Swish. Swish.
I want my life back! I wanted to yell. But instead, I said, "Look, since you're sort of responsible, could you keep an eye on Dad today? He knows how to microwave his lunch, but he needs a reminder on the medicines."
Silence.
I sighed, resigned. "Fine, just use the garage for a while. Dad's car is already a junk heap and it never rains here anyway."
Without meeting my eye, he held out the Chevy car keys.
I approached and took them. "Oh. Thanks." I turned to go. "But he may have spare keys hidden somewhere. I haven't had time to look, and Mom's not helping. She didn't really say he shouldn't drive. That was me. And I'm right."
Swish.
Ponytail dismissal.
CHAPTER 17
By 10:30 that morning, I'd returned to Acorn Street from the grocery. I was supposed to meet James at the mall at 11:30, but the day looked like another hot one, and I just couldn't drive my unairconditioned car in nice clothes to a date. I called James and asked if he'd pick me up at Dad's house.
He hesitated. "Uh. Okay. I guess. Your dad isn't—"
I laughed. "Sorry about the other night. He is pretty …"
"Yeah."
I heard Dal and Music Man leave together as I changed pants and put on my only sexy tank top, a turquoise one with sequins at the neck that Harley had forced me to buy because watching me spend money was good therapy for her depression.
Bing, nosing in my cast-off jeans pockets, found a mashed Twix bar and disappeared it while I curled my hair. I was still applying makeup when I heard honking out on the street. That poor teenager next door. The whole neighborhood would be looking out their windows to inspect her pimply new boyfriend with the falling-down pants. I sure was glad to be past that stage. Bing was now working on a Kleenex from my pocket, and the annoying honking was even louder. Teenagers.
Then I heard the doorbell. Squee! James! I gave a last twirl to the mascara wand, bopped Bing on the nose for eating Kleenex, and opened the door.
"Rhonda. You look great." James leaned against the door jamb in a cream shirt over nice khaki slacks. Oh, lord. Elegance draped over muscle. My knees nearly buckled from the yummy sight. Bing seemed to agree with me, nosing James's crotch.
My Spidey sense asked what this Adonis wanted. Lordy, could I deliver it? I concentrated hard, but I got nothing. My normal reading of people's desires had never worked with James, probably because I was so head over heels for him.
"Come in." I shooed a wounded-looking Bing out the back door.
Mr. Handsome hesitated on the doorstep. "Are you alone?"
"Yeah." I locked the sliding glass door. "Dad's gone to see my mother. She's due to move to rehab tomorrow. You want a drink here before we go?"
"No, thanks. Hey, I have a new firewall program for your computer. Got a second for me to install it?"
A whiff of some divine aftershave met my nose as I got near him. "Oh, can’t. Laptop's at the condo. Dad's been a little zealous about throwing things out, and …"
That grin gave me weak knees. Wow. Our first real date was actually in progress!
Out front was a fancy silver Lexus. "New car?" I said, as he held my door.
"My sister's.”
I couldn't help running my hand over the leather dash.
"Rhonda, no offense, but your dad didn't drive himself to the hospital, did he?"
"No," I said. "Somebody took him. But he went to the beach alone in the car yesterday. Scared us."
Frowning, James pulled away from the curb. "He's still got car keys? Rhonda, you have no idea how many old folks end up in the ER because they lose focus at the wheel for just a couple of seconds. With his issues, I …"
Shit. Dad’s issues were following me onto my big date? I said defensively, "We got one set of keys. We're trying to convince Mom to help us find the rest, but she's not buying it.”
Arlene, standing in her drive, frowned at us as we passed.
James said, "Rhonda, I—hasn't your dad been around the bend for a while? You make sure to get those keys. I'm really worried.”
Preaching to the choir here! "James, I've been busy with Mom. And Dad is fine. He can still beat the pants off me at cards. Hey, do you like to dance?"
"He's had symptoms of Alzheimer's ever since I met you, right?" James smiled.
This was not date talk. "Nope. The doctor says it's stress and normal aging. Could we—"
"Didn't he forget your mom's birthday this year? First time ever?"
