He arrives at George Bush Intercontinental Airport—looking very handsome in a tweed sports coat and khaki pants—and walks to the Hertz counter. He’s got his burgundy leather briefcase with him and his garment bag slung over his shoulder. My father never checks his luggage. He packs light and buys what he needs when he gets there. It’s good to be the king.
“Alex Goodroe,” he says to the Hertz attendant, a bubbly blonde in a navy blue blazer. “I have a reservation.”
“Good morning, Mr. Goodroe,” she says brightly. It’s obvious she likes her job. Her smile is effortless. It lights up her face like sunshine.
She’s good at her duties, too. In less time than it takes to hail a taxi, my father has the keys to vehicle number A-2678, an Audi A4 Cabriolet convertible—there were no Mercedes available to choose from—and is in the driver seat, heading south on I-45, which will take him to US Highway 59, and on to Sugar Land, less then twenty miles from the airport.
Mona Scott lives in a subdivision dotted with three bedroom bungalows with lots of green grass. I thought there’d only be cactus. The houses are all quite small. The look on my father’s face tells me he is wondering how people can live like this and be happy. He thinks money is the basis for everything, which is pathetic. I mean, it’s important to have enough, sure, but there are lots of miserable rich people, so having massive amounts of money doesn’t do anything but make them comfortable while they’re miserable.
Mona answers the door. Three small children are standing on top of her.
“Come in. Come in,” she says, and motions for the children to step back. “Let’s be on our best behavior now.”
The youngest, a blonde-haired boy, is holding a small ragged blanket with one hand and hanging onto his mother’s skirt with the other. Mona reaches down to pick him up.
“This is Bradley,” she says, bouncing the little guy on her hip.
My father nods. “Hello, Bradley.”
Bradley tries to bury his head in Mona’s armpit. Mona chuckles.
“He’s the shy one. Here’s our brave one.” She nods her head at the other boy. “This is Robert, Jr.”
“I’m Bobby, I’m five tomorrow!” he says. He stands at attention and grins. His hair is much blonder than Bradley’s, platinum, with thick long bangs brushing the tops of his eyelids. He’s beautiful. They all are. The only girl stands quietly next to Bobby.
“And who have we here?” My father asks.
“I’m Allison.”
“She’s only three,” Bobby offers. “I go to school. She’s not big enough yet.”
“I go to school!” Allison insists.
“That’s nursery school. It’s not really a school.”
“Is, too,” Allison says. “Right, Mommy?”
“Why of course, dear,” she says. She takes Bobby shoulder and guides him out of my father’s way.
“Would you like to sit down?” She motions for my father to have a seat on the sofa. It’s a brown floral print that has worn spots on two of the cushions, and a hole in one of the arm rests.
“You, too, children; we’ll have some refreshments. Who wants some lemonade?”
Without answering Bobby reaches for the pitcher perched on the coffee table and begins to pour a glass full.
“Be careful”—Mona says.
“I can do it,” Bobby says, but pours too fast and overfills the glass. He sets the pitcher down. “I got it. Don’t worry,” he adds, but manages to knock the pitcher off the table as he reaches for the napkins.
“Goodness!” Mona says, and laughs. “I’m afraid this is what it’s like around here, Mr. Goodroe, one mess after another.”
Bradley slides backwards off the sofa, steps into the sticky puddle of lemonade, and proceeds to stomp up and down.
“It’s all soggy, Mommy,” Allison says.
“Soggy, soggy,” Bradley chimes in, prancing round and round.
“Looks like we’ll have to head to Home Depot and rent the carpet cleaner again,” Mona says, without a bit of irritation in her voice.
My mother would be having a major hissy fit.
“Can I help?” Bobby pleads. “Can I?”
“Of course, we’ll all help,” Mona says. “You, too Bradley,” she adds, and swoops him into her arms. “You’re making a worse mess, young man.” He giggles as she nuzzles his neck.
I like her bunches already. It’s quite possible my kidney couldn’t have found a nicer home.
FIFTEEN
The Golden Window
Miss Lily’s taken a liking to me and comes around each morning to “chat”—her word. She’s convinced she knows me and is determined to remember how we possibly could have met before we met here.
“I know I’ve seen your sweet face, dear,” she says, patting my hand. “Now, let me see—”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. I live in Atlanta. That is I did, when, you know—”
She nods and smiles sweetly.
“Why, that’s it!” she exclaims. “I lived in Avondale Estates. My husband and I were together at the nursing home there. We must have met there.”
Now she has me nervous. If we met at the nursing home, there’s only one such place I ever stepped foot in, along with Paige and Annalise, and I’m afraid we did something that could have gotten us all into a lot of trouble. We sort of took one of the residents for an unscheduled outing, not really kidnapped her, but you know took her without permission and gave her the time of her life. We may have saved her life. That place was like—boooring with a capital “b”. Plus, the poor woman was losing her mind there. Ask her a question and she’d say, “You’ll have to ask Sylvia.” Who’s Sylvia? She couldn’t tell us that either, so you see what I mean about her losing her mind. We took to calling her Sally, because she looked very much like Sally Field’s, but much older.
