by Susan Wiggs
All right, so the house is a mess and he lets his girlfriend spend the night, thought Lily. At least he dances with his nieces. She glanced over at Cameron to see him watching, too, with a very slight and cryptic smile that disappeared the moment he felt her watching him. He was so angry, she thought. So unsure of himself. “When was the last time you saw her?” she asked him.
“Last month,” he said. “We brought some pictures to hang in her room. She’s not doing so hot.” He stepped in front of the automatic doors and they swished open. “She’ll probably die pretty soon.” He hurried inside.
Regardless of the pristine beauty of the gardens and the luxurious, upscale decor of the facility itself, there was no disguising the fact that this was a place where people came to endure the most difficult phase of their lives. A peculiar hush pervaded the lobby and the long hallways lined by doors wide enough to provide wheelchair access. The scent of air freshener didn’t quite mask the ever-present odor of urine and disinfectant.
The staff didn’t wear standard nursing uniforms, but rather color-coordinated sweaters and skirts or slacks. Lily thought they looked a bit like flight attendants or casino workers. Yet everyone here seemed to treat people with compassion and dignity, a trait Dorothy used to be quick to notice back when she was capable of noticing such things.
Crystal had admitted the cost of the care facility was wiping her out, but she didn’t care about that.
Lily glanced at Cameron as they headed toward Dorothy’s room. “That was a pretty rotten thing to say. I hope your sisters didn’t hear.”
He surprised her by saying, “I wouldn’t have said it if I thought they could hear.”
Lily touched his sleeve. He was being painfully honest, and he probably had the facts down better than anyone. What she really wanted to do was hug him, but she doubted he’d tolerate that. He was pushing her and everyone else to treat him normally, to dare people to get mad at him. And in Cameron’s anger and isolation, she recognized a little of herself, and that worried her. “Cameron—”
Charlie rushed past them, breaking the moment of connection. “Come on, Uncle Sean. I’ll show you where Grandma lives. She knit me this sweater. It used to be extra big because she wanted me to wear it as long as possible.” She showed off her pink cardigan, holding out her arms. “It’s getting really small on me.”
“Then you’d better quit growing,” said Sean. He gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug. “Be sure to thank her again for making it.”
“She won’t understand.”
“Thank her, anyway.”
The door to Dorothy’s sunlit room, which she shared with another patient named Mrs. Withers, was plastered with cards and notes of sympathy, a storm of silver, gold and white fluttering as they walked past it. Ashley chortled with delight.
An orderly had wheeled Mrs. Withers out for a walk. Someone else had readied Dorothy for company. The mattress was raised nearly to a sitting position, and Dorothy wore a pretty pink robe tied with a satin bow below the cervical collar that supported her neck. Her hair had been combed, her nails done and the blankets folded precisely across her lap.
Lily’s heart tightened. All her life Dorothy had been beautiful and was proud of that beauty. It was a curious, unsought blessing that she was no longer aware of her circumstances. She would hate to be here, institutionalized, looked after by others, no longer capable of dealing with her own most basic needs. She would hate to know that she had outlived her daughter.
“Hello, Dorothy,” Lily said, trying to sound natural. “It’s me, Lily. I’ve brought your grandchildren to see you. And this is their uncle Sean.”
“Ma’am,” he said, “pleasure to meet you.”
Dorothy blinked but offered no sign of recognition. Her face had a stiff, almost claylike aspect, as though it was a mask. With a thoughtful expression, Sean perused the family pictures that covered the wall at the end of the bed.
Lily took hold of one of Dorothy’s hands. It was cool to the touch, the skin dry and fragile, like onion skin. “I think about you a lot these days, Dorothy. I suppose after my own family, you and Crystal have known me longer than anyone else.” She smiled, remembering how calming it used to be to go to Crystal’s house, where everything was placid and pleasant, where tempers were quiet and no ghosts lurked. “You’re very special to me. I have to think that in some way, you know that.”