"Oh. Yeah, but—"
"Rhonda, I see them all the time. And the families in denial.”
“Oh, no!” I was determined to lighten up. "I only deny my chocolate habit. Say, how did Yvette take your ditching her at the deli?"
He snorted. "She’s okay." He turned onto the 22 freeway going west. "Um, how old are your folks?"
I sighed. "She's seventy-one. He's nearing eighty. James, why are you suddenly so interested in my folks?"
"Rhonda, that hospital scene is still etched in my mind.”
I reddened. I’d been trying to forget it, myself.
He reached for my hand. "Rhonda. Your dad thought he knew me, and I've never seen him before in my life. Delusions are a bad sign. He should be tested. And the way he danced with Yvette and the nurses—if he's that friendly with strangers, people could take advantage of him."
"Yeah." I breathed and tried to get back my date mojo. I looked at his gorgeous profile. He did care a lot about my folks . But this was a date, damn it.
He continued to probe me with questions about the elderly until I revealed Dad's escapades since Tuesday, feeling more and more deflated, weighed down, and just plain wrong.
"James, isn't the mall that way?" I pointed over my shoulder, almost past caring.
"Detour," he said. "Left my wallet at work. Won't take a second." He flashed me a melting smile.
We got off at Beach Boulevard, went down a side street and stopped in a tree-lined parking lot in front of a large, low building with a discreet sign: "Shady Acres." It was beige and institutional-looking, hidden from the street behind thick bushes.
"Want to come in for a sec?" He opened my door, and I followed him up the ramp to the front door. A key pad with a speaker sat by the doorbell. He punched in four numbers and the door buzzed open. We entered the linoleum-covered entryway and he disappeared down a hall. I found myself in a well-lit room, surrounded by wizened, white-haired people in vinyl-covered reclining wheelchairs, mouths open, napping in front of a blaring TV set. One woman had her arms tied to her chair with white cloth strips. She coughed a raucous, juicy cough, showing her one remaining tooth.
Behind them was an unoccupied reception desk with a cheerful activity calendar above it. Orange paper jack-o-lanterns and laughing ghosts hopped around the walls. An aromatic blend of school cafeterias and beach restrooms met my nose.
A bent gray woman in worn purple slippers toddled toward me. Wary and gaunt, she wore a purple hat and sweater over beige slacks and carried a white patent leather purse. Her voice was thin. "Have you seen my daughter? She's supposed to come and pick me up soon. I've been waiting a while. I just don't know what happened to her." A conspiratory smile made it seem she and I shared a secret.
"No. I haven't seen anyone," I said, looking around.
"Well, I have a hair appointment." An arthritic finger pointed at me. "Did she send you to take me? I can't drive anymore, you know."
Another woman buried in a wingback chair facing the TV set turned and said, "Oh, shut yer trap about that, girl. You make me tired. All day long, askin' about her daughter." Her hair hung lank and beige, and her mouth was an ugly gash in a pale, sagging mask of a face.
Purple Hat Lady said, "I'm leaving today, Bernice. My daughter said so. So you just mind your beeswax."
The reclining cougher resumed hacking with great gusto.
Solidly built Bernice painfully rose and steamed toward Purple Hat Lad
y, her cane loudly popping the linoleum. "That's about enough out of you! You want me to show you what for?"
The cane swung up in the air and waved menacingly toward me and the purple hat. I caught it on a down swing, and got a dagger look from Bernice, who yanked it away with surprising force.
She glared at me. "Who said you could barge in here? You weren't invited, you big bully. This is a private party." For a moment, the commanding woman Bernice must have been glimmered through as she drew herself up tall. Then she squinted at the other woman. "Tell your friend to mind her beeswax, too."
A younger woman hurried in from the hall and set something on the desk. "Bernice! Sit down! Myrtle, your daughter's just been here. She'll be back in a few days."
Myrtle looked crestfallen. "But I have a hair appointment. She said someone would take me.”
The woman came around the desk and put her arm around Myrtle. "Honey, let's go get you a seat for lunch. You can wait for your daughter in there."
"Keep this for me." Myrtle quickly pulled something out of her purse and tossed it to me as she passed. It was a soiled Depends in a Ziploc bag.
