“Amanda called and said she’s coming to visit this weekend,” his wife said when Ray walked into the kitchen after his shower.
“Again?”
Ray loved his daughter, but this was the third time she had come to visit them in just over a month.
“I think Doug and her might be having some trouble,” Candice said. “She’s bringing the kids.”
Ray sighed. “We better hide all the good stuff.”
Amanda and her husband had two kids, Elizabeth who was ten and Tyler, who was seven. Tyler was autistic.
“I never know what to do with that kid,” Ray said. “The slightest thing seems to set him off.”
“He’ll be fine,” Candice said.
Ray looked in the fridge for something to eat and found a plate of cupcakes with a mountain of chocolate icing on them. As he eased the plate out, one of them toppled from the plate and landed on the floor, face down.
“Sorry about that. I’ll clean it up.”
Candice just shook her head. “Never mind, I’ll do it. If you clean it up, I’ll just have to do it again anyway.”
Ray pulled one of the cupcakes from the plate and slid the rest back into the fridge. “I’ll be downstairs in the shop if you need me,” he said as he hurried out of the kitchen.
* * *
Ray slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom. His wife had packed it in an hour ago. It had been a long day. Amanda had arrived earlier that day with the kids and it had been a challenge to keep the chaos under control. The low point had been when Tyler threw a tantrum and started throwing things around the living room. It took them a while to figure out that his fit of rage had been caused by hunger and he calmed down after they gave him something to eat. That kid is now seven years old. I wonder if he’ll ever learn to talk.
When Tyler was an infant, he seemed perfectly normal. Amanda had started getting concerned when he was about eighteen months old because he seemed to be doing everything so much later than his older sister. But every child was different. Elizabeth had started talking and walking much earlier than the norm, so friends had just told her to be patient with Tyler. They had detected that he had a hearing problem when he was two, so they thought that was the cause of his delayed development. He wasn’t officially diagnosed as being autistic until he was three. At first, they disagreed with the diagnosis and had withdrawn into their own protective shell. Her husband Doug was devastated.
Tyler had gone to bed around ten and the house had finally returned to its normal peace and quiet. When Ray opened his bedroom door and saw his wife sitting up in bed with the lamp beside her still on, he sighed. After over thirty years of marriage, he knew that meant she wanted to talk.
“I think you should have a talk with Doug,” Candice said as she looked up from the book she was pretending to read.
Ray hated discussions that started with I think you should. They never ended well. “I think we should just stay out of it and let them figure out their own marital problems.”
“But Amanda said Doug told her he needs a break from Tyler every few weeks to regain his sanity.”
“I can understand that,” Ray said.
Candice slammed the book shut. “Are you taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t meddle in their marriage. I can understand him needing a break. Tyler just arrived today and I’m already exhausted.”
“But Doug shouldn’t just be dumping everything on Amanda.”
“I agree. I’m sure she needs a break every now and then too.”
Ray turned off the lamp on his side of the bed, fluffed up his pillow and then sighed as he sunk into it. The lamp on his wife’s side of the bed was still on.
“I still think you should talk to him,” she said.
Although he had turned towards the wall and had his eyes closed, he could still feel his wife’s glare burning a hole in the back of his head. A few seconds passed. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said.
“Good. You do that,” she said as she turned off the light.
* * *
The following morning Ray came down the stairs to find his wife preparing breakfast.
“Everything should be ready in about ten minutes,” she said. “Amanda’s still in the shower.”
Ray looked in the living room and saw his granddaughter reading. “Where’s Tyler?” he asked.
“He was here a minute ago. I think he’s in the kitchen with Grandma.”
Ray looked back in the kitchen, but could see that he wasn’t there. Where the hell is he? That kid can get into trouble in a matter of seconds. Ray raced through the house looking for him in all of the bedrooms and bathrooms.
When he opened the door to the den, he was surprised to see Tyler sitting on the floor working on a puzzle that had been sitting on the corner of the desk. The puzzle was a silver and gold map of the world etched onto small tiles that could be slid up or down, or left or right on the mahogany holder. It was one of the presents that had been given to Ray when he retired, supposedly to keep him amused with all of his newly found spare time. Ray had scrambled the tiles and tried to solve it himself once, but had given up because it took too long.
He watched as Tyler slid the tiles around with amazing speed and could see the map of the world slowly starting to take shape. How can he be doing this? He can’t even talk.
Amanda came through the door with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. “Is Tyler in here?”
Ray put his finger to his lips to signal for her to be quiet and then pointed to Tyler who was still working on the puzzle. They both watched in amazement. When Tyler finished the puzzle, he turned to them with a contented look on his face and quietly left the room.
“How did he do that?” Ray asked.
“I have no idea,” Amanda said. “I’ve never seen him do anything like that before. But I knew there was more going on inside his head than we thought.”
