And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  As they made their way through the crowded corridor to the gate, Karim took her hand again. Whispering promises and regrets, they bent toward each other like, Beth thought, one of those young, beautiful, and invincible television couples seen strolling hand in hand along the foaming edge of breaking waves. And then his seat number was called and he left and the tide rushed out, leaving her stranded.

  On the drive home, the sky was, if anything, more beautiful than before. A wash of purest aquamarine followed the sun's descent. Flashing lights—Karim's plane?— could be seen between the fixed brilliance of the stars, and here and there, against densely massed foliage, a solitary firefly winked. Beth recalled Housa's tale about the fairy queen's birthday. Every party has its diehards, Beth thought. She couldn't help wondering if she would one day count herself among them.

  * * * *

  Muriel Tomlinson arrived home by ambulance ten days later. Beth had transformed her father's old study off the dining room into a discreet approximation of a sickroom with the addition of an electronically controlled hospital bed and a commode-cum-chair whose presence, despite its clever disguise, her mother indignantly protested.

  "It's only until you're steadier on your feet," Beth promised, which, judging from her mother's heavy dependency on a walker, was unlikely to be soon. "I've had a buzzer installed connecting your bed to where I'll be staying upstairs. A light tap, and I'll be down quicker than quick."

  Although Andy had also recommended installing an intercom sensitive enough to alert Beth to a fall or any alarming changes in breathing, she did not mention its unobtrusive placement in a nearby bookcase to her mother. She already had more than enough reminders of her incapacity, her slurred speech prime among them.

  "You shaying here, Beth?"

  "For the time being."

  Her mother seemed troubled by her answer, but why that should be, Beth could not tell.

  A flurry of footsteps in the hall announced Housa's beaming arrival. "Murry! Welcome home! Andy and I brought the children to help celebrate your homecoming, and Dana's right behind us.”

  As Jamie reached out from Housa's arms to grab at his great-grandmother's bowed head, Dana dashed in to interpose herself between his busy baby fists and the pouf of white hair.

  "Hands off, kid," she muttered threateningly. Jamie chortled and poked his aunt's nose. "Housa, would you mind?"

  "Sorry, Dana. Pretty lady, Jamie?" she cooed, as she backed away out onto the terrace. "Clara!" she called, "I really don't think Murry needs your help moving her walker outside...Daisy? That's Murry's chair—please come here and do something about your sister." Daisy got up, glared, and stalked off. "Andy?"

  "Family values," Dana said, grimacing at her mother. "Who needs them?"

  "There's a good and bad side to everything," Beth reminded her gently before crossing the terrace to her mother with a glass of lemonade.

  Muriel Tomlinson, who Andy had settled with difficulty into her favorite lawn chair, observed with satisfaction that "the garden looksh lovey." Beth and Housa exchanged glances. They had worked hard for that loveliness, spending most of the morning staking up top-heavy dahlias and replacing drought-withered plants with new ones brought in the afternoon before from the nursery.

  "Did I tell you Georgina called me?" Housa asked Beth.

  "I was hoping she would—how did it go?"

  "I met with her last week. It's quite a challenge."

  "What is, Housa," Dana asked, coming up behind them, "avoiding pregnancy?"

  Beth frowned, but Housa, who never seemed to take offense at anything, grinned. "Hey, I married a doctor, remember? No, the thing is, Georgina DeLuca wasn't having much luck thinking up a new approach for the Peabody mailings and catalog, so she called me. It was Beth's idea, actually."

  Dana raised her artfully darkened blonde eyebrows. "You and Georgina?" It was clear she thought them an odd couple. "And how is your resident M.C. taking it?"

  "M.C.?"

  "Male chauvinist, Housa. You know, kinder, kiiche—" Dana, recalling her sister-in-law's erratic schooling, sighed. "Children, kitchen, church."

  Housa ducked her head apologetically. "I've never been much of a churchgoer, Dana, but—" Her brown eyes widened. "Oh, now I see what you mean." She laughed. "Georgina says the day care center the college runs in connection with its education department will take Jamie and Clara, and Daisy'll be in second grade this fall, so everything's taken care of."

