The Best of Good

by Sara Lewis

  “Divorced with tour.”

  “Oh. So what are you moping about? Love is supposed to make people happy.”

  “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. She avoids me now, and we live in the same building.”

  “And this is the first time that’s ever happened to you? Ha! You’ve lived a charmed life!”

  I didn’t answer that.

  “So you see her every day, she doesn’t want to have anything to do with you, and it hurts.”

  “I see her, I can hear her. Sometimes I can even smell her dinner.”

  “So move,” she said.

  “You’re so helpful. God. I’m not going to move. I want to see her. I want her to change her mind.”

  “What are her reasons?”

  “Reasons? She’s not interested, that’s all. No spark, I guess.” “Oh. That’s a tough one. Impossible to argue with that one. And she’s got all those kids to think about.”

  “I know that. But I like the kids. They’re excellent.”

  “But you can see what she’s thinking, can’t you? She’s not the only one involved here. Plus, you’re single at your age. That doesn’t look too good, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Would it be better if I’d been divorced six times?”

  “No. It would be better if you had been divorced once. About two years ago. And she left you. That would be ideal. So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to wait. I’m going to be this exemplary neighbor, this undeniably excellent, completely normal, nice guy. I’m going to make myself irresistible.”

  “Good luck with that.” She took a big bite of her burrito.

  “You’re not being supportive.”

  “I’m being realistic. I think you should try to see things from her point of view. She’s got four kids she’s trying to raise by herself. It’s probably really hard to make it financially and keep track of what everyone is doing. She’s trying to keep everybody afloat. It’s hard. And then here comes this late-forties, never-married bartender, who’s had quite a few girlfriends in and out of his place over the years—girlfriends she’s seen arriving and departing, remember—and suddenly he claims he’s in love with her. To her, this is not the perfect situation. I mean, if you were Robin, would you want to give you a chance?”

  “I’m not a bartender anymore.”

  “Oh, even better. Here comes this unemployed, late-forties bachelor who—”

  “Ellen, you’re not getting this,”

  “No, I think you’re the one who’s not getting it, Tom.”

  “I’ve started a new life. I’m different.”

  Ellen didn’t answer.

  “Really. I have. Well, you too! Don’t you feel different now that you bought that sewing machine and started making that quilt? A lot of other things are possible all of a sudden!”

  “Sure, but—”

  “So, me too! It’s like you said! You decide who you want to be and you change! I changed! Doesn’t she see that?”

  “I guess you have to prove it to her over time or something.” “That’s what I’m going to do then. I’m going to prove to Robin that I’m a whole different person!”

  “Well, OK,” she said. “I hope you do.”

  We finished our burritos. People should believe you when you tell them something. Even if it’s completely unexpected. Even if it’s out of character and seems impossible.

  thirty-seven

  Someone was banging on the door. “Good! Quick!” It was Robin.

  I had just stepped out of my closet, where I had been playing guitar and where I couldn’t hear anything. She might have been calling me for hours, and I wouldn’t have known. I was at the door in two seconds flat, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. “What is it?” I said. “What?” I pictured the four kids, fevers, blood, broken bones.

  “Jeanette!” Robin said.

  “What?”

  “I heard a thump, and I went running up there, but there’s no answer.”

  Oh God, I thought.

  “You have her key,” Robin said.

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, remember her daughter gave it to you once, just in case?”

  “Sure,” I said. Miraculously, I did remember, and I knew right where it was too. I grabbed the key out of a kitchen drawer. “Here, OK. Let’s go.”

  Jeanette was on the floor in her nightgown and (thank God) a flannel robe. “Hello, dear,” she said to me. She sounded a little drunk, and she was leaning awkwardly on one elbow.

  “Jeanette, what happened?” Robin said, crouching on the floor beside her.

  “I fell. It’s theesh darn slippersh my daughter-in-law gave me. No traction. It’sh jusht like lasht time. Now, if you two would help me up, I’d be mosht grateful.”

