“That’s my point,” she said quickly. “I’m sure you can appreciate the irony: your wife is desperately and pathetically holding on to the past; she doesn’t want things to have changed. You’ve created or contributed to her unreal world, an illusory world in which you do things you’ve never done before and she stops doing the things she used to do.”
I hated to admit it, but it seemed like a very perceptive comment, and from someone who hadn’t been in the house a day. I wondered why Dr. Turner had never put it to me that way.
“You seem to know a great deal about my wife’s condition. How much did Dr. Turner tell you?”
“Enough. I have had previous experience with people in her state of mind. That’s why the firm called me. I am not saying I know it all or I know more than the doctor. Please, don’t misunderstand me. But there are certain basic things we have to do if we are going to help her in any significant way
“You don’t intend to do anything terribly shocking, do you?”
“Of course not, but you should go back upstairs and wake her up to tell her that it’s time we all had breakfast.”
“It might be too abrupt. I mean—”
“It’s not too abrupt. She’ll understand that there’s a stranger in the house and you want to make the best possible impression. This is her home. She has been a mother and a wife here. She has a certain pride, and our job is to revive that pride.’’ She stared at me for a moment. I just sat there with my coffee cup frozen in the air before me. “Can you do that or do you want me to?”
“No, no, I’ll do it.”
There was no doubt in my mind that she would go up there. I took another quick sip of my coffee and stood up. She flipped open a notepad that she had in the pocket of her uniform and began writing. I had been dismissed to carry out her orders. For a moment I was filled with indignation. Then I thought, maybe she is right and maybe I am being too concerned with my own pride. I told myself I have got to think more about Miriam. I didn’t have to like Mrs. Randolph. That wasn’t important. What was important was her doing her job well and the end result being beneficial to Miriam.
I walked out quickly and headed up the stairs. It wasn’t until I reached the bedroom door that I began to feel a little afraid. But then I thought that if the nurse could be so definitive and assured, I could be so too. She had already caused a change in me. I had to be stronger, and with that awareness I realized that Miriam had to be stronger, too. It was time for it. The nurse was right.
Miriam was lying on her back, the blanket nearly up to her chin. Her eyes were opened, and she was staring up at the ceiling. Before she went to sleep at night, she always undid her hair. In the morning the dark brown strands would be out in all directions over the pillow. I waited a moment, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Sometimes she would be like that for hours in the morning.
“Miriam, the nurse is up. She’s in the kitchen.” Her eyes lowered slowly until she could see me. “She wants breakfast,” I added smiling. “And she wants to discuss Lillian’s breakfast with you.”
“Lillian’s breakfast?”
“Yes. And I can’t ... well,” I said, “I think you’d better handle this.”
“Yes,” she said. She sat up. The bodice of her light floral nightgown clung to her firm breasts. There was nothing wrong with Miriam’s figure. She was shapely and inviting. I wanted so to touch her as I had in the past. We had always been gentle with each other, loving.
But she looked past me. It was hard to believe she couldn’t see the desire in my eyes. We had always been so attuned to each other’s needs and considerate of those needs. I took a step toward her. I just wanted to kiss the back of her neck in a passionate way and have her turn into me.
Instead, all I did was stand there and watch her put on her robe and slippers. She scooped her hair up behind her head and bound it with rubber bands. I was surprised at her quickness and energy, and even though I was frustrated by it, I was happy that she was eager to help the nurse. She didn’t even stop at Lillian’s room on the way down. I followed her to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Randolph said.
“I’m sorry I slept so late,” Miriam said. The nurse shot a glance at me, but all I did was widen my eyes. Did she think I had been lying to her, that Miriam wasn’t depressed every morning?
“Yes, well, we have to develop a schedule so it’s best we get started right away.” Miriam nodded and looked very thoughtful and concerned. I just wanted to stand and observe, but Mrs. Randolph had her own ideas. “You can go up and get dressed, Mr. Oberman, and we’ll call you when we’re ready.”
I felt like a little boy who had been told he wasn’t old enough to stay with the big boys. I know I must have reddened. I certainly didn’t just turn around and leave. But Miriam, who was now standing right beside Mrs. Randolph, looked at me with the most peculiar expression on her face. She seemed annoyed that I didn’t snap to at Mrs. Randolph’s order. I was like an intruder in my own kitchen in my own house. They were obviously not going to do anything until I left.
“All right,” I said. I wanted to say much more. I wanted to say, “I’ll get dressed when I feel like getting dressed, and if I want to stay here in the kitchen, I’ll stay here.” But of course I didn’t say anything like that. I didn’t even look annoyed. I didn’t dare spoil what the nurse was trying to accomplish. I looked at her, hoping for a wink or a nod. Something that would suggest she and I were secret partners in this at least. But her expression was solid, steady, even piercing. I turned quickly and left the kitchen, feeling as though I were fleeing.