It’d have to be a pretty big coincidence if Sally was indeed Miss Lily, right? I mean, far out. I wrack my brain, but I can’t for the life of me—or lack of life of me, huh!—remember what the poor old woman sounded like. I know she had a very good time. Well, she did up until it was time for her heart medication, which we had no idea she was even taking so we didn’t have it or anything even resembling it with us. Her gasping and heaving got so bad we had to drop her off at a hospital. Basically, we ditched her. We got out of there the second they wheeled her inside.
It all stared out rather innocently. Paige and Annalise and I had volunteered to be part of the Reading Angels program for the nursing home. After several dismal Saturdays spent reading to the elderly who mostly sat and drooled or snoozed, we got to thinking how sad their lives were.
“We should hold a Queen-for-the-Day party,” Annalise suggested.
“Huh?”
“You know, select one for a special day, say like an outing and give her the time of her old life!”
“You’re kidding, right?” Paige said.
“No, really, I mean it,” Annalise insisted. “We can take her in the limo and let Henry drives us to all the places we want her to see. What do you say?”
Paige shrugged her shoulders and looked at me.
“Anything is better than what we’ve been doing for them,” I added. “No harm in it, right? I mean we’ll bring her back in time for dinner.”
So that was it, We selected the only women who wasn’t drooling or snoozing, guided her wheelchair past the nurses station for a walk around the garden we said, and popped her into the limo. Henry placed her chair in the trunk.
“My grandmother,” Paige offered, when Henry asked to whom did he owe the pleasure of escorting around town for the day. Henry’s funny and so formal. He’s British, remember?
We took her to the country club for lunch.
“Is Sylvia coming?” she asks. “She always orders for me.”
“I’ll order for you,” Annalise says, patting her hand. “Do you like chicken? They have chicken crepes that are heaven.”
Sally concentrates hard.
“I’m
not sure. Could we ask Sylvia?”
“Let’s not,” I say and order the crepes for everyone. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
I nod to the waiter that we are ready to order. He steps up to the table.
“Would you ladies like to start with an appetizer?” he says.
We tell him we’re not sure.
“We have to ask Sylvia,” Paige says, and we start laughing like hyenas, even Sally.
“It’s nice not having her around,” she says. “So bossy, you know.”
There should be a law to protect old people from being governed like they are a principality or something.
“There is,” Paige says, “It’s called consideration, but they make you leave it at the door when you check in.”
After lunch, we go shopping at Macy’s and buy her some clothes that really look good on her. She’s like a school girl, giggling away.
“My husband—” Sally says, “Oh dear, I can’t remember his name. He always liked to see me in fetching clothes.”
After shopping we head to the movies. We see The Nanny Diaries. It’s okay, but the book’s better. Sally falls asleep with her mouth open and starts drooling, so we leave early to get her some fresh air. When we get her outside we run smack into a cop. We almost lose it, I’m telling you. Annalise keeps saying stupid things like, “So Grandma, did you enjoy the movie?” and “Are you hungry? Should we maybe go to dinner, or is Grandpa expecting you back?” Annalise looks at the cop the whole time she’s asking the questions. And Sally says, “Who’s grandpa? And where is Sylvia? Does she know where I am?”
The cop walks closer to us. He has his neck crooked to one side and he’s speaking into that little microphone they all wear on their shoulders. And I’m thinking they probably have an all points bulletin out on us and we’re toast.
The next thing you know, a squad care roars up to us, its siren blasting, and I know we’re in for it; we’re going to the slammer. That’s the first time Sally wets her pants. Annalise is shaking like she’s a tree and my teeth were rattling like they’re lose. Paige just stands and gives the cop a blank stare. The guy with the siren says something to him in police talk. Then our cop turns and jumps in his squad car and follows the other squad car, both sirens blaring.
Now, reasonable people at that precise moment would return Sally to the nursing home ASAP, but oh, no, Paige insists we need to take her to Six Flags. Annalise is ecstatic. It’s her favorite place next to rock concerts.
“She’s Queen-for-a-Day,” Paige says. “We need a grand end to her day.”
It’s two against two, but Sally’s vote doesn’t count, so off we go. We don’t take her on a roller coaster or anything like that, but we do go on the Ferris wheel and that’s when her heart starts acting up. And she has another accident. Her panties are still wet from before. She pees down on the people below us. Gross! It’s a big guy the size of a gorilla and his girlfriend. That’s when the trouble starts. They wait for us while everyone gets off the ride. The Ferris wheel operator calms him down and gives him free tickets to ride it again and then cleans off the chair with Windex. Meanwhile Sally is huffing and puffing and turning white.
“I think it’s time for my medicine,” she says.
We ask her what the medicine is for. She can’t recall but states it may be for her heart, her chest is hurting.