  She was definitely slurring.

  “Jeanette, your mouth is drooping on this side,” I said. “Do you feel that?”

  Robin and I looked at Jeanette’s face. The right corner of her mouth was definitely lower than the left. Did it always look like that?

  “Yeah,” Robin said. “Good’s right. Your mouth looks droopy over here. Does it feel different?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Jusht lift me up, would you? Pleashe?”

  Robin looked at me, her eyes wide. “I think she’s had a stroke. She doesn’t sound right. She’s slurring”

  “Jeanette,” I said. “Squeeze.” I held her right hand. Nothing. “OK, now the other side.” She squeezed my hand hard. “Do this one.” I pointed at the first hand. Nothing.

  I said, “We’re going to have to call 911.”

  “I’m fine!” said Jeanette. I had offended her. “Don’t do that! They’re going to charge me an arm and a leg!” Jeanette said.

  “Call her son first,” said Robin.

  “Robin, he lives in Sacramento. This is an emergency. Call 911. Really. Right now.”

  “OK, I’m calling. You sit there with her.”

  Robin went to the phone. Jeanette and I listened while she gave the address and described the symptoms.

  I sat down on the floor behind Jeanette, while Robin dialed. “Jeanette,” I said, “would you like to lean on me? You look a little uncomfortable, on your elbow like that. Here, just…” I put my arms under her and scooted her back against me. Essentially, she was lolling in my lap.

  “Oh,” she sighed with relief. “That feelsh much better. Thank you, dear. You’re turning out to be a nishe man, after all.”

  “What do you mean by—”

  “They’re coming!” Robin announced. “Can you hang tough for a few minutes? I’m going to go downstairs and check on the kids. Then I’ll wait out front and flag down the ambulance.”

  “All right, dear,” said Jeanette. “We’ll be fine here.”

  “Maybe you could get her a blanket first,” I suggested.

  “Right,” she said. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She trotted to the living room and came back with an afghan in baby colors. She draped it over Jeanette’s legs and stomach.

  “Thank you,” Jeanette said quietly.

  From the door, Robin looked back at us. “I’ll be right outside. Hold on. Just a few more minutes. Jeanette, I’ll call your son from downstairs, from my phone.”

  As soon as she went out, Jeanette asked me, “How long are they going to take? Hash it been a long time?”

  “No, not long at all. About a minute, Jeanette. I’ve got you, OK? You’re going to be all right.”

  “You’re very good to shtay with me.” She patted my arm with her left hand.

  “My pleasure,” I said.

  It crossed my mind that she could have another stroke any second, that she could die right here while I was holding her. She must have been scared, sitting there on the floor, about to be taken away in an ambulance. I won’t let her go, I promised myself. I will hold her, no matter what, even if she dies right on me. To my surprise, it was kind of peaceful, kind of cozy, like holding Ray on my lap when he was tired.

&
nbsp; I saw the flashing lights through Jeanette’s living room curtains. “Here they are,” I said. “The ambulance is coming.”

  Soon two paramedics were thumping up the stairs with Robin leading the way. One was a woman about thirty years old with a stubby ponytail and lots of hair that had fallen out of it around her face. The other was a guy, about my age, but with gray hair.

  Somehow I had always thought that paramedics would treat an ailing old person with tenderness and care, kind of like animal lovers talking to pets. But these two were all business. Did we know what kind of medication she was on? Who was her healthcare provider? Who was her primary-care physician? What time did she fall? They asked Jeanette her name and age and who the president was. She got everything right.

  It all took much longer than I thought it would. There was a lot of back and forth about hospitals on walkie-talkies. There were a lot of questions, and there was paperwork. In the middle of it all, Jeanette’s son called. Robin had her cordless phone upstairs. She had left him a message.

  “A stroke, they think,” Robin said into the phone. “Her right side is weak.… No, she can talk, but she slurs.… Yeah … Alert, completely lucid.… Sharp Memorial.… OK. You’re welcome.”