When I walked upstairs and reached Lillian’s door, I hesitated. I stood there to catch my breath and get hold of myself. I was really very curious as to how the nurse was going to handle Lillian’s breakfast. Would she have Miriam bring it up? Would she bring it up? I was sure she wasn’t going to ask me to bring it up. There’d be no point to that.
Suddenly the coming of Mrs. Randolph and her subsequent orders and ideas took on new meaning and excitement for me. Because of the way we had been living, the entrance of a new person, especially one like Mrs. Randolph, was like the coming of a creature from outer space. The world that had become dreary, heavy, and still was changing. Already morning was different.
Instead of the quiet, trancelike pace, there was excitement and activity. I know why Miriam hated to face the new day. I hated it for the same reasons. No matter how bright it was outside, darkness never left the house. Now, though Mrs. Randolph’s manner was sharp and domineering, there was at least noise and energy.
I should get dressed, I thought. Mrs. Randolph is right. Miriam should get dressed, too. I nodded at Lillian’s door. What’s the matter with me? I wondered. The woman is just trying to get things started. I slapped my hands together, feeling a new sense of hope.
I was so desperate for change that I forced myself to ignore my initial instincts.
That was my first mistake.
2
* * *
I WAS OUT ON THE RIDING LAWNMOWER CUTTING THE grass around the house. Usually, I trimmed only a small area, doing only the minimum required outside work. I didn’t analyze it at the time, but the nurse’s efficiency made me feel guilty about my lazy attitudes. I decided to clear more than an acre so that the house and grounds would look more presentable.
There is an old farmer about a mile down the road from us, Max Gilbert, who has come around a few times to offer to cut down the fields. He would do it just for the hay, but I like the sense of isolation the overgrown grass gives us, and Miriam enjoys the solitude. Strangers unnerve her. That was why I was so concerned about Mrs. Randolph.
Miriam and I were born and bred in the area; however, Miriam is more rural than I am, even though I was brought up on this farm. Miriam has never really been anywhere. Her parents were barely able to scrape a living together. Her father was a mechanic over in Centerville, a village about five miles from here. He had a heart attack and died when Miriam was in the tenth
grade. She and her mother continued to live in their small home just outside the village. It wasn’t as isolated as this, but it was on a quiet road with few neighboring homes.
The reason Miriam stayed home so much was that her mother was so neurotic. Her parents had her when they were well along in their years. She was almost an afterthought. Miriam always says she was a “change-of-life” baby, whatever that means. Apparently her mother’s nervousness had a lot to do with the fact she had to bring up a child just when she herself was going through emotional and physiological changes. To me it was a convenient explanation for all the inhibitions and fears in that household.
We both went to the same high school, Gardnertown Central. Miriam is a year younger than I am. I didn’t take note of her actually until she was in the eleventh grade. That wasn’t hard to understand. She was so shy and withdrawn it was easy to miss her, even in a class of twenty students. But by the time I was a senior and she was a junior, she had developed into one of those hidden beauties. I say “hidden” because she was never obvious about her figure. Most other girls did things to emphasize their maturity, but Miriam had this innocence, this unawareness about herself.
Her clothes were always out of style; they had a homemade look. She wore long skirts and blouses that were a size or two too big. With her clear, wide-frame glasses, she had an older, more matronly appearance. Most of the other students mistook her shyness for snobbery. From what I could see, she had few acquaintances and no real friends. First, I was attracted to her out of pity; but very shortly afterward, I realized that Miriam Stein was an attractive girl.
She had smooth, blemish-free skin, a complexion like the girls in the television ads. When I studied her—watched the way she walked, sat, moved about the school—I realized she had a full, shapely figure underneath those loosely fitting, out-of-date clothes. Although she wore her hair pinned up, it had a gleam that indicated it was well cared for and rich. It wasn’t long before I was fantasizing her beside me, her hair down, her lips close.
I wasn’t very aggressive with girls; I had yet to go out on a real date. In locker rooms I listened while the other guys bragged. I was looking for some secret, some method that would guarantee success with Miriam. In the beginning, every attempt I made to develop a relationship failed. I suppose I was very awkward because she seemed both terrified and amused by me.
I’ll never forget when I asked her to go to the senior prom. She nearly fell over herself backing away, fumbling for excuses. Anyone else would have given up, but I was attracted to her for too many reasons, none the least of which was I saw something in common with her shyness. I felt she was my kind of people.
I remember being terrified when Scott Bradley remarked that he thought “Miriam Stein’s a piece of ass.” He had quite a reputation for success with women, and he was always on the lookout for a new conquest. All the other guys but me thought he was crazy. I had nothing to be afraid of, however, because while Miriam made excuses with me, she refused to even respond to him. He gave up rather quickly and agreed with everyone else: “Miriam Stein’s ‘off the wall’ and not worth the effort.”
She was well worth the effort as far as I was concerned. Before the school year ended, I did have one good date with her. I got her to let me walk her home. It was more than a two-mile walk, but in the spring she would rather do that than take the school bus. We found we had many similar interests and a great many similar hates. That walk was the real beginning of our relationship.
