Tender Loving Care

by Andrew Neiderman

  I spun around. I looked back at the bed. And then I stepped out of the room and closed the door quickly. I thought that I had slammed it loud enough to wake both Miriam and Mrs. Randolph. I hoped that I had. I wanted and needed company, but there was only silence and the now muffled tinkle of the chimes.

  I stepped back and for a moment simply stood there debating what to do. Should I wake the nurse to tell her that someone was in Lillian’s bed? It would be useless to wake Miriam to tell her, I thought. She would say, “Of course, it’s Lillian. Who else would be in her bed?”

  I pressed my fist into my mouth and bit down on my knuckles. God, I’m going mad, I thought. Get hold of yourself, Oberman. You saw nothing. It’s the booze, the aftereffect of all that whiskey, the wine, and the brandy, not to mention the rich food. You saw nothing.

  I looked back at the closed door. Maybe I hadn’t even opened it. Maybe I never peered in. Maybe it had been a dream. I fell asleep standing here dreaming of making love to the nurse and then I had this terrible nightmare. Dreams occur in seconds. Nightmares that seem to take hours actually only occur over moments. Surely that was what had happened.

  Should I open the door again and check? I wondered. I wanted to, but the idea of turning that handle again was terrifying. Stop the torment, I told myself. Go to sleep. Sleep. You need sleep.

  I headed into my bedroom quickly. I saw Miriam under the blanket, folded in the fetal position as always, her back to my side. I could say nothing, do nothing. As quickly but as quietly as I could, I undressed and slipped under the blanket.

  The moonlight tore through the curtains and simmered in our darkness. It made everything look hot. I squeezed my fists tight; I closed my eyes. I kept my moaning within, echoing down the corridors of my mind. I felt like a man falling forever, but I welcomed the darkness. It brought protection.

  Even so, someone sitting up in her bed, looking my way, silhouetted in the moonlight, took the foremost place on my shelf of nightmares and haunted me until morning.

  6

  * * *

  I AWOKE ABRUPTLY TO THE SOUND OF THE DOG BARKING. Then Miriam spoke.

  “Michael, you’ll be late for work the second day back if you don’t get up.”

  I lifted my head of rock off the pillow. Miriam was standing in the doorway. She was looking even brighter and more alive than the day before. Her hair was already brushed down and pinned along the sides so it flowed smoothly above her ears and around her neck. She wore her cherry-colored blouse and skirt outfit, and I noticed she had put on her little pearl earrings. She had never been fond of makeup, but on this morning, she wore the nurse’s shade.

  “Oh,” I said, and I let my head fall back to the pillow.

  “Mrs. Randolph was right about the booze,” she said. “You should have listened to her. What’s the point of having a nurse around if you don’t listen to her about things that affect your health?”

  “Yes, yes.” The dog’s barking grew more intense.

  “Well, are you getting up?”

  “Soon, soon. Someone shut that dog up,” I said putting the pillow over my head.

  “There’s coffee and scrambled eggs. I defrosted those little rolls we had in the freezer for so long. Mrs. Randolph is having a bowl of soya milk and granola, but I didn’t think you’d want that.”

  “You thought right, dear. I’ll shower and dress. Hey,” I said as she turned to go, “why did you two leave me down there last night?”

  “We didn’t leave you, Michael. We decided to go up and watch television with Lillian. We asked you, but you didn’t appear interested in joining us.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Well, it’s a wonder you remember anything. You consumed quite a bit of alcohol.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” I said, tossing my legs over the bed. I felt as though every part of me could easily become detached. Miriam left and I went into the shower. It did revive me enough so I could shave, get dressed, and brush my hair, but I knew I was going to need some aspirin before I did much else.

  The moment I stepped into the hall, the memory of what I had seen in Lillian’s room returned. I saw that her door was still shut completely, as I had left it. I moved forward slowly but deliberately, determined to open it to look inside. But just as I reached for the handle, the door opened. I gasped and stepped back.