  “What’d he say?” Jeanette wanted to know. “Is he coming?”

  “Yes, he’s leaving right now, but he’s driving, so he won’t be here until close to morning.”

  “All right.” Jeanette sighed.

  Finally, they had her loaded on the stretcher and were about to take her down the stairs. They put a blanket over her, which made her look small and almost childlike. Couldn’t they at least give her shoulder a little pat to make her think they cared about her?

  I said, “Wait! I’m going with her. I’ll stay with her until her son comes in the morning.” I took this in the way I would a plot development in a movie. Hmm, what will happen next?

  “What?” Robin said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’re going to do tests and stuff. We can’t let her be alone. It wouldn’t be right. What if she wants something or has a question.”

  “If you’re sure you can—”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure. I have nothing going on. No one is waiting for me.”

  The paramedics were moving her out the door. “You riding with us?” said the woman.

  “Yes,” I said. I was really doing this.

  “That’sh very shweet of you,” Jeanette said. “You’re really turning out to be a very nishe man.”

  “Thanks, Jeanette,” I said. At least someone noticed the changes I was making!

  I was following the gurney down the stairs.

  Robin trotted out to the street behind me. She had bare feet, I noticed. “OK, Jeanette. I’m going to call the hospital tomorrow and find out how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine, dear. You take care of the children. I’ll be fine.”

  They loaded her in. I was standing outside the door, holding the afghan.

  “Good, how are you going to get home?” Robin asked me.

  “I’ll figure out something. Go inside. The kids are probably scared about the ambulance.”

  “Let me know what’s happening.”

  “Yeah, I will.” I climbed in the ambulance. One of the paramedics closed the door.

  “I’ve never been in an ambulance before,” Jeanette said. Her eyes were closed.

  “Me neither. What an adventure, right?”

  “Whee,” she said in a very tiny voice.

  We took off.

  thirty-eight

  Jeanette didn’t come home right away. I went to visit her in the hospital. Robin put together these little care packages for me to take to her. She left them on my doorstep when I was out, with notes like, “If you see Jeanette, would you give her this? She loves chocolate, and I don’t think they’ll have it for her in the hospital. Also, here are a couple of magazines I thought she would like and her TV Guide”

  I took the stuff to her. Every time, she looked a little alarmed to see me. “What are you doing here?” she always said.

  “Hi, Jeanette,” I’d say. “Robin asked me to bring you a couple of things.”

  “I love Robin! Robins a sweetie!” she said.

  “She is, yeah,” I said.

  I kept the visits short. “Well,” I’d say, picking up her candy wrappers. “You need your rest.”

  Robin didn’t avoid me anymore after Jeanette went into the hospital, not that this was a huge improvement. She pretended that I hadn’t said what we both knew I had. She pretended she didn’t know that I was in love with her. She was as remote as a person could be after you’ve professed romantic love to her and dealt with an emergency together. “Good morning,” she would say as a greeting. Or, “It sure warms up when the sun is out.” These were exactly the kinds of comments that drove me nuts. Personally, I would have preferred it if she had just walked by me and hawked a gob at my feet. I can’t stand it when you don’t know what someone is thinking.

  • • •

  The day Jeanette was due to come home, Robin’s kids made a banner. At first it said, WELCOME HOE JEANETE! Then I noticed that Robin had taken the sign down again, and Elise and Mike were out with markers, squeezing in the missing letters, a green M and a blue T.

  I should probably do something too, I thought. I bought a flower arrangement at the place near the 7-Eleven. I didn’t want her to think I didn’t care. They gave me a card to go with it. “Welcome home!” I wrote. “Good.” That looked weird. Would she even know that “Good” was the signature? I squeezed in “Tom” before the “Good,” just like the kids with their mistakes.

  When I got home, I ran upstairs with the flowers and set them down in front of her door.