James then showed up and whisked me toward the door, punching in more numbers to exit. I shoved the Depends bag in a trash can by the door. Only then did I see the sign in red block letters posted above it: DUE TO WIDESPREAD FLU EPIDEMIC, PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR VISIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK.
"Rough crowd," I said outside, feeling my lungs start to congest. "You work there?"
"Yeah. I'm a long-term sub for the PA that doles out meds and checks everyone's condition daily. Alzheimer's patients can get pretty feisty and hurt each other in a big place like this. The staff can't be everywhere at once."
We reached the car and got in. "Is it only for women?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Mostly. If a guy's the least bit violent, he has to go elsewhere or get drugged big time."
So much for putting Dad with his Zeusian temper and his flying cane in there, or anywhere nicer. What depths would we have to settle for if we ever needed to place him?
"I never realized your job was this—" I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the distinctive smell that had followed me outside.
"Glamorous?" He grinned, pulling the car onto the street. "Just wait. Elder care is the next big boom, the wide-open employment wave of the future. The Boomers are fast approaching geezerdom and every picky one of them is going to need all types of elder care, from basic cooking and cleaning to bottom-wiping, but with typical Baby Boom flair. My sister Nadja and I have studied the elder care market, and we want in on the ground floor. We're opening our own chain of best-practices care homes. In fact, our first six-bed board and care just opened in July." He sighed. "But I haven't quit my day job yet."
His cell phone, clipped to the visor, chirped. He answered it on speakerphone. A voice said, "James, we have a problem. It's Betty.”
He sighed. "Coming. Give me five minutes." He frowned, switching it off. "Sorry. Speak of the devil. I need to swing by Nadja's for a sec."
My stomach rumbled.
He cheered up. "Actually, this is perfect. You can see how much better our place is than Shady Acres. I know a good specialist, Dr. Madden, for a diagnosis. Then if you need to place your dad, Nadja's is the Cadillac home away from home. We take the pressure off families so they can enjoy their parent instead of working so hard to keep them at home that they come to hate them."
"I'd rather put Dad on an iceberg and wave him off to oblivion than see him bouncing around in a place like that. I'm sure he'd agree." I stared out the window, feeling stifled, like life was closing in on me. Before, James and I had always discussed light stuff like writing projects and sports. James liked the Chargers and I, the Forty-Niners. But for some reason, today, my personal problems had tagged along on my date, and Dad's giant aura was lingering like a cheap cigar.
He turned off into a Garden Grove subdivision. "Who needs icebergs? Nadja can handle anybody. Like Yuki, our newest resident. He drove himself to Arizona in his pajamas before his family finally brought him to us.”
"Arizona? Yikes."
He turned onto Helena Street. "Our second six-bed is due to open in January, and a third next spring. That's eighteen beds. I'm sorry. I've been so busy helping Nadja, I haven't made it to the Tuesday night group for an age."
"Aw. You're a devoted brother. How do you find time for writing?" I said.
"What? Oh, you know.”
We pulled up in front of a large, white stucco two-story home at the end of a cul-de-sac. Shade trees cut the glare of the sun on the freshly painted house and lovely azalea bushes lined the walkway. The front porch held a wide, white swing.
We strolled up arm in arm and James opened the front door. "This place is so cool, I'd like to live here. I think our generation is all headed to these places in our sixties. Go early, stay late.”
I followed him into the foyer. "But Dad's doctor said the opposite. He advised Dad to stay home. He wouldn't change his medications. He thought Dad's problem was stress, not dementia.”
James just shook his head. Then he yelled, "Greta? How's Betty?"
"Oh, James." A skinny woman with thick glasses met us in the hall, shaking her gray head. She wiped her hands on her apron, flashing incongruous long, red fingernails. "Your sister came right after I called you and took Ilona to the doctor. Betty's in her room. You should talk to her.”
Greta led us into a spacious family room, all done up like a primary classroom. There were an easel, a blackboard and desks in one corner and finger paintings displayed over the fireplace, which was stuffed with bins full of art supplies, dolls, cars, balls and a globe. Two neatly dressed women perched on matching red and blue IKEA sofas facing a plasma TV. One man sat in a wheelchair, head lolling.
