A bead of sweat rolled between Carrie’s shoulder blades. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck.
“I hate August,” she said to Lexi as they crossed Frannie’s yard. Though Mother still attended her clubs, visited friends and flitted about town like a woman without a care, Carrie made a point of stopping by every day to see how things were going.
Some days were good. Some not so good. Like the proverbial box of chocolates, she never knew what she’d get. Today, the trio had a shopping date. For Lexi’s sake, Carrie hoped Grannie Frannie remembered.
The bright green front door swung open with a reverberating bang. “There’s my girls! Come in, come in. I made a blackberry cobbler. Picked the blackberries myself from Blantons’ garden.” She hitched her shoulders in a girlish shrug. “With their permission, of course.”
“Yum. Is there ice cream?” Lexi stopped in the doorway for a hug before going inside, nose sniffing the pie-scented interior.
“Can’t have pie without ice cream.” Frannie wrapped Carrie in a fluffy embrace. For an infinitesimal beat of time, Carrie let herself forget Mother’s illness long enough to absorb the love like a dry sponge absorbs liquid.
“You smell like Avon cobbler,” Carrie teased against Frannie’s soft hair.
Her mother laughed and pulled away. “I guess I invented a new fragrance. You want pie before or after shopping?”
“Better ask Lex. She’s the one who’s always starving.”
“Skinny little thing.” Frannie patted her wide hips. “Takes after her granny.”
Relieved to know that today was a good day, Carrie smiled along with her mother as they trailed into the house. Lexi came out of the kitchen, a giant spoon of steaming cobbler in one hand, the other cupped below in case of drips.
“Just a bite before we leave, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, she nibbled the edges of the spoon and made a humming sound. “Grannie Frannie makes the best cobbler in Oklahoma. Maybe even in America.”
“No argument from me,” Carrie said. “Or anyone in Riverbend.” Her mother’s homemade pies had funded more than one mission trip. “We’ll pig out when we get back.”
“What’s our modus operandi today?” Frannie asked. From the back of the couch, she took out a bright red hat trimmed with a tall flowerlike spray of royal blue sequins and fitted it over her neatly coiffed bob. Around her neck she wound a gauzy, multicolored scarf in shades of blue and red and yellow. “How do I look?”
“Smashing,” Carrie lied, much preferring her navy slacks and linen blouse to Mother’s sparkly slides and wild hats. “Fit for the Kentucky Derby.”
“I always wanted to attend the Derby,” Mother said. “All those wonderful hats…Now that I don’t have a job to stop me, maybe next year I’ll just get up and go.”
Carrie kept her opinion to herself, though regret pinched her like cheap shoes. Mother loved travel and adventure, and she’d had little time or money for either. Now, no one, especially Frannie, knew what her state of mind would be next week, much less months in the future.
“Do you think this is too low cut?” Lexi came out of the dressing room at a trendy teen boutique wearing an adorable smocked top with a plunging V-neck. She tugged at the shoulders.
Carrie held up a baby doll top in pastel plaid. Shopping for modest school clothes that were still trendy and acceptable to a teenager became harder with each passing year. “How about this top with a pair of leggings?”
Lexi tilted her head and squinted. “Cute. Let me try it.”
Frannie grabbed the leggings from a rack and handed them off. Lexi disappeared behind the dressing room door. “Disaster averted.”
“She knew the top was too low,” Carrie said, sorting through a rack of outlandishly priced blue jeans. “Asking was a test to see if I’d get hysterical.”
“You passed.” Frannie picked up a Scottish plaid beret with a silver buckle. “Oh, this is darling.”
“Lexi’s not much for hats, except her softball cap.”
“Not for Lexi. For me! Here, hold my hat while I try it.”
With a chuckle, Carrie took the red hat and watched as her mother preened in front of the mirror. Lexi stepped out of the dressing booth, fresh and young and adorable in the top and leggings.
“Gran, you look amazing.”
“You, too, rosebud. Think I can catch a beau in this beret?”