“But how did he know what the map of the world actually looked like?”
Amanda thought for a second. “The globe. He’s got a globe in his room at home. He loves to spin it around and watch the colours flash by, but I had no idea he actually knew what it was.”
She hugged her father. “Today is such a good day.”
Chapter 7: Father/Son Competition
Bruce’s condo was empty when he got home after his golf game, although his wife Marilyn had left him a note on the kitchen counter.
“Gone shopping with the girls. Be back by 4:30.” It was signed with “LYP” as usual, which was their abbreviation for “Love You Passionately”. At the bottom of the note, there was a PS which said “Josh called and said he booked a tee time for us tomorrow at 3:30.”
Josh was their oldest son and had just entered his thirties. When he was a kid, Bruce loved to wrestle with him and had coached several of his football and hockey teams. Josh was super-competitive and quite a good athlete. Now that he was older, Bruce loved their family golf outings which Josh arranged about once a month. They usually just played nine holes and then had dinner together afterwards at his club. Bruce and Josh preferred to play eighteen, but Marilyn thought nine was plenty, so they normally relented to her wishes.
Bruce and Marilyn also had twin daughters, Paige and Emma, who were almost ten years younger than Josh. They were the surprise babies, conceived after a wild New Year’s party. Although Marilyn had always wanted a girl, Bruce had nearly driven into the ditch when she told him she was pregnant with twins. He now cherished them and they used that to their advantage whenever possible. Neither of the girls really liked to play golf, so they would take turns as to who played in their family outings, but they both always came for the dinner afterwards. They weren’t going to pass up a meal when their parents were buying.
Josh was a member at Blackhawk Ridge and Bruce wanted to get there early the next day. Their greens were a little firmer and faster than at Riverview, so Bruce wanted to practice his putting before they t
eed off.
“You guys are too serious,” Marilyn said when they got there. “Paige and I will be in the pro-shop looking at clothes. Just call us when you’re ready to go.”
“Don’t you want to go to the driving range to warm up?” Bruce asked.
Marilyn raised one eyebrow. “What do you think?”
* * *
Bruce and Josh were still tied when they reached the seventh hole and it was obvious that Josh was pressing really hard to beat his father. Although his handicap was a couple of shots lower than his Dad’s, he’d never beaten him in one of their family outings and it was starting to wear on his nerves.
When they reached the green, Bruce two-putted for his par. Josh had about a ten-footer for birdie. He walked around it several times, looking at it from every possible angle, trying to read the break.
“No rush, but it would be nice if you hit the putt sometime before nightfall,” Bruce said.
Josh either didn’t hear him, or pretended not to hear him. When he finally hit the putt, it looked like he had made it until it got to about a foot from the hole, then it slid by the low side and continued to run about three feet past. “Gimme?” Josh asked.
“Ooh, it looks like there’s still a little meat left on that bone,” Bruce said. “I think I’m going to have to make you putt that one out.”
“Oh Bruce, just give it to him,” Marilyn scolded.
Josh clenched his jaw. “No, I’ll putt it.”
He studied the break again before striking the putt, even though he already knew the line. When he finally hit it, he powered it through the break and it lipped out.
“One up, with two to play,” Bruce said.
Josh won the par-three eighth so they were all tied up as they played the last hole. Once again, Josh was looking at a ten-footer for birdie. Bruce had missed the green and was faced with a tough up-and-down from the green-side rough just to save par.
“Tough break, Dad,” Josh said with a grin. “That looks like a pretty nasty lie.”
Bruce took out his lob wedge, opened the face so it pointed skyward and took a full swing. The ball popped straight up in the air, landed on the edge of the green and slowly rolled toward the cup. It seemed to pause on the lip of the hole just long enough to tease Josh, before finally falling in.
“I saw that shot once on TV,” Bruce said as he picked his ball out of the hole.
Josh thought he was going to win the hole easily and finally beat his father, but now he had to make the putt just to tie. As he studied the line, it was obvious he was rattled and he ended up leaving it a foot short.
“Chalk up another win for the old man,” Bruce said.
Chapter 8: Taking Care of Mom & Dad
Max walked out of the pro shop and started heading toward his car, hoping to get home a little earlier than normal today. Since it was late autumn, there were hardly any golfers who teed off after three in the afternoon. The staff should be able to handle anything that came up at this point. He had just unlocked his car door when he heard his name being called.
“There’s a call for you,” Scott yelled as he hurried toward him.
Max sighed. “Just take a message. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”
Scott continued toward him. “It sounds urgent. He said his name was Arthur.”
Max looked confused. His father never called. Their relationship had been strained for over thirty years. Max continued to show up at all of the normal family gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas, but his mother and his sister, Karen, acted as a buffer between him and his dad.