  "Isn't Andy worried about all those testosterone-rich male grad students you'll be exposed to?"

  Beth skated a sharp glance towards Dana, surprised by her awareness of her brother's physical insecurity.

  Housa grinned and leaned toward her sister-in-law. "Not since he learned Georgina thinks he's sexy."

  Dana's eyebrows rose higher than before. "Andy?"

  They turned to look at him. He stood, slouched, next to his grandmother, his long lanky body curved in a graceful arc, one hand raised, fingers shoving through the dark shock of hair that fell across his brow. His long nose, too long in childhood, looked distinguished now; the smile that curved his wide mouth was easy and confident.

  "My God!' Dana breathed. "He is!"

  The three women, finding themselves in uncommon agreement, stared at one another, then burst into laughter. Andy, hearing them, sauntered over.

  "Sounds as if I missed something worth hearing."

  Dana waved a perfectly manicured hand. "Girl talk, dearie."

  Andy's astonishment at hearing this expression from his liberated sister set them off again, but before Andy had a chance to pursue the matter, Daisy's anxious voice sobered them.

  "I think Murry wants you, Grammy."

  Beth hurried over to her mother. She sat slumped in her chair, her face ashen from the effort it had taken her to sit upright.

  '"eth? 'eth?"

  "I'm right here, Mother. Andy?"

  "She's all right, Mom, just tired from all the excitement." He shook his head. "I should've seen through that brave front sooner."

  "Brave fronts is what she does best, Andy. If you'll support her on that side..."

  Together, they got her inside, undressed and into bed. Beth gently discouraged further well-meant offers of help. "I'll let her rest for a couple of hours, then fix us both a light supper. I could use a good night's sleep myself."

  "It's just the excitement," Dana said, echoing her brother, as if to reassure herself. "I'm sure she'll improve faster now that she's home, surrounded by her favorite things, being able to see her garden, cared for by someone she knows and trusts. You'll see."

  The order in which Dana listed the benefits of her grandmother's homecoming was not lost on Beth. She felt Andy's hand on her shoulder.

  "That's all very well for her to say," he said in a low voice. "Are you sure about this. Mom? It isn't going to be easy."

  She reached up to cover his hand with her own. "You know how Murry feels about strangers in her house. She always checked the references of cleaning women as if she were hiring a bank guard, and now that she's physically helpless.…" She smiled up at him. "All we can do is see how it goes, dear."

  By the end of her mother's first week at home, Beth had circles under her eyes; by the end of the second, she finally admitted she could no longer cope alone.

  "It's not that she hasn't gotten better; if anything, that's part of the trouble," Beth told Georgina. "Her speech is almost back to normal, and she's using a cane more than the walker now, but she favors her left leg and her left arm is next to useless. Hilton Ormsbee doesn't hold out much hope for further improvement, but I can't tell her that." Beth sighed.

  "Yesterday I found her rummaging in her purse for her car keys. I told her it wasn't safe for her to drive, but she said that was a chance she was willing to take. It hadn't occurred to her that it wasn't just her safety she'd be endangering."

  "I hope you were able to set her straight."

  "Not really. She can't face what's happened to her, and it's more sati
sfying to blame somebody than something. To tell you the truth," she blurted, "Dana's almost as bad; she thinks if I were more patient, more understanding, more... more.…"

  "Saintly?" Georgina supplied.

  Beth laughed. "That sounds a bit much, but yes. Of course, Dana doesn't know—" She stopped abruptly. No one but herself knew her mother had been in love with Ralph; no one else ever would. She owed her mother that much. "Dana doesn't appreciate the fact that my mother and I just don't wear well together. It has nothing to do with love."

  "Huh. It has everything to do with love, honeybunch. Yours and Dana's, yours and your mother's, yours and Karim's, all working at cross purposes. I assume, since Housa agreed to work with me, that you and Andy reached an understanding. Has he changed his mind about the threat of the marketplace to his woman?"

  Beth laughed. "There are still some questions remaining about the function of his woman in the home, but, yes, essentially he has. Thanks to you, my friend."

