the floor numbers change overhead. “They’re all spoony again,” Rosanne said, catching the interest of the nurse standing behind them.

  “Who?”Amanda said, smiling back at the nurse.

  “The W’s.”

  “Rosanne,” Amanda scolded.

  “Well, you asked how they were. And ya know, they weren’t so hot there for awhile.” She sighed as the elevator doors opened onto Mrs. Goldblum’s floor. “I’m real glad, though,” she said, stepping out. “I was gettin’ kind of worried, what with Mr. W spendin’ so much time with Mrs. C and all and Mrs. C actin’ so airy-fairy lately—”

  “Rosanne— Amanda said, stopping in the middle of the hall.

  “What?”

  Amanda started to say something and then stopped. “Let us change the subject,” she finally said, walking on.

  “Okay,” Rosanne agreed, walking at her side. She looked at Amanda. “Howie called me.” No response on this item. “He’s gettin’ divorced,” she added, watching for her reaction.

  “Don’t, Rosanne,” Amanda said, holding her hand up. And she meant it.

  Rosanne frowned but then waved to the nurses’ station. “Hi!”

  A couple of hi’s came back.

  Rosanne stopped just outside Mrs. Goldblum’s door and sighed. “I wish Mrs. G would hurry up and get outta here so I could stop smilin’ when I don’t feel like it,” she said. She brushed the hair out of her eyes. “This custody thing really’s got me bugged, ya know?”

  Rosanne’s eyes were looking for some reassurance. So that was it, Amanda thought. Whenever Rosanne started talking about everyone else’s business it was because something in her own life was bothering her. She was just frightened, today, about Jason. About whether or not she would get him back. Amanda reached out to take her hand. “I promise you,” she said gently, “we will do whatever is necessary to bring Jason home.”

  Rosanne nodded and let go of Amanda’s hand. “Wherever the heck that is,” she muttered, walking in through the door.

  Mrs. Goldblum was aglow. “Hi, girls, join the crowd!”

  The crowd was right. Henry Cochran was sitting on the foot of her bed; Daniel was in a chair on the far side; a woman in a dressing gown was in the other chair; a second woman, also in a dressing gown, was in a wheelchair. Everyone but Daniel appeared to be quite happy.

  The two younger women said a general hello; Amanda reached over the wheelchair to give Mrs. Goldblum’s hand a squeeze; Rosanne swung around to the other side of the bed, leaned past Daniel to kiss Mrs. Goldblum on the cheek, and then retreated to stand at the foot of the bed.

  Mrs. Goldblum made introductions: Henry, the nice boy from the book bazaar who brought her some lovely note paper; Mrs. Smith, who was recovering from an operation for a minor health problem that would go unmentioned; Mrs. Vasquez, who—wasn’t it a coincidence?—lived on the Upper West Side too; her son, Daniel Goldblum, a business executive here all the way from Chicago; her dear friend Amanda, who was caring for her cat; and Rosanne, Mrs. Goldblum’s intimate friend, who had just the most darling little boy.

  Well, all this took some time.

  Mrs. Smith slowly got up from her chair, saying that she would come back later when Mrs. Goldblum’s guests had gone. Mrs. Vasquez echoed her sentiments and Henry hopped to his feet, offering to “drive” Mrs. Vasquez back to her room. She would be delighted—that is, if Henry promised not to drive too fast. All young men drove too fast. No, Henry wouldn’t, he promised. Henry said his good-byes to Mrs. Goldblum as well, and the entourage slowly moved out of the room.

  Amanda took Mrs. Smith’s chair; Rosanne looked at Daniel in his chair, but since he didn’t take the hint, she gave up and eased herself onto the corner of the bed.

  “You look very tired, dear,” Mrs. Goldblum said to Rosanne.

  “That’s because I am tired.”

  “You shouldn’t get so tired, dear.”

  “So who’s the one in the hospital, dear?”

  Mrs. Goldblum lofted her eyebrows, turning to Amanda. “Have you ever heard such disrespect in all your life?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said, laughing, “many times.”

  “Hey, Mrs. G,” Rosanne said, patting her foot. (Mrs. Goldblum had been able to receive pats without any pain at all for a week now.) “I filed those papers like you said and the payments are going to start right away.”

  “That is wonderful news,” Mrs. Goldblum said.

  Rosanne looked over at Amanda. “Mrs. G said Jason could get Social Security benefits ‘cause of Frank’s death.” She turned back to Mrs. Goldblum, a warm smile emerging. “I don’t know what’s happened to you in here, Mrs. G, but it sure is nice. Used to be coupons could throw ya.”

