“It’s a long story.” A very old, long story. Did she have the courage to tell it to her best friend’s daughter?
“All we’re doing is sitting around and waiting. We’ve got time.” Sarah stood up. “Speaking of which, it’s been twenty minutes since the nurse left the room. Maybe she forgot. I’m going to go find her.”
Ida fell back in her chair, exhausted. She looked at Ethel, immobile, pale and silent. Was it finally the right time to tell their secrets?
* * * *
Sarah awoke when a new nurse came into the room to check her mother’s vitals. The shift had changed and a different ICU physician appeared at the door of the semi-private room. “Your mother’s stable. Why don’t you go home, get some rest? You can’t help her if you get sick.”
On the way out a young woman approached Sarah.
“Ms. Wright?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a Patient Financial Services representative. I’m sorry to bother you at this difficult time, but we need your mother’s insurance information. Do you know her Social Security number? We can get her Medicare information with that.”
Social Security number? Insurance information? Sarah’s head buzzed with the effort to recall the events at the house. In the rush to get Ethel to the ER, Sarah hadn’t thought to grab her mother’s purse.
“I have no idea. I’ll have to go home and find her insurance cards. Is there a way I can reach you?” The paperwork had to be in her purse or on Ethel’s desk in the “forbidden zone.”
She handed Sarah a business card.
Aunt Ida was asleep in the waiting area just outside the ICU. Sarah looked at the older woman with affection. Sometime during the night, Aunt Ida must have taken a bathroom break and decided to get a nap away from the beeping monitors and shrieking alarms. Strands of hair fell out of her normally tight bun, giving her a softer look. Her glasses sat halfway down her nose, threatening to slide to the floor.
Poor Aunt Ida. Time to get her home.
“Aunt Ida?” No response. Sarah spoke a little louder. “Aunt Ida.” She touched her wrist.
Ida flailed her arms, hands balled into fists. “No, no, please don’t touch me.”
Sarah jumped back. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t wake you up.”
“Oy, no, I’m the one who should apologize. I was having a bad dream.” She focused on Sarah’s face. “Are you okay? Is your mother better?”
“Her vital signs are close to normal. Funny. She just looks like she’s passed out from drinking. As if she’ll wake any moment and demand a cup of tea.”
Ida nodded. “Knowing Ethel, she’d make everyone jump to get it, too.”
A taxi took them home to their now less chaotic cul-de-sac. With the temperature ten degrees warmer than the day before, puddles replaced the ice skating rink of the previous evening. Sarah’s car, groceries still sitting in it, sat parked on the side of the street where the police had stopped her.
“If you don’t like the weather in Baltimore, wait ten minutes,” Aunt Ida said.
Sarah helped the older woman out of the cab and up to her kitchen door. Her aunt pulled out her key but, before she could get it into the lock, the door was yanked open from the inside. Betty, Aunt Ida’s housekeeper, stood in the entryway.
Sarah raised her voice and enunciated each word with precision. “We did not know you were here. You startled us.”
Betty’s eyes blinked owl-like through bottle-bottom eyeglasses. She smiled and asked, “Oooh otay, Ms. Idah?”
Aunt Ida had always had a housekeeper. She also had lawn, pond, and pool services. In contrast, Ethel hung her clothes outside on the line to save money on her electric bill, and used her daughter as lawn service, housekeeper and laundress. Once again, Sarah wondered how they could be best friends.
Aunt Ida had hired Betty through WorkForce, a vocational training organization for citizens with disabilities. The housekeeper wore hearing aids in both ears and was also intellectually disabled. When they first met Betty, Ethel was surprised she read lips instead of using sign language. Although Sarah had spent her pre-school years with her deaf grandmother, she’d forgotten more sign language than she remembered.
Her mother, however, was fluent. When she attempted to sign to Betty, she received an intense stare at her lips instead of a response in hand signs. “My dog knows more sign language than she does,” Ethel had said in a stage whisper.