  "Me? Whatever are you—"

  "Nope, I'm not telling. Ask Housa... I have a feeling it'll be funnier coming from her."

  "Speaking of thanks, that girl's a veritable cornucopia of ideas. I have to keep telling her, enough already!"

  "I'm not surprised, but I'm forever in your debt taking a chance on her."

  "What chance, Beth? I'm not a nice person like you. If it doesn't work out, I'll tell her to catch another bus."

  "Like, your boots are made for walkin'?"

  Georgina laughed. "Like, you got it, Beth. Hey, why don't you come to dinner with Reuben and me tonight? I bet you could use a break."

  "Can't, Georgina. In an hour I'm interviewing someone for the night nursing job, to start immediately if possible. If she accepts, I'll have to show her the ropes; if she doesn't, I'll have to be there anyway." She sighed. "In my absence, Mother fired two nurses."

  "Already?"

  "Well, if she doesn't get on with them, there's no point in their staying. She says she doesn't need help to use the toilet."

  "Well, does she? I thought you said she walked with a cane now."

  "Shuffle, not walk, and not without someone at her elbow. And yes, she does need help, especially at night. What she means is, she doesn't want strangers providing it. 'I can always call you, Beth', she says. She forgets I've been helping all day long. The thing is, if she should fall and fracture her hip.…"

  "Oh, Beth. You can't go on like this."

  * * * *

  "Mom, you can't go on like this," Andy said two days later, seeing the dark circles under his mother's eyes.

  Beth shrugged. "Most people would say it's my filial duty."

  Andy snorted. " 'Most people' being Dana, I suppose. And how often does our Lady of the Dow-Jones Average deign to drop by?"

  "As often as she can. Every other day, usually, for about an hour. They closet themselves and gossip, God knows about what. Office politics...your sister's love life—”

  "Love life! From what I hear, it's more like a series of one night stands."

  "Andrew!"

  "It's true. Mom. The only difference is that they take place at classy hotels like the Plaza in New York instead of some crummy motel near New Haven."

  "Well, whatever the truth of it, her visits are good for Mother. Don't judge her harshly, Andy. She's young and ambitious, and it's terribly important for her to know she's building a career her father would have been proud of."

  "If you ask me, it's creepy. Dad's been dead for almost three years...isn't it time she lightened up? And Murry's almost as bad. What's this Hilton tells me about her saying "Ralph wouldn't want me to," every time he advises her to do something she doesn't feel like doing. When did this start?"

  "As soon as she was able to make herself understood. She does the same thing with me, Andy, except in my case she accuses me of trying to get back at her because I told her—" Beth bit off the heedless rush of words. Hadn't she resolved never to reveal the depth of the feelings her mother had for Ralph?

  "Told her what. Mom?"

  "It's not important, Andy. The thing is, she's frustrated. She feels cut off. She misses her gardening, playing bridge with her friends…."

  "There's an obvious solution, Mom."

  "Valley Fields? She won't hear of it. 'I'll be all right as soon as I can drive', she says."

  "Mom, she's never going to drive again, and she's not going to improve much more than she has—not at her age."

  Beth twisted her hands together. "Oh, Andy, I know that, but it's so hard for her, and Dana—"

  "To hell with Dana!" He pinched the bridge of his long nose, then took a deep breath. "Tell me, have you heard from Donovan?"

  She turned away, to hide sudden tears. She had tried to keep her tone light when Karim last called, but he wasn't fooled. Remember what I said about the tyranny of the weak, Beth. "He still wants me to fly to Turkey and meet him in Istanbul."

  "How soon?"

  "Two weeks—but Andy, I could never..." Never say never, dear girl.

  Seeing his mother's hesitation, Andy placed his hands on her slim shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "You have some hard thinking to do. Mom." He stooped to kiss her cheek. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you. And look, this isn't a matter of taking sides. It's not that simple. So ignore my outburst about Dana, okay?"

  She reached up to pat his cheek. He was a good man, her son. "Okay."

  * * * *

  "Elizabeth! I want the keys to my car."