  Mrs. Randolph paused and looked out at me. The shock had taken my breath away, and I couldn’t speak for a few seconds. She turned to close the door partway and then contemplated me.

  “What were you ...”

  “Lillian’s breakfast,” she said, and she continued on down the hall and down the stairs. I watched her disappear and then looked at the door again. My mind was electric with weird ideas. I stepped forward and pushed the door open so I could gaze upon the entire room. It was as they had changed it the day before, and there was no one in Lillian’s bed. The breakfast tray lay on the small table beside it, and the curtain fluttered in the breeze. The chimes tinkled, but I was still not satisfied. I walked in.

  It was rare that I touched anything in Lillian’s room. That was why I resisted getting her report cards and artwork for Miriam and Mrs. Randolph. It was not hard to explain why I hated touching Lillian’s things. Before Mrs. Randolph had arrived, Lillian’s room was sacred. I read a Japanese poem once, a haiku. Not very long, but terribly effective. It was about a widower who confronted his wife’s vanity table shortly after he buried her. He thought he could live with her death until he realized he was standing on something. That something was one of her combs. The realization struck down his brave front, and he was overcome with grief.

  I was always afraid something like that would happen to me if I handled Lillian’s things. Her combs and brushes were still on her little table. If I looked closely, I could see strands of her hair caught in the bristles. All of her clothing carried the scent of her—her baby powders and the perfumes Miriam gave her. I was terrified of touching them.

  Ordinarily, people don’t die this slowly. The bereaved often give away the clothing, strip the rooms, place objects in attics or basements.

  But this room had been frozen in time. Few would keep a room so intact. Lillian lingered in everything: her toys, her clothes, her trinkets and books. Mostly, she lingered in Miriam’s mind. But now, in the bright daytime hours, the room closed in around me, too. I was almost unable to do what I wanted to do.

  I moved forward to Lillian’s bed. I stood beside it and looked down at the blanket and pillow. The pillow had been patted and shaped; it was something Miriam usually did every morning. I disregarded that, and I reached out to fold the blanket back to about the middle of the bed.

  What I saw confirmed my terror: the sheet and the mattress were indented, pressed in and shaped in the form a young girl’s body would create. It certainly couldn’t have been this way for six months, I thought. Someone had been in this bed. The conclusion stunned me. My arm remained straight out, frozen; my fingers clutched the blanket tightly.

  Finally I dropped it to the bed and looked around the room suspiciously. My imagination was running wild. I focused on the closed closet door. Would I find something within? It occurred to me that I hadn’t had any reason to open that closet since Lillian’s death, yet I was sure Miriam had. She was always taking Lillian’s clothes out, ironing things, folding them, hanging them up. Nothing strange should be there, but I still approached it gingerly, recalling what I had thought I had seen in this room the night before.

  I grasped the handle, hesitated, and then pulled the door open abruptly. The breeze and the vibrations shook the hangers and clothing. Their movement frightened me and I stepped back. But when I reviewed what was in there, I found nothing to support my insane suspicions.

  I went back to look at the bed. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought. Yet, what else could it be? Perhaps Miriam had done something. Perhaps she had been doing it for months and I had never known because I never touched the bed. There had to be a lo
gical explanation for all this. I had to get hold of myself. I began with a quick retreat from Lillian’s room.

  Both Miriam and Mrs. Randolph were very quiet during the beginning of breakfast. They communicated more with looks and gestures. I knew it was going on, but I pretended not to be aware. I didn’t mind the silence anyway, my head ballooning as it was. I was surprised I had any appetite at all that morning, but food seemed to make me feel better. I made the mistake of mentioning that fact. It set the nurse off, and she talked about hangovers, low blood sugar, hypoglycemia, and alcoholic diabetes. I felt like checking myself into the nearest hospital.

  When she spoke, she spoke in a monotone and she didn’t look directly at either Miriam or myself. She recited medical information dryly, like some sort of walking encyclopedia. Miriam sat listening with her head down, a smile on her face. It was as though she knew the nurse was going to do this—make this informational lecture for my benefit—and she was embarrassed, both for herself and for me.