Sarah leaned over and gave Aunt Ida a hug. “Thanks for being with me. Get some rest.”
“I hope I can. I always have trouble sleeping. Now that I can’t use that G-stuff anymore, I’m afraid it will just get worse.” She shuddered. “Gottenyu! I have the worst nightmares. Maybe I’ll have a bit of schnaps before I lie down. You get some sleep, too, Sarahlei.”
Sarah moved her car to the driveway and hauled the groceries into the house. Winston ran to greet her and nearly knocked her over in his exuberance. Already beginning to smell ripe, the mayonnaise-based perishables hit the trash can. The last thing she needed right now was food poisoning. Yuck.
Afraid to listen to her own mental chatter and fearful thoughts, she turned the radio on. One of the few things she and her mother agreed on was that they preferred the oldies but Goldies to the current music on most of the stations. She hummed along one of her favorite crooners. Just as she began to sing the chorus, Winston barked to be let in.
Instead of the dog, the “Heckler,” her mother’s nickname for the president of the neighborhood association, Jean Hecklenberg, stood on the back porch. The President and her posse of elderly do-gooders were Ethel’s yard Nazis. If there was anything in a yard they didn’t like—yard gnomes, donkeys, jockeys, long grass, shaggy bushes, clotheslines—they’d harass the homeowners until they gave in from sheer exhaustion. They wore everyone down, except Ethel, who gave as good as she got.
The Heckler wore a bright blue hat topped with a pom-pom. She shook her fist and yelled, “I’ve been trying to call your house, but your phone’s out of order. This is an official warning. One more time with that dog howling and the neighborhood association is taking you and your mother to court.” The woman craned her neck in an attempt to peer into the kitchen.
Sarah took a deep breath. Despite the urge to scream, she kept her voice low. “Mrs. Hecklenberg, apparently you’re unaware our dog was making that noise because my mother fell on the ice and was badly injured. My mother’s unconscious, but alive. If it weren’t for Winston, and your call to the police, she’d be dead. So thank you, and have a nice day.”
Sarah began to close the door but stopped at the Heckler’s next words.
“You mean she passed out because she was drunk, don’t you? She’s drunk all the time. You know it. I know it. The entire neighborhood knows it. She got what she deserved.”
“Gee, Mrs. Hecklenberg thanks so much for your sympathy. I’ll be sure to pass your wishes for a speedy recovery along to my mother. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
She looked up at Sarah, her thin lips pursed, her ridiculous question mark penciled eyebrows raised.
“Go to hell.” Sarah slammed the door and stared at her through the window.
The Heckler stomped down the steps and across the walkway to the driveway. Just inches before the spot where the electric shock of the invisible fence would stop him, Winston ran up and rammed his nose into her butt. The woman jumped, shrieked, and practically flew down the driveway and out into the cul-de-sac.
Sarah burst into tears. “Just what I need. Now I’ll be on her hit list for doggy assault and battery.” She called Winston. “Are you trying to get me arrested?”
Winston tilted his head and stared at her as if he was trying to read her lips. Giving up, he flopped down on the floor and closed his eyes. Sarah abandoned her attempt to discipline him and went to bed. She was beyond exhausted. Well, at least things couldn’t get any worse, could they?
* * * *
Nightmares about her mother’s accident plagued her sleep. She kept seeing
her mother arguing with someone, then falling and hitting her head. Blood pooled next to her face as Winston howled.
Sarah sat up in her sweat-soaked bed, woken up by a thunderstorm. Winston threw himself onto the bed, whining and shaking.
“Poor Winston.” She hugged and soothed him. “This weather terrifies you.” He responded by shoving his huge head under her pillow.
Winston wasn’t the only one having a hard time. Flashes of arguments and violence came back to her when she closed her eyes. She opened them and shook her head to drive away the visions. The visit from that awful woman, the Heckler, must have prompted the nightmare. She shuddered. Maybe a long, hot shower would wash away the dream residue.
After the storm passed, she opened the back door to let Winston out. Aunt Ida was stood on the porch.