We went out quite often that summer. In the fall I went to accounting school but returned home many weekends to see her. When she graduated high school, she took a job as a receptionist-secretary for a dentist in Monticello. We continued to see each other regularly, and we were engaged by the middle of my third year in college. Her mother had a stroke at the beginning of that year and another one by April. She lingered in a terrible state for months and passed away that summer. I made up my mind not to go back to college.
My father wasn’t upset because he didn’t think I should have even started with college. He wanted me to take over the running of his farm, but I had an absolute abhorrence for the work and was very pleased when he finally determined it was unprofitable to continue it. He sold his cows and most of his equipment at an auction.
Right before that, I took a job with the bank in Liberty. I was never more than a teller. I am sure that my business degree would have helped me rise to some significant managerial position if I wanted it, but I was never very ambitious. My father had a considerable amount of money. He was in farming when farming was profitable, and he inherited a great deal from his mother’s estate.
If he was proud of me for anything, it would be the way I manipulated his investments. I have always had a good mind for that, and I nearly doubled his money in ten years. Of course, I always knew all of it would become my money. He lost his younger brother years before he died, and he never liked any of his relatives much. I rarely heard from any of them. I suppose that was because I never returned any letters or any phone calls.
My father was too opinionated for most people. There was very little compromise in him. Friendships were never as important as what he considered to be the “bitter truth.” According to him life was a series of hardships. His vocabulary was filled with expressions like “hard shell,” “toughing it out,” “grit,” and “facing reality.” The last one was his favorite.
He wasn’t happy about my marrying Miriam until I brought her to the house. He didn’t think she was strong enough to be “a farmer’s wife.” “I’m not a farmer,” I told him, but that didn’t matter. When she moved into the house, she mothered him as much as she mothered me, if not more. And then when Lillian was born, he was in his glory. He spent nearly all his time with her. She called him “Popsy-Pu.” Lillian loved to add “do’s” and “pu’s” to names. Thank God my father never lived to see what happened.
Anyway, when I made a turn with the lawn tractor that morning, I saw the nurse on the front porch waving. She looked very agitated, but I couldn’t hear her because of the noise of the engine. She stood there with her hands on her hips, looking very impatient. Lawn tractors don’t go very fast, and mine never worked right. I am not much of a mechanic. As soon as I reached the house, I turned it off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Miriam says you can do that later.”
“But I’m almost finished. I don’t do it all,” I began to explain. “I—”
“You’re free to do what you want, but it would be helpful to me if you would do it later.”
“What possible difference does it really make? Why doesn’t she want me to do it now?”
She looked at me a moment, giving me a piercing stare.
“The noise that thing is making is keeping Lillian awake. We want her to take a nap, but she can’t.”
“Huh?”
She offered no further explanation. Instead, she turned her back on me and went into the house. Dumbfounded, I sat on the tractor. I looked up at the window of Lillian’s room that faced the front. It was opened halfway. I usually kept it closed. The curtains brushed back and forth against the screen.
“Dammit,” I said, and I got off the tractor. I hated doing the lawn as it was. Prolonging it irked me, and what bothered me even more was that Miriam had never made such a complaint before. When I went into the house, I was surprised to find Miriam in the kitchen working on a cake. She hadn’t done anything like that for months.
“Lemon supreme,” she said. “Lillian’s favorite. She asked for it.”
“When?”
“What’s that, Michael?”
“When did she ask for it?” I was still so annoyed that I felt like putting pressure on her.
“Just before, Michael,” she said. She had that half smile, half threatening cry on her face. I softened my tone of voice.
“It’s been a long time since she has asked for it,” I said. Her face took on a complete smile. I saw a new excitement in her eyes.
“What did Mrs. Randolph do about it?”
“She discussed it with her sensibly, from a strictly medical viewpoint,” Miriam said, obviously imitating the nurse’s pedantic demeanor. I nearly laughed. “Lillian is going to eat more nutritiously.”
“Lemon supreme is nutritious?”
“No, silly, but Mrs. Randolph made a deal with her. If Lillian eats well again, she can have some of the things she likes. The logic worked because she promised to eat well,” she said and turned back to her batter. I stared at her for a few moments. Everything was happening so fast. I could sense a new momentum in the house, and I didn’t like the idea that I was being swept away with it.
“Where is Mrs. Randolph?”
“She’s upstairs giving Lillian a sponge bath,” she said without looking up.
“What?” My tone of voice and my face gave away my surprise. Miriam looked right through it and began reciting the nurse’s dialogue verbatim.
“Lillian hasn’t been out of that room for so long. There are sanitary factors to consider.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Michael, it’s so. There are many things we’ve neglected. Having her come here was the best thing you could have done.”
“I can see that,” I said, my understatement underscoring my doubt.
“Honestly, Michael, you sound as though something’s upsetting you. What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to finish the lawn this morning. You know how I hate doing it.”
“So, finish it.”
“You just sent Mrs. Randolph out to tell me to stop. She said you said it was keeping Lillian from napping.”
Tender Loving Care Page 3