“Are we talking about Mr. Markovich?”
One hand adjusting the plaid beret, Mother paused. A shadow passed over her face, and Carrie had a frightening thought that she was going into one of her spells.
“Oh, he’s old news.”
Carrie relaxed a tiny bit but kept her attention on Frannie. Though not a forgetting spell, something had disturbed her mother. Carrie found herself remembering an odd incident from church last Sunday. The three of them had passed Ken Markovich as they’d entered the foyer. Mother had hesitated for a moment, her vermilion smile faltering as she greeted the man who’d been her companion for a long time. Instead of their usual round of silly teasing, followed by an invitation to sit with him, both had looked acutely uncomfortable. When she’d ask Frannie later if they were sitting together, her mother had simply said, “Not today.”
Now she wondered what was going on.
But if Frannie was troubled by Lexi’s teasing, she recovered well. She bumped her granddaughter with a hip. “What about you and that Fielding boy? Hmm?”
Lexi giggled and hitched both shoulders. “I’ll never tell.”
Frannie widened her eyes and acted silly as she scooted up next to Lexi in front of the long mirror.
“Gorgeous, Lex, my rosebud.”
“Gorgeous, Grannie Frannie.”
The pair stood chattering and studying themselves as they’d done a hundred times before on shopping trips. Pretending to look through an assortment of purses, Carrie listened to the conversation and relaxed. Today was a good day. No use borrowing trouble about Ken Markovich.
Lexi went back inside the dressing booth to change clothes and Mother wandered off to peruse the jewelry racks. She’d probably return with enough fake gold to impress the ancient Aztecs.
“What did you decide?” Carrie asked when Lexi reappeared, clothes draped over her arm.
“I like these. But I really want some new jeans, too. Can I have both?”
“I’m not paying a hundred dollars for a pair of jeans.”
Lexi huffed in exasperation. “Next summer I’m getting a job.”
“Great idea.” Carrie leaned her forehead against Lexi’s and whispered. “But for this year, you’ll have to settle for ordinary jeans at ordinary prices.”
Though clearly believing her mother was the most uncool, stingiest mom on the planet, Lexi got over being miffed in a hurry.
“Murielle’s has cute stuff cheap,” she said, mentioning a shop on the opposite end of the mall.
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s tell your grandmother.”
Lexi’s thick-lashed eyes, gray-blue like her father’s, made a quick survey of the crowded store. “Where is Grannie Frannie?”
Carrie glanced around and pointed in the general direction her mother had gone. “She was over by the accessories.”
“Buying boas?” Lexi asked, grinning.
“You do know your Grannie.” Carrie slung an arm across her daughter’s slender shoulders. “Come on. Let’s find her and go before she buys another ugly hat.”
“There she is, Mom.” Lexi waved.
Standing near the back wall, Frannie gazed out at the store with a worried expression. Carrie waved, too, but got no response. Her pulse accelerated. Didn’t Mother see them?
She picked up her pace until she reached her mother’s side. “Mother?”
Frannie clutched her arm. “Carrie, I want to go home.”
“But we just got here.”
“I can’t take this noise. It’s making me too confused. I can’t breathe. I need to go home.” Frannie took off, heading out the boutique do
or and into the mall.
Exchanging a look of puzzled dismay, Lexi and Carrie rushed after her.
An hour later, over cobbler and ice cream, Frannie apologized for the abrupt departure. “I don’t know what came over me. The noise in that place made my head swim. I thought I was going to have a panic attack.”
“You’ve always loved shopping.”
“I’ll be better tomorrow. We can try again.” She patted Lexi’s arm. “You didn’t have a chance to buy that cute outfit, did you?”
“No big deal.” Lexi stirred her spoon around in the melting ice cream, not making eye contact. This was the first time she had witnessed one of her grandmother’s episodes of confusion. Carrie’s heart ached for her. She and Frannie had always been like two peas in a pod.