And of course I already told you we don’t have it or anything even remotely like that with us. We yell to Henry.
“Get us to Piedmont!” Meaning the hospital.
He gets us there in record time and we tell the emergency technician that meets us at the door that we have an elderly person who needs immediate attention. As they are busy wheeling her in for treatment, we get out of there quicker than you can sneeze.
“Go, Henry!” Annalise yells. “Go! Now!”
It doesn’t take but a second for Henry to realize he’s been duped. The old woman is most assuredly not Paige’s grandmother. We swear him to secrecy, which isn’t hard. I mean, he’s driven the limo all over the place, without so much as one phone call to a parent, or to the nursing home, or to someone in authority, to clarify the situation.
And now Miss Lily is insisting she knows me; that somehow we’ve met at the nursing home where she resided. Is it possible? Is she the one we snatched? Did she die once we left her at the hospital with her soggy britches drooping down to her knees? I’m afraid to ask her the name of the nursing home. If it’s Sunny Meadows, I’m freaking out.
SIXTEEN
The Golden Window
My father offers to take Mona and her children to any restaurant they want.
“McDonald’s!” Bobby yells.
“Yes, please,” Allison says.
Definitely not what my father had in mind but McDonald’s it is. Mona invites her neighbor and close friend Rita to come along.
“She can watch the children while we get acquainted.”
“That’s good,” my father says, then, realizes the sports car he’s rented can’t fit all of them in.
“I guess I should have rented a—”
“Oh, no problem,” Mona says, waving at the air. “You follow us.”
Rita has a large SUV. She and Mona drag the various car seats to her van and buckle the children in place. Rita has a rambunctious two-year-old son Andy.
“He needs to be on a leash,” Rita quips. He slips through her hands and darts toward the street.
My father grabs him and takes him back to his mother. Rita scoops him up and buckles him into his car seat. The other children are already in theirs and anxious to get going.
“What’s taking so long?” Bobby, Jr. says.
“Yeah, what’s taking so long?” Allison says.
Oh boy, this ride is going to be one of those, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Mona gets in the front passenger seat and Rita jumps behind the wheel and rolls the window down.
“Follow us,” Rita calls out and backs out of the driveway.
After burgers, fries, apple dippers, juice and ice cream treats are ordered and inhaled, Rita takes the kids out to Ronald McDonald’s playground.
“Thanks,” Mona says and turns towards my father. “The kids are having a really good time.”
My father nods. There’s a long pause where neither one of them says a word. My father clears his throat. Mona smiles, fluffs the back of her hair, and then licks her lower lip.
“Ah,” she says. “I’m so very sorry for, ah, you know, for your loss, y-your daughter, Lorelei, is it?—”
“Understood,” My father says, and raise one hand, as if to say, that’s a given.
“I hope you know what an amazing gift you’ve given me, the children—I mean, Mr. Goodroe, I wouldn’t be here, if you hadn’t, you know, hadn’t donated—”
“That’s why I came,” my father says. “To see for myself something positive come out of this.”
Mona’s uncomfortable. My father’s uncomfortable. Now it’s all silence again and they’re both just looking around, Mona at the playground and my father at the people standing in line.
Then my father says, “I have her heart.”
Mona’s eyes fill with tears. She reaches over and pats one of his hands.
My father looks down and when their eyes meet again, his have as many tears resting in them as hers.
* * *
The remaining hour is spent talking about Rita. Her little boy Andy is an invitro-baby.
“They tried for ten years,” Mona explained. “They had to take out a second mortgage on their home. Then finally, when Rita was forty-two-years old, Andy was born. He’s a miracle”
My father nods. It’s all a miracle, I’m thinking. The sad part is I never thought about it, how precious all of life is, was, until now. I watch Andy climb through the plastic tunnels, jumping in and out of each tubular cube, laughing, running, squealing like a piglet. He’s adorable. And so are Bradley, and Bobby, and Allison. And now I’m part of that gladness. A curl o
f satisfaction plants itself inside me. We’ll be connected for always.
SEVENTEEN
The Golden Window
Miss Lilly’s asking if I’ve ever had a driver’s license, which is making me crazy. I already suspect my being here has something to do with the car keys. Bummer. She still insists that we’ve met before and won’t give up until she can place her finger on it—her words again. I tell her I only had a learner’s permit and wasn’t allowed to drive without my father in the car. Does she know my father, I ask.
“I don’t believe I do,” she says. “Do you have a picture of him?”
I don’t remember most of the details of how I got here, but I clearly remember I had nothing with me but what I was wearing: jeans, leather thongs, and a t-shirt.
“No,” I say, “I was traveling rather light.”
Traveling. It gives me a creepy feeling—traveling, as in driving.
She meanders off, shaking her head, convinced she’ll be able to figure out where it is that we’ve met. Her parting words are, “Oh my dear, don’t worry. I eventually remember everything. I just know we met near the end. I see your face so clearly when I think back on it.”
The Heavenly Heart Page 6