A Slight Change of Plan

by Dee Ernst

  I heard the sound of the garage door opener. My five minutes of peace and quiet were gone.

  Mom came in from the garage, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with a pink kitten face on it. Laura was right behind her. Bobby brought up the rear.

  Mom ignored me and went straight into the bathroom. Laura slumped on her crutches. And glared at me.

  “You’d better have had a really good time.”

  I nodded and kissed her cheek. “Yes. Thank you. Who bought all the food?”

  Laura shrugged and sank into the love seat. “I think she sent Sam out early this morning. We brought in the table and I spent until lunchtime with her. Then Bobby picked us up, and we were at my house for the rest of the day. Our mother is a pain in the ass.”

  “I know.”

  Mom emerged, made her way to the recliner, and began groping for the remote.

  “Have a good day?” I asked.

  “Where were you since early this morning?” Her eyes were on the TV screen.

  “I spent the day with Jake Windom. Remember him? My college boyfriend? I brought him home one Christmas.”

  “Isn’t he the one who dumped you?”

  “Why, yes, Mom. He is.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing with him again? You know what they say—insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

  “You’re probably right there, Mom, but we already know that I’m crazy. After all, I’ve been calling you up once a month for years, expecting you to talk to me instead of just hanging up.”

  “Exactly. He’s going to do it all over again. Better get yourself a job quick, because you’re going to need to bury your broken heart in something worthwhile.”

  I looked at Laura and went upstairs.

  I took a shower and washed the coconut scent of sunblock off my skin. I slipped into a sleeveless linen dress, poured a huge glass of wine, and sat on the deck with the bottle and Boone until it was quite dark. Laura left at some point. I knew that Sam and Alisa were back from wherever, because the lights came on. But I sipped my wine alone, thinking about Cheryl and how she made the move from alcohol to pot.

  I wasn’t that bad.

  Not yet, anyway.

  The next morning, the phone company guy showed up to run a separate line for my mother downstairs. I then spent a great deal of time on the phone after that, disconnecting her phone in south Jersey, making sure the calls would be forwarded, and trying to convince her provider that she really didn’t need cable anymore. Then I went downstairs and explained everything to Mom, giving her the new number, and telling her that if she wanted, she could call her friends and tell them about her move, and make sure they all knew how to get in touch with her now.

  She scowled through my entire explanation.

  “You disconnected my phone?”

  “Yes, but anyone who tries to call you there will get redirected here. For the next thirty days.”

  “What happens on day thirty-one?”

  “Well, hopefully, anyone who’d want to call you would have your new number by then.”

  “How would they get the new number?”

  “You’d give it to them.”

  “How?”

  “When they call you, Mom.”

  “But what if they don’t call me?”

  “Then you can call them.”

  “How will I know who to call? I don’t know anybody’s phone number.”

  “How did you call people before?”

  “I had everything programmed into the speed dial on my phone.”

  “I thought you had your address book.”

  “I do. But that has addresses, not phone numbers.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me to bring your old phone with us when we were at your house?”

  “Kate, I would have expected, at your age, that you’d be able to do a little thinking on your own.”

  “Grilled fish and wild rice for dinner?”

  “Whatever.”

  I’d been spending mornings at the pool. If Alisa wasn’t working, she’d come with me. We’d swim laps. She dove in the deep end and swam strongly, often going five or six lengths before coming out and lying in the sun. I tended to stay closer to the shallow end, and paddled back and forth across the shorter width, often treading water or stopping to chat with my fellow bathers. Then I, too, would stretch out in the sun.

  When I told my mother that I’d be at the pool for a while, and asked whether she needed anything before I left, she fixed a cold, hard eye on me.

  “What if I fall again?”

  “Mom, you’ve been here for a few days, and I think you’ll be okay for an hour or two.”

  “Then why the hell did you bring me all the way up here in the first place?”

  “Would you feel better if I didn’t leave you alone?”

  “I’d feel better if you brought me back to my own house.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Laura is trying to find you an assisted living place around here.”

  “I don’t need any assistance, thank you very much.”

  “What if you fell again?”

  “Why don’t you go to the pool?”

  “Good idea. I’ll be back in an hour. If anything dire happens, call 911.”

  I went to the pool, paddled around, and watched the water aerobics class. There was a bunch of smiling ladies, all my mother’s age, bobbing up and down. Would it be possible to get my mother into the pool with them? Probably not. But this was the same group of ladies who sat in the clubhouse every afternoon, sipping iced tea and playing something—cards? Mah-jongg? Whatever it was, it didn’t look too stressful. And Marie often joined them. I might have an in.

  I stopped at Marie’s on my way home, declined her invitation for iced tea, cookies, and/or lunch, and explained the mother situation.

  Marie took a deep breath. “It sounds like you and your mother are not on the best of terms.”

  “We’re barely on the worst of terms. But she could be here a while, and I want her to do more than sit and watch television all day.”