When Lily looked up and saw the others staring at her, she felt a little flustered. She had revealed too much of herself.
The baby giggled and talked nonsense as she explored the room. Sean kept an eye on her while Lily motioned Cameron and Charlie over to the bed.
“I never know what to say,” Cameron muttered. “Since she’s been…like this, it’s just weird.”
“I know,” Lily said. “Be yourself. Tell her something you remember about her. Before she was sick, she adored you. She still does, but she can’t show it the way she used to.”
Cameron stared at her for a moment.
“What?” asked Lily.
“Nothing.” He bent down to place an awkward kiss on Dorothy’s cheek. “Hi, Grandma,” he said. He jammed his hands in his back pockets and glanced up at Lily. “I still don’t know what to say.”
“Any little memory,” she suggested.
He bent down again and said something in her ear. Dorothy looked startled at first, and then her face softened and her eyes drifted shut. A low sound came from her throat and she opened her eyes again. Lily could have sworn the old lady looked directly at her grandson, but that might have been wishful thinking. Then again, maybe Cameron really had connected.
Charlie came up next to him, the squabbling in the car forgotten. “Hello, Grandma,” she said, her expression solemn. “My name’s Charlie and you used to know that. I’m wearing the sweater you made me. I miss you lots, Grandma. I really do.” She touched Dorothy’s hand and then drew Ashley forward. The baby chortled and touched the ring on Dorothy’s finger, smiling up at her.
Lily was so proud of them in that moment. They treated their grandmother with love and dignity, showing none of the apprehension people often feel for someone so ill. They broke through the discomfort and made her glad she’d spearheaded this field trip.
“I’ll put up the new picture we brought,” she said. There was a display on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Crystal always hung bright, enlarged images of her and the children there, changing them frequently so her mother wouldn’t get bored. The new photo showed Crystal accepting a plaque of appreciation from the Rotary Club last month. Unlike most pictures in the “grip-and-grin” genre, this one was attractive. Crystal was dressed to the nines, carrying a perfect onyx-beaded bag and flashing her trademark winning smile, filled with pride and gratitude.
Lily felt Sean’s gaze as she replaced an older shot of Crystal with the new one. And then she sensed another pair of eyes on her and realized Dorothy’s stare was fixed directly on the new photo.
“Good girl,” she said in a rusty voice. “Good…daughter.”
According to Dorothy’s physicians and all the reading Lily had done, such clarity was nearly impossible.
“She is good, isn’t she,” Lily said, smiling through tears. “The best there is. She loved her life and all the people in it.”
Dorothy was looking at her, not at the photo of Crystal. Lily approached the bed and patted the older woman’s hand.
“Her husband’s gone?” Sean asked quietly, studying the array of pictures.
“He died when I was eleven,” Cameron said, indicating a photo of a handsome silver-haired man holding up a golf trophy. “Grandpa Frank.”
“Pretty good golfer?”
“He was all right. A twelve handicap.”
“What’s yours these days?” Sean asked him.
“About a three,” Charlie answered for her brother. “I keep track.”
“Not too shabby,” Sean said.
Cameron shuffled his feet in modesty, shedding bits of dried mud.
The five of them lingered a few more minutes, until Dorothy drifted off to sleep.
Charlie stood in front of the wall of photographs, her face averted, her narrow shoulders drawn in. Cameron scowled at her. “Come on, don’t start sniveling.”
“I can’t help it,” she said in a broken voice.
“Yes, you can. Just don’t do it.”
“How?” she snapped, whipping her head around, her pigtails flying out. “How do I just stop?”
“Like that, moron,” Cameron said, giving her braid a gentle tug. “Get mad.”
chapter 28
“So that’s your Grandma Dot,” Sean said as they drove away from the nursing home. He felt a curious sense of relief. The visit had been long overdue, and he’d been putting it off until Lily prodded him into going. Now that it was over and had gone reasonably well, he wondered why he’d waited.