“What’s wrong?”
Deep wrinkles etched lines into the older woman’s brow. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “I’m worried about you, Sarahlei. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She pulled Aunt Ida into the kitchen and led her to a chair. Sarah had never seen Aunt Ida look so distraught. Her mother’s accident was taking its toll on everyone. “You, on the other hand, look awful.”
“Ach! I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. Must have been the storm. Are you going back to the hospital tonight?”
“First I have to find Mom’s insurance cards. Do you want to come?”
“I’m trying to decide if I should head down to Florida this season. I have workmen lined up to fix the hurricane damage to the roof and the pool cage.” She paused and pushed some strands of hair away from her face. “If I go, I need to get organized to leave early Monday morning. I’m not supposed to drive at night.”
“I know Mom is your best friend, but unless her condition improves soon, she’s probably going to be in a coma for a while.” Sarah paused, and decided not to add, in a persistent vegetative state. She didn’t want Aunt Ida to feel any worse than she already did. “You sure you’re up for the drive? It’s a long trip.”
Aunt Ida frowned. “I’m getting older, but I haven’t forgotten how to drive. I feel bad leaving you alone. What about Mitzi? She’ll just be another burden for you.”
“We’ll be insulted if Mitzi doesn’t come here for the season. Who else will Neferkitty harass for fun?” Aunt Ida’s six-toed cat, Mitzi, was a fur-covered bowling ball with legs. Sarah’s cat, Neferkitty, spent hours leaping on her when the fat feline came to stay.
“I can’t take her with me and she hates Betty. Those hearing aids turn her into a wildcat.” Aunt Ida nodded. “You’re right. I’ll go to Florida. I’ll take a break from packing in a little while and come with you to the hospital.”
Aunt Ida clutched the banister and picked her way down the stairs. Sarah worried if she was really up to the trip. Part of Sarah wanted to beg Aunt Ida to stay, and the other part didn’t want to impose on her any more. The dear old lady had always been there for Ethel, but this time, she could do nothing for her best friend.
* * * *
Ida sat in her cozy den, photos of her dead husband surrounding her.
“What should I do, Jack? Should I tell her? Or should I wait and see if Ethel comes out of her coma?”
Jack smiled back at her in a dizzying array of black-and-white and color snapshots, some candid, some posed. He wasn’t very responsive tonight. Usually he had a lot of good advice for her. But tonight, no words of Jack’s wisdom sprang to her mind. She needed him. Had never stopped needing him, even after all these years.
“Jack, you gotta help me here. Sarah needs to understand, to know, everything. I’m afraid for her. And, I’m afraid for Ethel.”
She yawned. “So tired. If only I could catch a few winks of sleep?”
* * * *
“Forget about the baby,” a man shouted. “We have to control the mother’s bleeding.”
“The baby is blue, Doctor. We’ll lose her if we don’t do something.”
Put her in the bassinette. Help me with the mother.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Footsteps scurried across the room and back.
“Massage her uterus while I call for anesthesia.”
Strong hands kneaded Ida’s belly.
“Doctor, why do we need anesthesia?”
“If we don’t do a hysterectomy, the mother will die.”
A man appeared at her right side, his face half-covered with a white mask. Brown eyes filled with concerned peered down at her. “How are you doing?”
“You tell me,” Ida whispered.
“We can’t save the baby. We have to save you.”
“Let me hold her. Please.”
“You’ll see, there’s no use.” He returned, removed a leather wrist restraint, and thrust a blanketed bundle into her arm.
She stared down at the still face. Her eyes were closed. She had the tiniest nose, just barely there. Her lips were bow shaped. Ida pulled the blanket back and gasped. The infant had a heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheekbone. The baby was snatched out of her hands.
She reached for the child. “Don’t take Mitzi.”
Ida struggled to push the black mask away from her face, but the ether took her away.
* * * *
Ida jerked herself out of sleep and looked around the room. She was in her own home, thank God. She had to tell Sarah the truth—but how much did the girl really need to know?