"That's Joey. Car accident." James waved. "Hi, Joey. Hi, Claire. Hi, Kate.”
Tiny, white Kate waved. Prim Claire didn't look away from the TV.
Greta muttered, "Joey's constipated and Claire lost her stuffed kitty."
James leaned down and scratched behind the ears of a fat black mutt with a red scarf tied around its neck, tail wagging like crazy. "Hi, Roger.”
A loud bleat sounded from a giant cage near a window.
I jumped.
Inside the cage, a large black cockatoo perched, bright red bands showing on the underside of its tail.
James nudged me. "Don't mind Kandajay. Very rare animal. He cost as much as the renovations on this place. We have to humor him.”
Greta’s red talons straightened paints and brushes and stacked white-washed wood pieces on a nearby desk. The top one had a hand-painted leafy border and a painted KAN on one end. "Nadja's damned projects," she grumbled, "Kandajay's Corner my aunt fanny. Damned bird gets more attention than the residents. Ilona eats the paint and Betty tries to take off. We caught her out front twice today." Muttering, Greta went back to stir the stew on the stove. Roger stayed to keep an eye on the residents.
James laughed. “That Greta. What a kidder. Hey, come outside.”
James steered me out into a long, green back yard ringed in rose bushes of many colors. "Nadja's a gardener, too."
“Whoa. Fantastic roses," I said. "And what vivid colors."
"She used to be an elementary school teacher. Still decorates like one—in primary colors." He shrugged. "But her divorce was hard on her. She spent years writing children's fiction and picture books. Her husband, Jeff Karrey, worked for a publishing house, but after ten years of marriage, the creep wouldn't even read her work. He never pulled one string to help her get published."
"Why?" I asked, looking up at James's chiseled features in the sunlight.
"Something about her talking fish being unfashionable." He put a warm hand on the small of my back.
"That stinks." Her writing might have stunk, too. Just a guess. "Hey, my talking fish book flopped, too."
"I'm sorry." He gestured to a small swimming pool surrounded by a cha
in-link fence behind him. "We take the residents swimming and walking, too." Then he caught my eye and our gazes held for a long moment. Those blue eyes held mine as that strong mouth and those dimple closed in, and I got chills and thrills, preparing for a rose garden kiss.
But then a guy built like a tractor came outside and went to the edge of the porch where a wheelchair with big wheels like bike wheels instead of the standard issue tiny wheels sat. He picked up a wrench and tightened something on it.
James pulled back. "Rhonda, this is Frank, our second helper. He does a bit of everything, including fixing wheelchairs for the residents."
Humorless Frank looked up. "They all want 'em to go faster.”
Shaking his head, James guided me back inside. My mind went back to Music Man, who'd never survive at Shady Acres. But this place seemed better, homier. "What if they like to walk at weird hours?"
"There's an alarm on the doors so we can stop them right away." James said. "Our patient-caregiver ratio is the best around. Three to one. We have parties, too. Our end-of-summer pool party was a blast.”
Stacking some adult diaper boxes close by, Greta said, "Yeah. A blast. Two people pooped in the pool."
"Hey, James." A small Japanese man now sat on the sofa. He looked up from the book he was holding upside down on his lap. "Wanna play catch?"
James shook his head. "Later, dude. Got a date.”
Hallelujah! He'd said it! A date! Maybe now the fun would start. But instead, he took me down the hall and opened a bedroom door. A snarl arose from a big lump and a wisp of white hair in the bed. "Geddout! I mean it! Shove off!" A drinking glass came sailing at the door and James shut it fast.
My heart stopped, but James laughed. "Just a minute." He slipped inside.
Greta gestured me to the kitchen. "Don't worry about bringing your dad or mom here." She wiped her red-tipped fingers in her apron like Lady MacBeth. "Betty will calm down. She was just mad we wouldn't let her go home, so she hit Ilona and kind of knocked her down. Of course Nadja took Ilona to the doctor. We'll keep Betty in her room for a while.”
Roll with the Punches Page 15