  A little while later, Mike knocked on my door. “My mom said to tell you that Jeanette is not coming home today.”

  “She’s not? Why not?”

  “No, she’s going to—what’s it called, Mom? That place?” he yelled in through their door.

  “A nursing home.”

  I could hear her fine. She could have told me the whole thing herself without moving.

  “Yeah, she’s going to a nursing home for a long time.”

  “For a couple of weeks, honey, not a long time,” Robin corrected.

  “Oh, for a couple of weeks.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Mike.” I stepped out and went to Robins door. Poor Mike shouldn’t have to be the go-between. “What happened, Robin?”

  Robin was pouring pasta into boiling water. She did a little hop backward so the hot water wouldn’t splash on her. Then she stirred with a wooden spoon. I could have stood there watching her all night.

  She said, “Her daughter called. She said they were concerned that Jeanette was still a little frail to be here full-time, even if her daughter stayed with her. So they’re doing the nursing home as an interim step.”

  “I see,” I said. “So she hasn’t had some kind of a setback?”

  “No,” Robin said. “I think they just didn’t want to rush her.”

  “OK, well.” I shrugged.

  “The kids were disappointed too, but we don’t want her coming home before she’s ready, do we?”

  “No,” said Ray without looking up from his coloring. “We do not!”

  Robin looked at me, as if wondering what I was still doing there, staring into her kitchen.

  I nodded. “OK, then.” I went back to my place.

  At home, I wrote Robin a song. It was a dorky, corny thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself. She would never know it was about her, of course. It was about how I saw her every day with her kids, how I knew she had too much to carry, couldn’t I just carry something for her, just to her door? Then there was a verse about how I could hear her through the walls, and I knew that she could hear me. Couldn’t I come into her part of the house just for a little while? It was dumb, but it had a nice chorus about how I promised I would leave her alone, and I promised I wouldn’t complicate her life. I made a
tape of it. Then I copied it onto its own cassette. I put a couple of other songs on there with it to flesh out the tape. When Mike came over for his lesson, I gave it to him to take home. He could listen to it at night when he couldn’t sleep, I told him.

  thirty-nine

  When The Awful Thing happened, I watched it live on my new TV on one of my many cable channels. If I had not been on the Brand-New Good Program that had taken place over the summer, I would have slept through it and heard about it later. As it was, I could have been watching a soccer game live from Austria or a program on how to cook mussels in white wine. But I tuned in to find Katie and Matt live. Once it happened, I was caught, unable to tear myself away from the live coverage for the rest of the day.

  “She called me on her cell phone. She said she was OK,” said the mother of an office manager, staring frantically into the camera, “and since then I haven’t heard from her again.” “It’s our anniversary. I have a present for him,” a young woman sobbed. And, “I’m alive. I don’t know why or how, but I’m alive. I don’t know who was holding my hand. I want to know your name! I want to say thank you, but I don’t know who you are!” This young guy broke down on camera. He had an earring, and he worked in the mail-room of a big company. White dust and smudges of black were on his face. His forehead had dried blood on it. The reporter, who was a mess, with her hair all over the place and her shirt dirty, put her arms around the young man, and she was crying too, as she softly patted his shoulder.

  It was noon before I realized what was happening to me. I was in the bathroom, pulling toilet paper off the roll, scolding myself for not having Kleenex. Normal people have Kleenex for when they cry.

  Cry. I was crying. Crying? My brother was dead, Mr. Smeltzer was dead. Diana was gone. I had a kid I hadn’t seen until he was eleven. Robin didn’t love me. And lots of people had just died suddenly for no good reason. No good reason at all.

  I saw suddenly and clearly that my brother, Jack, had also died for no good reason. No one had helped him. No one was there with him. He must have felt so alone, I had felt so alone. Still did. Now I was sitting on the floor in the bathroom, sobbing. The whole world seemed so sad. And so pointless. How could people keep going every day? I had no idea.