  Beth sometimes regretted her mother's renewed command of speech. "Mother, you know I can't—"

  "I really don't care what you think you can or cannot do. If Ralph knew—"

  "All right.” Beth took a deep breath. "All right. Mother," she repeated quietly. "I'll get your car out and take you to the church parking lot. There's plenty of space there for you to practice."

  "Practice? I've been driving since before you were born!"

  "And five weeks ago you had a stroke. Please, Mother, don't fight me on this."

  Perhaps, Beth thought later, as her exhausted mother wept over the wheel of her idling car, it would have been kinder to refuse. Even with power steering she had been unable to make the quick, sharp turns driving in traffic often necessitated, and her attempts—five in all—at parallel parking, the smooth execution of which she had always been justly proud, ended in dismal failure.

  Beth made an appointment at Valley Fields for that afternoon. Her childhood friend, Betty Halstead, readily agreed to watch over her napping mother, claiming that after raising four boys, one cranky old lady would be a piece of cake. She shooed Beth out the door, and told her to take as long as she liked.

  "Treat yourself to an ice cream sundae!" she called after her.

  Beth smiled and waved. Her idea of a treat differed from her plump friend's, but she appreciated the gesture.

  Mrs. Tierney, Valley Fields' administrator, listened sympathetically as Beth described her mother's situation. "You say she doesn't require full-time nursing? We have a fully-staffed nursing wing, of course, but our policy doesn't allow us to accept residents who require it on admission."

  "She wouldn't, not in a place like this," Beth replied, waving her hand to encompass the extra-wide corridors and ramps. "You see, her house is very old. The stairs are steep, the floors are uneven, and the doors are too narrow to admit a walker easily, let alone a wheelchair. Under the circumstances, she can't be left alone, and her mood has worsened as she's physically improved: she claims she feels imprisoned. She's at swords points with me most of the time now, and I'm at my wits end."

  "Imprisoned," Mrs. Tierney repeated thoughtfully. "You know, conventional wisdom says that old people should remain in their own homes as long as possible, but in the case of most of our residents, the homes they enjoyed when younger and more physically able gradually became a millstone around their necks. One of the most gratifying aspects of my job is seeing their enjoyment of Valley Fields' new kind of freedom once the inevitable period of adjustment is b
ehind them. We have, as you might suspect, more singles than couples, and they enjoy doing things together—including travel to distant places they never would have dared by themselves.

  "For your mother, the adjustment might be easier than you think. She knows the area well, and didn't you tell me on the phone that a couple of her old friends are already in residence here?"

  "Not just old friends," Beth said. "Best friends. They've been playing bridge together for... gosh, it must be fifty years."

  Mrs. Tierney laughed. "Bridge! I wouldn't dare sit in one of the games here, Mrs. Volmar. Cutthroats, the lot of them!" She sat back in her chair. "Unfortunately, we don't have any units available right now. One of our residents will be entering River Haven quite soon, so maybe—"

  "My son founded River Haven," Beth said. "Dr. Andrew Volmar?"

  "Of course! I knew the name was familiar. We always enjoy his visits here." She looked at Beth, eyes narrowed in thought, then opened the file drawer in her desk and pulled out a folder. "One of our residents will be away until the end of September, maybe longer. Her son opened the family cottage on Cape Cod to take advantage of the fall sailing season..." She broke off and tapped the folder with a fingernail. "We don't usually do this, but I think I might be able to persuade them to allow your mother to live in her studio apartment until the other one becomes available."

  "This other unit, does it have a terrace?"

  "Yes. It's a ground floor, two-bedroom model with a private, southern exposure. The present owner paid to have a flower bed prepared, but the poor dear became terminally ill before she was able to plant it. It looks a bit bleak, but we could have it grassed in."

  Mother's dahlias and daylilies. It seemed too good to be true. "Oh, no! Don't do that! Would a deposit big enough to hold it be refundable?"

  "That won't be necessary. You'll be first on the list, I promise. In the meantime, let me make inquiries about the temporary use of this other unit."

  "I can't begin to tell you how grateful—" Beth choked up. "I love my mother, Mrs. Tierney, but—"