“She used to be a lot different,” said Charlie. “She used to be tons of fun.”
“I’ll bet she was.” He checked the rearview mirror and saw that she was back to being her funny little self. Breakdowns and sad spells, like the one she’d had just now, were common, said Dr. Sachs. They were part of the healing process. Sean wasn’t sure being called “moron” by your brother was particularly healing, but he tended to ignore their squabbles because they always subsided on their own. Sometimes, like just now, Cameron gave himself away. Beneath the surface, he was all heart.
The thought gave Sean a rare flash of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this broken family would survive.
“She was always nuts about her grandkids,” Lily reminded them, turning in her seat. “Remember the cedar chest in her basement? It had the most amazing things in it.”
“A fur collar with little fox heads and tails on it,” Charlie said. “Eew.”
“She used to wear it to church,” Lily said. “Did you know that, when I was your age, I sometimes went to church with your mom and her parents?”
“Nope. Why didn’t you go to church with your own family?”
Lily turned back to face front. “They quit going. They…didn’t go.”
From the corner of his eye, Sean could see her throat work painfully as she swallowed. He decided it was time to change the subject. “I had a grandmother who went to church twice a week,” he said.
“Twice?” Charlie asked. “Was she kind of naughty?”
“She was Irish, me father’s mother, and she talked with a fair brogue like this.” He demonstrated as he spoke, grinning as he thought of old Bridget Callahan Maguire for the first time in years. “Every Sunday after church, she used to whack the head off the chicken and serve it for Sunday dinner.”
“Eew. Did you ever see her do the whacking?”
“Every chance I got. I was a ghoulish little kid.” He saw Lily wince. Too bad, he thought.
“What else did you do for fun?” she asked.
“Played golf. Your dad and I learned at church, you know.”
“He never told us that,” said Cameron.
Sean checked the rearview mirror again, glad to see a spark of interest. At the same time, he felt a now-familiar jab of pain. He wondered when that would stop or if it ever would. Grief, he had discovered, was a palpable thing, but that didn’t mean you could understand or control it. It was a sneaky enemy that strangled you in broad daylight sometimes.
“Sure,” he said. “Father Campbell at St. Mary’s was a scratch golfer and we were altar boys. He was the first coach we ever had.”
“That sounds like fun,” Charlie said.
“It was fun—the golf, not being an altar boy.”
“We never have fun anymore,” she added.
He heard a now-familiar quaver in her voice, one that portended another crying jag. When Charlie cried, Ashley usually started up, then Cameron got mad and things unraveled.
Not today, Sean thought, gripping the steering wheel. They had planned to run errands on the way home, but he decided to make a detour. “I know something we can do that’s fun.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’ll do it right now.”
“I thought we were going grocery shopping,” Lily pointed out, always one to get rattled by a change of plans.
“Groceries can wait. I have a better idea,” Sean said.
“What?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s too much fun. You’ll get so excited you’ll wet your pants.”
“Uncle Sean! Lily, make him tell me,” Charlie said, squirming against her seat belt.
“How would I do that?”
“You’re a teacher. Just make him.”
“Whoa, a teacher,” Sean said. “I’m shaking.” He trembled until Charlie started to giggle.
“Let’s just be surprised,” Lily said, pruning her lips with disapproval.
Too bad, thought Sean. With three kids, you had to learn to be spontaneous. He teased them along for the next ten minutes as they headed west. Then he pulled into a gravel parking lot and Cameron gave a groan. “I don’t believe this.”
“What, are you scared I’m going to beat you?” Sean asked.
“I’m scared someone is going to see me here,” Cameron said.
“Twenty bucks says I whip you like a redheaded stepchild.”
Lily’s eyes flared behind her glasses. “Sean, I don’t think—”
“You’re on,” said Cameron, and got out of the car. Predictably, he couldn’t resist a challenge, especially when money was involved.