Carrie pushed off the bar stool and took her dirty bowl to the dishwasher. To tell the truth, she hadn’t enjoyed the much-anticipated cobbler at all. Though as tasty as always, it stuck in her throat.
“Mother, are you finished with yours?”
Frannie handed over the dish and said, “I’m really tired. I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
Mother’s energy was boundless. She’d never been known to nap.
“All right. I’ll straighten the kitchen and we’ll head home. Mind if I take Dan a dish of cobbler?”
Frannie waved a listless hand. “Sure, sure. Take whatever you want.” As she started out of the kitchen, she stopped, turned and said, “I’m sorry about our shopping trip. I feel so stupid now.”
Carrie and Lexi were quiet in the car, both of them reflective, though Lexi’s CD provided the right amount of cover noise. Carrie had never fussed about her daughter’s choice of music, partly because she and Fran had fought like billy goats over Carrie’s teenage admiration for Madonna. Frannie tended toward flamboyance. Why should she object to an entertainer who did the same thing? Carrie hadn’t understood for the longest time. Now she did, of course, but she’d vowed to be more rational and accepting with her own children. As long as the lyrics were appropriate, the scratchy guitars or bumping bass didn’t bother her in the least. Today the heavy thump of the music pounding from the speakers reflected the heaviness in her heart.
“Mom?” Lexi said after a bit, leaning forward to turn down the radio.
Carrie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What, hon?”
“Is Grannie Frannie going to get worse?”
Her heart thudded once, hard. “Only God knows the answer to that, but if she follows the usual course, yes, she’ll get worse.”
“What causes Alzheimer’s?”
“No one really knows for certain. Something in the brain goes awry.”
“There’s no cure?” The ache in her daughter’s tone echoed the one inside Carrie’s chest.
“No, not yet.”
“I don’t want to lose her, Mom. I’m going to pray that they find a cure in time to make Grannie well.”
“You do that, sweetheart.” No point in destroying Lexi’s faith, just because her own was at an all-time low.
“Is Alzheimer’s disease hereditary?”
Carrie’s stomach dipped. She hadn’t been expecting that question, had intentionally avoided thinking in that vein. “I think something genetic may be involved, yes.”
A contemplative silence hovered as they slowed for a traffic light. Cars with the right-of-way chugged through the intersection emitting the hum of single-lane traffic.
When the light beamed green and Carrie pressed her foot to the accelerator, Lexi said, “Mom?”
She flicked a glance toward her daughter. Lexi’s slim, suntanned fingers fidgeted with a plastic CD case.
“What?”
“When you get old, will Alzheimer’s happen to you, too?”
Dear God, she hoped it would not. But how could she tell her daughter no? The only answer was the truth.
“I don’t know, Lexi. No one knows.”
Her whole body ached to think that her beloved only child might have to walk in her shoes. Lexi may someday have to face the hard lessons Carrie was only beginning to learn. Worst of all she may have to watch helplessly as her mother changed and ultimately disappeared, little by little.
The knowledge frightened Carrie to the point of asking herself a terrible question. If she knew Alzheimer’s was happening to her, would she be tempted to do something final and drastic to spare her precious child this agony? And if she did, would she be forever condemned?
No answer came, of course. And that was the deepest agony of all. The darkness that lingered constantly in the back of her mind pushed to the fore. Where was God when she needed Him so badly?
Chapter Seven
Bright and early Saturday morning, before the neighbors fired up the lawn mowers and while neighborhood dogs raced through flower beds to do their business, Frannie marched through Carrie’s front door. Wearing camouflage knickers and a T-shirt beneath a beige safari hat, she whipped off her aviator sunglasses. “Where’s Dan?”
Carrie, still poring over the morning paper and nursing a second cup of freshly perked coffee, didn’t bat an eye. Mother’s unpredictable nature had existed long before Alzheimer’s disease entered the picture. Seeing her like this was actually a good sign.
She motioned toward the kitchen exit. “Out in the garage. He and Lexi are bonding over that old Camaro.”