  “Did you ask her if she wanted to do more than watch television all day?”

  “No, Marie, but social isolation isn’t good. I know that. There are studies. She needs to get back out in the world.”

  “Why don’t I come over this afternoon? We can just chat.”

  “Perfect. Thank you so much.”

  When I brought down Mom’s lunch, I told her about Marie, and that she’d be coming by to say hello.

  “Why would she want to come over here?”

  “Marie and I are neighbors. She’s been over before. When I told her about you staying here, she thought she’d be nice and introduce herself.”

  “What’s the point? You’ll be shipping me out of here as soon as you find someplace to put me.”

  “The point is that you’re going to be here for a while, and you might as well enjoy yourself. Marie and some of the other ladies here play cards together. You used to be a killer canasta player.”

  “I’m still a killer canasta player.”

  “Great to hear. And I’m not looking to ‘ship you off,’ Mom. You need to have a place to live.”

  “I already have a perfectly good place to live.”

  “You should be closer to Laura and me.”

  “So you keep saying. Your damn cat is trying to eat my sandwich. Don’t you feed these animals?”

  I scooped up Eight and went upstairs.

  Marie came over later as promised. She came up after about an hour and asked if they could have some iced tea. I put some things on a tray and she took them down. There was laughter. Actual squeals of delight. Marie finally came back up with an empty tray and a big smile.

  “Kate, your mother will be joining us poolside this evening for cards. I know you’ll have to drive her over. About seven?”

  “Marie, you’re a wonder.”

  She took my hand and patted it gently. “Can I tell
you how much I like Rose? I imagine she can be a complete terror, but she’s also bright and lovely and great company. I think she’ll do fine with the rest of us.”

  I was speechless, of course, so I just nodded.

  At ten minutes to seven, I walked Mom out to the car and drove her the four blocks to the clubhouse. Luckily, there were no stairs, and she only had to stop twice. Marie and the other ladies had been there for a while, and they all had wineglasses in front of them and big smiles on their faces.

  Marie took over. “Rose, welcome. They don’t serve wine here, but they don’t mind if we bring our own. I’ve got an extra glass. Let me introduce you.” She turned to me. “Vivian here drove as well, so your mom has a ride home. Don’t wait up.”

  I kissed my mother on her cheek. “Don’t let them get you into trouble, Mom.”

  She actually smiled.

  MaryJo’s birthday was that Tuesday. I’d been calling my ex-roommate on her birthday for over thirty years. If I didn’t call her, she’d immediately know that I had been in touch with Jake and was afraid to call her because she’d yell at me. If I did call her, she’d immediately ask if I’d been in touch with Jake, and she’d yell at me.

  I thought about just changing my name and moving to Bolivia.

  I was praying for the answering machine, but—“Happy birthday, MaryJo. Where are you going this year?” Every year for her birthday, MaryJo went away for a weekend to someplace amazing—usually a spa—where she would be steamed and massaged and wrapped in mud.

  “I’m thinking New York. I’ve got reservations at a cute little boutique hotel around Gramercy Park and tickets to a Broadway show. Plus, I really need to go to the Museum of Natural History. Are you busy the weekend of the twenty-fifth?”

  “Of course not! Oh, MaryJo! Finally, you’re coming to see me? And in just two weeks! Did you run out of chichi New Age spas to visit?”

  “There is always another chichi New Age spa to visit, but I thought I’d try a little culture and fun this year. I haven’t seen you in six years, and you’ve been out here at least four times, so I figured it was my turn. Besides, I think we need to talk about Jake face-to-face.”

  Jake? Already with the Jake? Could I possibly bluff my way out of this? “What do we have to talk about?”

  She sighed. Deep. Heartfelt. “Kate, how well do I know you?”

  “Pretty well.”

  “Yes. Are you going to sit there and lie to me and tell me you have not had at least one serious conversation with that man?”

  “No. We’ve had a conversation. Several, in fact.”

  “I know. I just hope you haven’t done anything too stupid, like move in with him yet. But we’ll talk about this when I get there. Can you make us preshow dinner reservations somewhere? For Saturday night?”

  “Sure. How is everything else?”

  “Fab. And you?”

  “Regan’s future father-in-law is here from England, and he’s absolutely charming. And attractive. And he has a dry but terrific sense of humor.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I’m just mentioning it, that’s all.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And my mother moved in.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, we’ll talk about that, too.”

  “Oh, MaryJo, it will be so good to see you.” And I meant it. I was so glad she was coming that I stopped thinking about her yelling at me.

  Jake called. “Since we’re starting from scratch, I think we should meet somewhere neutral for our date,” he said.

  “Oh? Did you read that somewhere?”

  “Yes. Our dating site actually has guidelines, and it suggests a first meeting should be at a halfway point, preferably in broad daylight, for coffee. It also says that, depending on how things progress, we should pick someplace close enough to a good bar or restaurant, in case things go well and we want drinks and then dinner.”