Charlie was beside herself. “Uncle Sean, this is so cool.”
He grinned at Lily. “See? I’m cool.”
She tipped back her head and read the sign arching over the entrance, painted in garish Day-Glo green: Welcome to Jurassic Golf Park. A Millennium of Fun.
“What are we waiting for?” Sean took the baby out of the car seat and they went to the ticket kiosk.
“Two adults, two kids, the baby’s free,” said the attendant. “That’ll be $18.50.”
“Oh, I won’t be playing,” said Lily.
“Yes, she will,” Sean contradicted her, and slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter.
They were given putters and balls that had seen better days, and Ashley received a hollow plastic mallet. “Right through there, folks,” the attendant said.
They stepped through an archway so low Sean and Cameron had to duck under it.
“Bugga bugga,” yelled a caveman, jumping out at them.
“Bugga bugga,” yelled Ashley, clapping her hands. Even Cameron laughed at that.
“Smile!” The caveman snapped a photo of them. “What a great-looking family,” he said, showing them the photo on the screen of his digital camera.
Lily looked flustered. “Oh, we’re not—”
“This photo will be available for purchase before you leave,” the caveman said.
Family or not, it was a great shot. Against a backdrop designed to resemble a primeval rain forest, they all looked as though something funny had startled them, which it had.
“How much?” asked Sean.
“Ten dollars for an eight-by-ten print. I’ll have one waiting for you at the exit when you leave.”
Sean handed a ten-dollar bill to the caveman.
“You’re going to keep score, Charlie Brown,” he said, handing her the scorecard and pencil.
“I don’t know how.”
“Sure you do, honey. Keep track of everyone’s strokes and compare them to par for each hole.” Weird, he thought. Derek Holloway’s kid didn’t know how to keep score. What was up with that? These kids were so easy to get close to, especially when golf was involved.
“But—”
“No buts. I need to whup some big brother ass, so I need for you to be in charge. Make sure nobody cheats.”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t think you’re supposed to say ass.”
“He’s definitely not,” Lily said.
Sean ignored her. The woman had a strange way of simultaneously getting on his nerves and under his skin. He s
ent Charlie and Cameron to the first hole, and Ashley toddled after them. “I don’t know what it is about you, Miss Lily. You make me want to misbehave.”
“How can I make you stop?” she asked.
“You could try spanking me.”
She made a sound that was sort of half gasp, half hiccup, and walked on ahead of him, fists pumping and cheeks red. Good old Lily Robinson, he thought. What a girl.
He liked to needle her. He didn’t know why. Maybe because she was so incredibly…needle-able.
The eighteen holes of Jurassic Park were designed around no known principles of putting. There were uphill shots, downhill shots, holes that roared when the ball went in, a volcano spewing fake lava and smoke, sound effects that excited Ashley to shrieks of delight.
Cameron gave Sean a run for his money. It was golf after all, and there was money at stake. The two of them traded the lead back and forth.
Charlie was a natural. Sean stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her slight form, and demonstrated a good stance and grip. She caught on immediately and was just as quick to grasp how to keep score, absorbing the terminology like a sponge.
Lily was a terrible golfer, as it turned out. Her stance was awkward and she had a ridiculous grip. By the fourth hole, Sean couldn’t hold his tongue anymore.
“Care for a little advice?” he asked.
She looked up, clearly exasperated. “But what I’ve been doing has been working so well. What’s my score, Charlie?”
The little girl frowned, pencil tapping the scorecard as she counted. “Well, it’s kind of high.”
“I can take it.”
“You’re twenty-three over par, actually.” Charlie giggled and skipped away, following Cameron and Ashley to the next hole.
“Boy, do I ever stink at this,” Lily muttered.
“You do,” Sean agreed.
She leaned down to set her ball on the next tee box. “So about those pointers…”
He started with the basics, correcting her grip and stance. She actually did slightly better on the fifth hole, though she still took eight strokes to get there.