Chapter Three
Sarah sat at the kitchen table in the late afternoon sunshine with a steaming cup of coffee and a large piece of cherry pie. She stared at her mothers’ purse for five minutes while she sipped her coffee. At last, she flipped it over and dumped the contents out before her. Candy wrappers, liquor store coupons and an abundance of lint scattered across the scratched and dented formica. Ethel’s wallet held her Social Security and Medicare cards. So far, so good. Now where was her supplemental insurance card? Sarah found it and looked at the dates. Expired. There had to be another one. She rummaged in the bag. No luck. Maybe it was on Ethel’s desk.
Neferkitty protested being removed from Sarah’s shoulder where she perched like a parrot. “Sorry, baby. Let’s go see what’s in her inner sanctum.”
Ethel was so paranoid about money that she never allowed anyone in her office, much less near her financial papers. Sarah rolled up the antique desk cover and gasped as unopened envelopes fell out at her in an avalanche. It looked as if Ethel hadn’t opened her mail in months. Sarah plopped into a chair and dragged a trashcan over in anticipation of a mountain of junk mail. Instead, nearly every letter was a demand for payment of an overdue bill. Now Sarah understood why Ethel had always made it to the mailbox first.
“For God’s sake, Mom, why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped out.” Sarah closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Steady. No need to lose it. Hang in there. She continued to open envelopes. At last she found one with a return address from the health insurance plan. Her mother’s supplemental insurance had lapsed. She was not eligible for reinstatement.
“Just freaking great. What’s next in this mess?”
Sarah reached for another envelope with trembling hands, fearful of what she’d find. The letter inside was dated four months earlier.
Dear Mrs. Wright:
Thank you for your generous donation of five-hundred dollars to the Florence Crittenton Services of Greater Washington. Your gift will be used to provide services to adolescent girls, low-income pregnant women, and teen mothers in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Our mission is to provide women with the knowledge, skills, and support required for their physical, emotional, economic, and social well-being. Your gift will assist us in these endeavors. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Eudora White
Director of Giving
What the hell? There had to be some mistake. Her mother never donated money to anyone, regardless of the cause. She believed charity began at home. Ethel had worked for a living and so had her deaf, non-speaking parents. She al
ways said, “If they could do it, anyone could.”
Sarah had heard the lecture a million times. If someone on the street attempted to ask for donations with an “I am deaf, please help” card, Ethel yelled and signed at them, calling them liars, cheats, and beggars. They ran away from her. But here, in front of Sarah, was written proof her mother had made a donation to a charity. She hadn’t paid her bills, but she had given money for “low income pregnant women, and teen mothers?” Sarah set the letter aside and made a mental note to ask Aunt Ida about it.
Even if her mother had donated five-hundred dollars to a charity, that shouldn’t have bankrupted her. Ethel owned her house free and clear. She retired from the federal government after twenty-five years with an excellent pension automatically deposited into her bank account. Ethel had always paid her bills the morning after they arrived in the mail, then celebrated in the afternoon by getting drunk. Yet it appeared she hadn’t paid bills in at least three months. This was beyond strange.
Sarah grabbed an unlabelled manila folder to organize the bills, opened it, and found a stack of letters. The oldest one was dated five years before, the most recent one from the month before. Each letter said:
Dear Sister Ethel:
Thank you for your generous monthly donation of one-thousand dollars to the Reverend Moore Theological Institute. Your gift will be used in the war against Harry Potter and his Cult of Satan Worshippers. We will use your donation to work with parents to teach them how to fight Harry Potter and the Forces of Evil.
By allowing your monthly donation to be automatically deducted from your checking account, you have demonstrated the highest level of devotion. You are now a member of my Inner Circle of True Believers. Be sure to tune in daily for special messages during my radio and television broadcasts. Through your donations to our ministry, you will be saved from the Forces of Evil when the End Days are upon us.
Some Other Child Page 3