  Daniel coughed, looking irritated. He started to get up, saying, “While you’re gabbing, Mother, I’m going to get a bite to eat.”

  “Sit down, Daniel,” Mrs. Goldblum said, her good humor starting to fade. Once he complied—sighing heavily—she turned and said, “Girls, there’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

  They waited. Daniel concentrated on playing with the edge of the bed sheet. “As you know, my physician has suggested that I not be alone for my first weeks out of the hospital—”

  “Ever, Mother,” Daniel said, twisting the sheet. “The doctor said you shouldn’t live alone anymore.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Daniel,” Mrs. Goldblum told her son. “He did not say forever, he said for the first few weeks.” She paused. “Now then, I wanted to tell you that Daniel has very kindly asked me to live with him in Chicago. Where I can be near my grandchildren.”

  Amanda and Rosanne looked at each other and then back to Mrs. Goldblum, who, at this moment, was taking a sip of water.

  “Maybe you could just go for a visit,” Rosanne suggested.

  Mrs. Goldblum smiled, shaking her head. “No, dear, it would be my last move.”

  Silence. “I don’t think you should go,” Amanda finally said. Mrs. Goldblum looked at her.

  “Me neither,” Rosanne said.

  “What do you suggest?” Daniel said, angry. “That Mother spend every cent she has on a nurse? It’d cost a fortune!”

  “It’s her fortune,” Rosanne said, expression hinting that a murder could possibly take place sometime in the near future.

  “When you leave the hospital,” Amanda said to Mrs. Goldblum, taking her hand, “I think you should come and stay with me.”

  “But you have your own life, dear,” Mrs. Goldblum said softly.

  “And so do you,” Amanda said, “and I am a part of it—just as you are a part of mine.”

  Daniel was looking a little panicky. “Mother, you promised.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Rosanne said.

  “You’ll break the children’s hearts,” Daniel continued, standing up.

  “Break the bank, you mean,” Rosanne said, jumping to her feet.

  “My, my,” Mrs. Goldblum was chuckling, shaking her head, “such a fuss.”

  “Mother, this is crazy!” Daniel cried, leaning over the bed. “You’re coming back with me to Chicago and that’s that!”

  “No, it’s not!” Rosanne declared, stamping her foot. She was really angry now.

  Nurse Sendowski appeared at the door to inquire if everything was all right. Rosanne used the distraction to launch her offensive. She marched around to Amanda’s side of the bed and stood directly across from Daniel. “Mrs. G,” she said, plunking her hands down on her hips, “I will not tolerate any of this nonsense. How do you
think Mr. Goldblum’s going to feel about you leaving your home?”

  This was a stunner for Mrs. Goldblum, and everyone in the room knew it. Most of all Daniel.

  “Mother,” he sputtered, “you know Father would want—”

  “No, he would not,” Rosanne said. She turned to Mrs. Goldblum again. “Riverside Drive is your home. It’s where you got married, it’s where you raised your kids, it’s where you’ve lived for over fifty years.” She paused, backing down slightly. “If you move away, Mrs. G, it’s gonna because you don’t want to live anymore.” Rosanne turned away. “So let’s just stop playin’ games.”

  Silence.

  Mrs. Goldblum was slowly turning her wedding band. “Daniel,” she murmured, “I wish you would leave me with the girls for a moment.”

  “Mother,” he started to warn her, “you can’t—”

  Her look stopped him cold. “I can do what I like.” She looked down, smoothing the bedclothes with her palms. “I love you more than anything in the world, Daniel.” She paused and then looked up at him. “But Rosanne is right. My place, my life, is here. And I think you know that, darling. And I love you all the more for wanting me to live with you, but...”

  Daniel glared at his mother for a long moment. When she reached to touch his hand, he spun away, glared at Rosanne, and then stormed out of the room.

  Silence. “He used to do that when he was a little boy,” Mrs. Goldblum said with a faint smile.

  Rosanne came over to the bed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. G, I didn’t mean to yell at him.”

  “It’s all right, dear,” Mrs. Goldblum said. “I know you meant well.” She drew her hankie out from the sleeve of her dressing gown, patted her nose and lowered her hand into her lap. “Amanda dear,” she said, turning toward her, “tell me what you honestly think I should do.”

  “I think,” Amanda said slowly, leaning forward in her chair, “now that you have the money, you should invite your grandchildren for a visit.”

  Mrs. Goldblum nodded once, without expression.

  “And I think”—deep breath—”when you leave the hospital, you should come and stay with me. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you as my house guest.”

  There was no protest and so Amanda went ahead.