Just In Time

by Joan Lindstedt Jackson

  “Another thing that’s very important,” Sylvia said. “You’ll need to check that his med tray is filled and maybe check his pill vials for out-of-date empties. He tends to keep all of them, which I think can confuse him.”

  “Sure. I can do that,” she agreed, “but I’m not allowed to check his actual meds.”

  “I understand that. I’ll be here for your first visit to show you the ropes, but after that I can only hope he lets you in.”

  “We’ll work it out. Do you want me to call the night before I come? To remind him?”

  “I couldn’t ask for more,” Sylvia said.

  31

  At the dining room table, Steve sat patiently next to Sylvia while she explained how to use a debit card.

  “I don’t get it. Where does the money come from?”

  “The card automatically deducts it from our joint checking account.”

  Steve went blank. “Really? But how?”

  “It’s all done through computers.”

  “I don’t understand computers. I’ll never use one.”

  “You don’t need to. The card will be easier for you to buy groceries with Gloria. Easier than writing a check, don’t you think?”

  “Oh. Right. It’d take me too long to write one. And people would be standing in line. What if I made a mistake and had to write another one, and they’d have to wait? I always make mistakes.”

  “Me, too. So, a debit card is much quicker once you get the hang of it,” Sylvia said.

  “It might take longer than once. Like when Jack, across the street, showed me how to pump gas. And he said he’d go with me as long as I needed him to, so I could remember how.” Steve had only bought gas at the one local station where there was still full service with attendants. When they changed to self-service only, he called Sylvia and told her he didn’t know how to pump gas. The light on the dash had been on for several days, and he was worried he’d run out, so he didn’t drive. Sylvia had called the neighbor to ask if he’d help Steve.

  “And now you know how, right?”

  Steve laughed, “I do!”

  “See? It just takes practice.”

  “Nancy always bought the groceries. Can’t Gloria do it?”

  “Not with her own money, and I don’t want her to be on our bank account.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Steve contemplated this. “She might steal our money. Maybe I should hide the checkbook.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Sylvia said.

  “Dad always said I was a worrywart. And Nancy. She said I worry too much.”

  “I worry, too. About lots of stuff.”

  “You have kids and a husband and a house and . . . you have a lot to worry about.”

  That’s an understatement. Sylvia smiled, “Anyway, Gloria will help you with the debit card if you forget.”

  “I think I like Gloria,” Steve declared.

  “That’s good,” Sylvia chuckled. “So you’ll let her in the house?”

  He furrowed his brow and scowled at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “That was a joke.”

  “Not very funny,” Steve shook his head.

  “Back to the debit card,” Sylvia redirected him. “You’ll need a PIN number to use it.”

  “A what?”

  “Four numbers you won’t forget, so the card will work. Do you know your Social Security number?”

  Steve rattled it off.

  “Use the last four numbers for your PIN.”

  “2-3-7-8.”

  “Good. That’s all you need to remember when you slide the card through the machine at the checkout register.”

  “Will you write this down for me?”

  “I already did.” She showed him the index card. “I’d take you to the store to show you how it works, but . . . “

  “Slow down,” Steve said. “I want to read this first.”

  Sylvia waited until he looked up. “The debit card won’t get here before I leave, but put it in your wallet as soon as it arrives in the mail.”

  “Okay.”

  Sylvia told him she would buy lots of groceries before she left, so he’d be well stocked. Stouffer’s frozen dinners, luncheon meats, Chunky soups, Kraft cheese slices, Oatnut bread, Miracle Whip, peanut butter, jams, cereal (Cheerios, Grape-Nuts Flakes, Sugar Crisp), Ritz crackers, bananas, apples, pears—all the things he liked and didn’t have to cook, since he was afraid to use the stove. Luckily, Steve knew how to use the microwave.

  “When do you leave?” he asked.

  “In three days, but our minister is coming to bless the house Monday afternoon, and you said you’d go to church with me tomorrow.” The family had attended the Silver Lake Church, a hub of social activity in the community, throughout their childhoods, and both Sylvia and Steve were confirmed there.

  “I know. I promised. Do I have to wear a tie?”

  “No, a sport jacket though.”

  “And my oxblood tasseled loafers. Why is the minister going to bless the house?”

  “To ask God to watch over our house and you, now that you’ll be living alone,” Sylvia replied.

  Steve thought about this. “That’s nice, Sylvia. Was that your idea?”

  She nodded.

  “Is anybody else coming?”

  “Maybe Marcie, your case manager, Gloria, the housekeeper, maybe Amy next door, and our friend, Karen.”

  “Karen’s your friend.” Karen and Sylvia were the same age, three years older than Steve. They’d gone to school together since first grade, and they became best friends in high school. Steve still saw Karen as “Sylvia’s friend,” as if the age difference still mattered. But Karen had known Steve before he became ill, and she wanted to help wherever she could, especially now that he’d be living alone. Karen was her rock, one of many unexpected blessings in Silver Lake in the form of old family friends, friends of their parents, those who knew Steve when. Solace came with old ties.

  “Yes, she’s my oldest friend, but she hopes to get to know you better, so you’ll feel comfortable to call her if you need anything.”

  “Oh,” he smiled. “I probably won’t.

  “I’ll leave her phone number anyway.”

  “You must be glad to go back home,” Steve said, looking hopeful, like he wanted her to be ready to leave.

  “You bet I am,” Sylvia said.

  “I don’t bet.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just an expression. And you’re ready to have the house to yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” he sighed. “I don’t mean I don’t want you here . . . “

  “No, I understand. It’ll be quieter for you,” she said.

  “That’s it,” he nodded. “I like it quiet. Nancy was noisy.” He looked puzzled. “Isn’t Nancy married now?”