  “That’s all very interesting,” I said pushing my plate away, “but there’s a bartender down at McDermott’s who’s been curing hangovers for years with a concoction of his own making, and the only medical knowledge he has he’s gotten from watching the soap operas on television by the bar.”

  “Then why don’t you stop in to see him?” Mrs. Randolph asked. It was a very matter-of-fact, controlled tone of voice, but I knew she didn’t appreciate my rebuff.

  “Might just do that.”

  “Oh, Michael, you don’t have the time,” Miriam said. I grunted. They looked at each other with satisfaction. Was the nurse able to predict everything I would say, everything I would do? I felt as though my every statement and action confirmed her authority and strengthened her hold over Miriam.

  “I’m off,” I said and got up. Miriam followed me to the front door.

  “I want you to get something on the way home from work today, Michael.” The new Dinky-Do could be heard howling now, but I’d be damned if I’d be the one to go out to feed and water him.

  “I know, dog food.”

  “No. We have enough dog food. Mrs. Randolph says all those cans are still good.”

  “Then what?”

  “Invitations to a birthday party.”

  “What?”

  “I know it’s short notice with only a little more than a week to go, but Mrs. Randolph agrees—it would be great therapy for Lillian.”

  “You want to give a birthday party for Lillian?” I couldn’t help but raise my voice with a tone of incredulity. She mistook the reason for my reaction.

  “It’s not too late, Michael. We still have eight days. If we make out the invitations tonight and mail them in the morning—”

  “But, Miriam ...”

  “Yes, Michael?” I simply stared at her, at that Mona Lisa smile, at those soft, pleading eyes. She was primed for excitement, radiating hope and life. All the dark shadows that had come charging into this house had been pushed back. They hovered at the door, waiting for my answer. Only a few words from me and they would reenter and take up permanent residence. Who could blame me for retreating? Anyway, I kept hoping the nurse had good reason. Soon I would understand and all this would make sense.

  “OK,” I said. She clapped her hands together.

  “I want to make the cake myself and the favors and decorate the dining room.”

  “Hold on. So much?”

  “Of course, Michael. And you’d better start thinking about a birthday present. The tenth year is an important birthday. And don’t say that the dog was a birthday present,” she added quickly. “I know how you think sometimes, Michael. That wasn’t why we got it. Oh, and Mrs. Randolph says you might pick up a Pin the Tail on the Donkey game. We even have an idea how we’re going to get Lillian to play, but that’s a surprise. OK? You look confused, Michael. Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. I’ll call you later, just in case you think of anything else.”

  “Good. Call me in the afternoon, Michael. Like you used to.”

  “All right, dear, I will,” I said. I turned and left the house quickly, actually eagerly. I was looking forward to being with sane people for a while.

  It was very busy at the bank, and for a good part of the morning, I lost myself in the work. It felt good to do so, and I was glad I had decided to go back to work. It provided a needed escape. I hadn’t realized how damaging the last six months had been for me. I thought I knew what an elementary schoolteacher must feel like, dealing with little children all day. Imagine if he or she had no respite from it. After a while they would probably talk to everyone the same way. It reminded me of a comedian I once saw who had a routine about marrying a schoolteacher. He said she gave him a report card after the honeymoon. He flunked neatness because he left a towel on the bathroom floor.

  During a lull, though, I thought about Miriam wanting to have a birthday party for our dead daughter. Surely this was too much. The nurse was going too far to win her trust. Soon she might become unreachable, if she hadn’t already. I decided the only thing to do was push up the date of her appointment with Dr. Turner. Taking advantage of a break, I went to the phone and called his office. Mrs. Greenstreet was as curt as usual.

  “The doctor’s not in. We’ve canceled all of his immediate appointments. He’s had an emergency. His brother suffered a massive coronary.”

  “I’m sorry. When do you expect him back?”