  “Really? Guidelines?” I grinned happily. He was taking the idea of “first date” seriously. Pretty cute, Jake.

  “Yes, and then, if dinner goes well, we should take separate cars to the nearest hotel, and whoever gets their clothes off last has to pay the bill.”

  I snorted. Also pretty cute. “Jake, I think you may have misread that part.”

  “No. I’m looking at it right now. Both parties should also bring their desired form of birth control.”

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it. I’m feeling a little crazy with Mom here. How about next week? Monday? Hoboken? We can both take the train.”

  “True.”

  “And the place is loaded with coffee shops, bars, and restaurants.”

  “Sounds good. What about hotels?” His voice was a little teasing, a little hopeful.

  “Jake, I thought your preoccupation with sex would have waned as you got older.”

  “Well, it hasn’t, thank God.”

  I laughed. “Is this an appropriate conversation for two people who technically haven’t even met yet?”

  “Maybe not. Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m very glad we found each other again.”

  I felt a little squishy inside. “Me too.”

  Sam seemed a bit put off. “Mom, I was just getting used to Tom. Who is this guy again?”

  “You were not used to Tom. You couldn’t stand him. Jake is an old friend of mine. From college.”

  “Is he going to be showing up at the breakfast table, too?”

  “Well, maybe, but not anytime soon. We’re meeting in Hoboken next week.”

  “Good. So, you won’t be sleeping with him.”

  “I won’t be sleeping with him here, Sam.”

  He closed his eyes. “Mom. Please.”

  “Sorry.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When I got back from my Newark adventure the next day, there was a message on the house phone—from the New Jersey Division of Youth and Family Services. According to the message, a complaint had been made against me, and would I please call the following phone number so that a social worker could come by and investigate?”

  I had no idea what it was about, and when I called the number, the woman who answered was just taking the message. Would I be available tomorrow between ten and eleven? Was this the correct address? I was clueless, but said I’d be home. I went to bed wondering who thought I still had any children living with me, and what could they possibly be complaining about?

  The next morning, at ten sixteen, the doorbell rang, and a rather pretty older woman introduced herself as Sonia Bing from DYFS. I invited her in, sat across from her at the dining room table, and took a deep breath.

  “I have no idea why you’re here,” I told her. “I have no minor children living at home. My son is here with me, but he’s over twenty-one.”

  Sonia went through her file. “The complaint is not concerning a child. The complaint comes from Mrs. Rose Freemont, who claims she is being kept here against her will in a single room in your basement, without so much as a stove to cook her own food.”

  I sat back and closed my mouth, which had, of course, dropped open. “My mother made the complaint?”

  “Yes. Does she live with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she want to be here?”

  “No, but—”

  “Please. Answer the questions first. Then you can give your side of the story.”

  My side of the story? My side?

  “Mrs. Freemont claims to be seventy-six years old and a widow. Is that correct?”

  I gripped the seat of the dining room chair with both hands. “Yes.”

  “And, until recently, she was living in a senior community in Cape May County?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she was taken, by you, from her home, and brought up here, even though she did not wish to move.”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with your mother?”

  Oh my God. I took a cleansing breath. “Strained.”

&
nbsp; “Oh? Can you give me an example?”

  “Well, until I went down there two weeks ago, I hadn’t spoken to her in over eight years.”

  Sonia sat back. “Really? Did you ever try to contact her on the phone?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve called her the first Saturday of every month for, oh, about eight years.”

  “You called her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you say?”

  “ ‘Hello, Mom.’ ”

  “And then?”

  “Then she’d hang up.”

  Sonia frowned. “You’ve called your mother once a month for eight years, and she hung up on you every time?”

  “Mom is very big on routine.”

  She was still frowning, looking at her files again. “What about your sister, Laura?”

  “Laura talks to Mom all the time. And visits her every couple of months. Laura broke her leg, which is why, when the hospital called, I had to be the one to go down and pick Mom up.”

  “What hospital?”

  Apparently, Mom had been rather selective in her storytelling, so I gave Sonia the whole rundown. By the end, she was shaking her head.

  “Well, obviously your mother needed to be placed somewhere safe, and I can understand that her presence here is only temporary, but I still need to see where she’s staying. In a single room in a basement is not ideal.”

  I stood up. “No problem. Follow me. The Prisoner of Zenda awaits.”

  Sonia looked puzzled. Obviously not a fan of the classics.

  Mom was sitting in her recliner, her feet up, watching television. The sunlight was streaming in through the sliding glass doors. The air was cool and smelled faintly of the roses that were sitting on the coffee table. Sam had brought them for her Saturday. She was drinking from a coffee mug, and I could see the steam rising faintly.

  Sonia looked around, then at me, then rolled her eyes.

  “Mrs. Freemont?” she called.

  Mom waved her hand. “I’m busy. Emeril’s on.”