  “Yes, to Martin.”

  “And she’s moving to England?”

  “Right. It all worked out for her. She seems very happy and I’m glad for her.

  “Did she take Sammy?”

  “No, she couldn’t. He’s with a friend of hers.”

  “I can’t believe it. She gave away her dog?”

  If he only knew about Danny, but there was no need to tell Steve that. Nancy needed to move on with her life. “Her friend loves Sammy, and he knows her well. He’ll be fine.”

  “Can I go to Pizza Hut before you go to the store?”

  “I’d rather go shopping now before the crowd. Okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m too tired anyway. I’ll take a nap.”

  “Good idea.”

  The day after Sylvia left for LA, Steve was more than relieved. It was a warm sunny afternoon. He walked around the backyard and picked up a few dead limbs that had dropped from the giant pin oak trees his dad had planted before he was born. “It’s my turn to look after the place. I’m almost happy. I haven’t said that in years.” He talked to himself and hummed a tune as he strolled. “Maybe my luck hasn’t run out. I’m finally getting my wish—to be left alone!”r />
  2005

  Though Steve told Sylvia he felt lonely at times, he felt free of the pressure to behave properly for someone else. Sometimes he forgot Gloria was coming, and he wasn’t home on time to let her in. Sometimes he listened to old cassettes that his parents had recorded and reminisced: Mantovani, Strauss waltzes, trumpet solos, Christmas carols. But his favorite thing was to watch old movies on TCM. It reminded him of earlier days, when he and Sylvia watched movies from the forties together. Sometimes he called Sylvia to tell her about the movies he’d watched. “I don’t turn the sound up,” he said, “but I can figure out what’s going on.” He’d name actors like Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Greta Garbo, and then relate the story lines, or as much as he could figure out. He and Scott called each other. Steve might ask when Scott could come visit and Scott said he’d visit in the summers when Sylvia was there.

  But there were also numerous problems. “How do I turn on the A/C? The garage door won’t open. My car is stuck in the snow.” Steve worried about using too much water or electricity or spending too much money on groceries. Probably a good thing. Gloria stayed for over two years and then left to get married. Many aides came and went. Sylvia traveled to Ohio three times a year, training different aides, some okay, some not. One just sat on the front deck with Steve and smoked, barely doing the laundry, avoiding the necessary cleaning. But Steve adapted to them all. He never complained. He knew the conditions: you can stay in the house as long as you take your meds and have a housekeeper. Sometimes he missed meds, skipped the library volunteer job, or canceled the aide, which was only evident when Sylvia came to check on things. But Steve managed. Who would’ve thought Steve could live by himself? Could pay some bills, end up buying groceries by himself, keep all of his medical appointments and volunteer at the library, increasing his time from one hour to two? But he did. His desire to be independent was a stronger force than his siblings could have imagined. Of course, they managed a lot. Family needs to be the advocate. And when there’s no family? God help them.

  There’s an old story about a father with a mentally and physically disabled child. He asked a reverend, “How could God do this? How could He bring a child into the world who must struggle daily to be accepted, to live normally? If God is perfect, where is His perfection?” One day, the father and son happened to see the neighborhood baseball team playing a game as they passed by. The son had never played on the team but wanted badly to play. The father asked the team captain, who knew the boy, if his son could join in. The captain called a huddle with both teams to make the request. It was the last inning of a tie game. The teams agreed to let him in to bat. The pitcher lobbed the ball so the boy could manage to hit it. The opposing players purposefully threw the ball in a direction that let the boy get to first base, then second, and then home. The boy won the game for them, because both teams let it happen. They lifted the boy on their shoulders. He was a hero.

  “And the answer to your question,” the reverend said, “is when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that He seeks is in the way that people react to this child. That’s the perfection He seeks.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to acknowledge those who spurred me on with accolades, constructive criticism, and strong editing: First, my writer’s group (my second family) since May 2013—Margaret Karlin, Christina Alex, Kathrin Segal, Ellen Ruderman, Lindsay Lees, Kim Gottlieb-Walker, Jovita Jenkins, Madelyn Norman, and Alexia LaFortune, who led me to Brooke Warner, editor and publisher of She Writes Press. Collectively, they are responsible for the completion of this novel. Second, my husband, Jeff, who never wavered in his belief in my work and was patient and understanding about my extensive trips to Ohio—the source of my material! And finally, my loving brothers, Gary and David, and our devoted parents, who gave us a joyful childhood in Silver Lake, Ohio, my treasured oasis. How grateful I am to all of you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joan Jackson was raised in Ohio. After teaching French for a time, she went on to manage a French-Tahitian export company in Oregon. She is the author of the novel Voluntary Chaos and has published several magazine articles and written a collection of short stories. Jackson spends ten weeks annually in her childhood home in Silver Lake, Ohio, caretaking and managing the home for her schizophrenic brother, who lives alone. She and her husband reside in Los Angeles, California.

  ALSO BY JOAN JACKSON

  VOLUNTARY CHAOS 2010

  New York Book Festival Honorable Mention

  A stay-at-home mom becomes entangled in a passionate love affair. Unable to reconcile her duty-bound commitment to the husband she’s outgrown and her devotion to her two young children, Sylvia wrestles for years with the moral dilemma to stay married or divorce. Under the shadow of Mt St Helens, everything blows apart. We see her best friend advise her to stay married but ‘live separate lives’, her return to work teaching French, her parents’ despair coping with her younger brother’s schizophrenia, and her endearing children struggle with their parents’ inability to avoid chaos. From Oregon to Europe she gradually learns to face the inevitability to find contentment within herself.

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