  “Obviously, there’s no way we can predict that, Mr. Oberman. Do you want me to refer you to Dr. Malisoff?”

  “No, no, I don’t want anyone else. There would be too much to fill in. I’ll wait. When should I call again?”

  “Not for two days, at least.”

  “All right,” I said. I was going to add, “Thank you,” just as a courtesy, but she didn’t wait.

  Naturally it was difficult for me to concentrate on work again. Charley Tooey wanted me to join him for lunch, but I declined. I didn’t want anyone to see me go to the department store to buy a packet of children’s birthday party invitations. I hid the pack under my seat in the car. That’s how paranoid I was about it. I called Miriam right after I proofed my drawer. It was when I called her in the old days, and she was so intent on things being as they were then. It took all my self-control to wait that long, but I did.

  “Don’t forget the Pin the Tail on the Donkey game,” she told me. I had forgotten so I knew I had to go back to the store. “And get three rolls of crepe paper, assorted colors. Bright colors.”

  “Are you sure you want to go through with all this? I mean, it’s a great deal of work.”

  “Of course, Michael. I don’t know how you could even ask such a question. Few things are more important to me than Lillian’s happiness. I should think you would feel the same way.”

  “I do, dear. I do. I was only thinking how tired you’ve been.”

  “But it’s different now, Michael,” she said. “We have Mrs. Randolph and she takes much of the load off me.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “We have time to figure out other things. I was thinking we might barbecue hamburgers and hotdogs like we did two years ago, or was it last year?”

  “No, it was two years ago,”

  “All right then.”

  “Er ... is Mrs. Randolph nearby?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could. I was sure she was practically on top of her.

  “Just a moment.” There wasn’t more than a second or two of a pause.

  “Yes?”

  “Why,” I began, looking around to be sure no one was eavesdropping, “are we going on with this party idea? What’s the point?”

  “I couldn’t answer that right now,” she replied, her voice making obvious references to Miriam’s proximity.

  “I want an answer,” I said. Away from her, distanced by the telephone, I was not intimidated by her. When she was actually before me, the white uniform carried authority and power, just like a policeman’s uniform signals authority. Talking to her over the ph
one, I could block that out. My voice had strength, and I sounded more like the man I once was.

  “Fine.”

  “We need to have a private conversation. I know it’s not easy to do that at home, but—”

  “I’m going to meditate between five and six,” she said seductively. “Come into my room at five forty-five.”

  For a moment I couldn’t respond. I saw her naked, sitting there on the floor. I thought of the small of her back, recalled the way her breasts lay firm. I closed my eyes and wiped my forehead. Then I shifted the receiver to my other ear.

  What kind of an invitation was it? I was convinced that she had realized I was in that room during her meditation. Was she taunting me? Did she think I would refuse, be too embarrassed? Miriam’s voice broke my train of thought.

  “Michael, you’re interested in meditation?”

  “Well, I was just curious and—”

  “No, no, that’s fine. I’m happy about it. It can only do you good.”

  “Mrs. Randolph?”

  “She had to go upstairs to Lillian. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, dear,” I said. I didn’t hang up as soon as she did. I stood there holding the receiver, listening to the dial tone. Pin the Tail on the Donkey, I thought. Along with the crepe paper, I wrote it down on a note pad by my window so I wouldn’t forget it again. I didn’t realize Charley Tooey was standing right behind me. He read what I had written.

  “I remember that game,” he said. I folded the paper quickly and put it in my jacket pocket. Then I smiled at him. “What are you going to do with that?” he asked softly, a look of sincere curiosity on his face.

  “It’s the answer to a question on one of Miriam’s crossword puzzles. I just figured it out for her.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I remember she was good at them. Still doing them religiously, huh?”

  “What else is there for her?” I asked him with a great deal more anger than he expected. He simply nodded.

  “Listen,” he said. “I was talking with my wife the other day, and we both thought we might take a ride up to see you people one day or night. Alice feels bad we never did. What’dya think, Michael? Would that be all right or—”