Without further ado, Mother sailed past like a soldier in hot pursuit, out into the garage.
Curious, Carrie put down the paper, took her coffee and followed. What in the world was Mother up to this morning?
The garage was stuffy, though Dan had opened the huge outer door to let in light and a draft of fresh air. Carrie left the kitchen door open and sat down on the single step, air-conditioning at her back. If she was going to work in her flowers this morning, she needed to get with it before the heat took over.
Directly in front of her, Dan and Lexi had their heads together beneath the hood of a metallic-blue Camaro, Dan’s first car—a car he’d preserved for the son they’d planned to have. He and his boy would rebuild and restore the car together, a father-son activity that would bond them through the rough teenage years. Carrie knew this plan, of course, though Lexi had no idea.
Years ago, Dan had quietly changed the plan. Without fanfare or a rehash of his broken dream, he’d relegated the classic car to his daughter. The two of them would restore the Camaro and on her sixteenth birthday, the car would belong to her. To everyone’s surprise, particularly Lexi’s, she enjoyed working on the Camaro with her dad. For Carrie, the car bond offered a sense of absolution.
She heard Dan’s deep rumble as he talked to his daughter. She loved Dan’s voice, a sound as strong and masculine as the man. He was a man’s man, the kind of guy who could fix a car or a busted water line, work all day in the heat or cold or rain and never flinch. But mention a wedding or a trip to the mall and he got that haunted, deer-in-headlights look and retreated to the garage or a fishing pond somewhere. Carrie’s lips curved on the edge of her coffee mug. Dan.
By this time, Frannie had reached the fender of the Camaro. Tilting her head to look beneath the hood, she said, “Danny boy, I need your help.”
The rumble of Dan’s voice ceased.
From her vantage point, Carrie saw his wide, grease-smudged hand reach for a red mechanic’s rag before his head appeared. Lexi popped up beside him.
“Hi, Grannie Frannie. Want to help us change spark plugs?” The end of her nose was tipped in grease.
“I wouldn’t know a spark plug from a fireplug. But I know a shopping bag. That outfit you tried on the other day is out in my car. Jeremy Fielding won’t know what hit him.”
Over Dan’s scowl at the mention of his daughter’s latest beau, Lexi cried, “Gran! You are the best.”
“And don’t you ever forget it,” Frannie said, shaking a finger. “Even if I do.” While everyone else grappled to see the humor in her bad joke, Frannie turned her focus on Dan. “I have a proposition for you, D
an the man.”
Slowly wiping his hands on the red rag, Dan said, “Should I be nervous?”
“Absolutely.” Like a comic with perfect timing, she widened her eyes and waited a split second while her jest soaked in. She and Dan had always had this easy banter between them.
“What are you going to try to talk me into?” Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“We’re having a cookout for the Children’s Church kids at Dale Patrosky’s farm, complete with fishing, horseback riding, and enough hot dogs and cookies to make them all sick. I volunteered for the fishing.”
After losing her job at the church, Mother hadn’t missed a beat. While Carrie stewed and fumed, Mother went right on volunteering, working on committees, baking cookies and helping with any and everything the church needed. Carrie didn’t get the point. Why bother if neither God nor man appreciated the effort?
She started up from the step. “By yourself?”
“Good gravy, no. Even I wouldn’t tackle that many kids alone. That’s where Dan comes in.” She aimed this last remark at her son-in-law. “It’s a crying shame, but we never have enough men. Half these kids come to church with only a mother and the other half come on the bus without any parent at all. Poor little lambs. No wonder society is in such a mess. No male role models.”
Dan used the tip of the rag to polish a spot on his thumb-nail. “I feel a guilt trip coming on.”
Frannie laughed and patted his shoulder. “That’s because I’m orchestrating one. Tell me this, Daniel Martin, how is a boy supposed to learn to be a man if he’s always around a bunch of us old hens?”
“You got me there.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. Thursday evening at five-thirty. You’ll have the time of your life.”
Mothers and Daughters: An Anthology Page 15