Max started to walk back towards the pro shop with Scott. “Did he say what it was about?”
“I couldn’t really understand him. He wasn’t making much sense.”
Max sighed. “Welcome to my world. He’s well into his eighties now and has been battling health problems for the last few years. My mother spends all of her waking hours taking care of him, but she doesn’t normally let him use the phone.”
When Max picked up the phone, his father was already talking. “I tried calling Karen, but she’s not answering. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I went over to see if Mrs. what’s-her-name across the street could help – you know, the one with the yappy little dog – I can never remember her name.”
“Dad, Dad, it’s Max. What’s going on?”
“Oh Max, I’m glad you called. I tried calling Karen, but she didn’t answer.” His father started to repeat how he had tried to contact the neighbor. “Mitzie, no that’s the dog’s name. What’s the lady’s name?”
“Dad, it doesn’t matter. What happened?”
“It’s your mother. She’s fallen.”
Max immediately sprang into action. “Dad, I’m going to hang up and dial 9-1-1. They’ll send an ambulance. I’m on my way over right now.”
His father was still talking when Max ended the call. He dialed 9-1-1 and gave the address of his parents’ house which was about a twenty minute drive from the golf course. He raced to his car.
As he drove, he thought about his parents. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He knew that a call like this would be coming someday, but he thought it would be his Mom calling about his Dad. His father was nine years older than his mother and his health had been declining for years. His mother was the rock, the foundation of their family, the person who had been taking care of all of them forever.
Max arrived at the house just as the paramedics were wheeling his mother out of the house. He raced toward her.
“Mom!”
She was conscious and held out her hand to him. “Oh, you shouldn’t have left work. I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not quite sure,” she said. “I was working in the kitchen and the next thing I knew I was lying on the floor and these nice young men were asking me all kinds of questions.”
Max turned to one of the paramedics. “Did she have a stroke?”
“We’re not sure. She was unconscious when we arrived, but her vitals appear to be stable now. We’re not detecting any signs of paralysis, but she’s got a nasty bump on the side of her head – probably got that when she fell. We’re going to take her into the hospital and they’ll be able to figure out what happened.”
“Which hospital?”
“University is the closest.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you there,” Max said.
His mother reached out to take his hand. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure I’m okay. You should stay here and take care of your father.”
Max hadn’t even looked for his father, but then saw him sitting just inside the front door of the house talking, even though there was no one there with him.
“Dad, Dad, come with me to the car. We’re going to follow the ambulance to the hospital to make sure Mom is okay.”
Max closed the front door – he didn’t worry about locking it – and helped his father into the passenger side of his car. They quickly caught up to the ambulance which was only half a block ahead. They didn’t have their emergency lights on or their sirens blaring which gave Max some comfort that his mother was going to be okay.
As they drove, Max used the hands-free controls on his car to call his sister, Karen. She answered on the third ring, out of breath.
“Hi Max. Sorry, but I was just coming in. Been out doing some shopping. What’s up?”
“I’m on my way to University Hospital right now.”
“Oh my God. Is it Dad?”
“No, it’s Mom.”
Max heard the gasp on the phone. He continued with the details. “She passed out and fell – we’re not sure why, yet – but the paramedics said her vitals are stable.”
“Did she have a stroke? A heart attack?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where are you now?”
“We’re on Wonderland Road sitting in traffic, right behind the ambulance. I’ve got Dad with me.”
“Hi Dad,” Karen said over the
speaker. “I’m sure Mom is going to be okay. How are you doing?”
It was like he didn’t hear her. He was talking, mostly to himself, but he wasn’t making any sense.
Max inched forward as a few more cars in the left-turn lane got the advanced green light, then stopped. The ambulance was still right in front of them. He was sure that they’d make it through the next time the light changed.
Suddenly, the lights on the ambulance lit up and the sirens shrieked. The traffic stopped and the ambulance navigated its way through the intersection and then raced away toward the hospital.
“Oh my God,” Max said.
“What happened?” Karen asked.
“I don’t know. The ambulance just turned on its siren and sped away.”
Max turned to look at his father who had stopped talking. He was now crying.
* * *
Max sighed and slumped back in the stiff wooden chair in the kitchen of his father’s house. His sister, Karen, was keeping busy putting away the dishes and wiping the counters. Their father was asleep in his recliner in the living room, with the Golf Channel playing in the background.
“What are we going to do about Dad?” Max asked.
It was a little over a week since their mother’s funeral. This wasn’t the first time they’d broached the subject, but they still hadn’t resolved anything.
“I’ve made arrangements for a caregiver to come in next week,” Karen said, “but she’s only going to be here for a few hours every day during the week.” She turned and looked directly at Max. “Dad’s still going to need someone to keep an eye on him on nights and weekends.”
The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty Page 4