All the Single Ladies

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “She says she doesn’t remember,” Carrie said.

  “This stuff scares the hell out of me,” Suzanne said.

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s not easy to find anyone on the floor, much less someone you love.”

  “I told Suzanne I think Miss Trudie needs someone to be with her, Lisa. What do you think?”

  “Well, in-­home care adds up very quickly,” I said. “And from what I know of her, I don’t think she’d be very happy to have a sitter following her around all the time. Does she check her blood pressure at home?”

  “Never. You’re probably right about a sitter. But there must be something I can do to see that she’s safe and happy,” Suzanne said.

  Then I had an idea.

  “Listen, Suzanne, why don’t you come and talk to Dr. Black, Harry Black at Palmetto House. This guy is an encyclopedia on eldercare. There is not one possible family issue or situation he hasn’t dealt with. I know he would give you some good advice.”

  Carrie said, “It’s worth a shot.”

  “Maybe,” Suzanne said. “I’ll think about it. I know she really needs to be in assisted living or have an aid. But you’re right, Lisa. She has too much pride. She’d never agree to either one.”

  “Probably not, especially if the idea came from a family member,” I said, “but she might listen to someone like Harry Black.”

  “Do you think it’s okay to just call him, out of the blue?”

  “I’ll tell him to expect your call. How’s that?”

  The next morning at work I put my head into Dr. Black’s office.

  “Do you have a moment?” I asked.

  I gave him the story on Miss Trudie and Suzanne and he said in a highly animated voice I hadn’t heard come from him in ages, “Are you talking about that little raven-­headed spitfire with the donuts?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell her my door is open. Anytime.”

  “Thanks!”

  If I didn’t know that Harry Black had sworn off love years ago, I would’ve said that he was attracted to Suzanne. Nah. Not him. He was a living heart donor. A great doctor, mind you, but freezing cold. I sent Suzanne a text and told her to call Dr. Black and gave her his direct number.

  She must have called right away because around lunchtime I caught a glimpse of her heading down the hall toward his office. I had my hands full, so I couldn’t stop and call out to her, but I figured I’d catch up with her when I was finished administering meds and checking on our patients’ well-­being.

  As it turned out, we nearly ran over each other at the nurses’ station.

  “Hey!” Suzanne said. “I was just coming to see you.”

  “And I was just going to Dr. Black’s office to see if we had a hostage situation. How long did he keep you in there?”

  “Well, he brought in sandwiches, which was very nice. Can you walk with me to my car?”

  “Of course!” I turned to Margaret, who was there reading charts, and said, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “I imagine we can hold the place together,” she said, deadpan as always.

  Suzanne and I walked quietly until we reached the front doors.

  “I have a secret,” she said.

  “We all have them,” I said. “What are you not telling me?”

  “I have a date with Harry Black. He asked me out to dinner and I accidentally said yes. Is that terrible? What am I going to do now?”

  “No kidding!”

  “He wants to take me to the Peninsula Grill this Saturday night. I said yes but I could cancel it.”

  “Why? Go! Let him take you out to dinner, for heaven’s sake. What’s the harm?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had a date in ten years. I wouldn’t know the first thing to say.”

  “Well, you just spent an hour and a half with him, so apparently there’s something to talk about!” I started laughing.

  “Wow! Was it an hour and a half?”

  “Yeah, it was. Was he helpful about Miss Trudie?”

  “Gosh, yes! He was supersensitive and caring—­”

  “Are we talking about Harry Black?” I could hardly believe . . . I mean, I had never heard a single soul describe Harry Black as sensitive or a good listener.

  “Yeah, why? He’s not sensitive?”

  “You know what? I don’t know! I mean, I think the work we do around here can desensitize anyone. This is just . . . well, a side of him I’ve never seen. He must really like you, Suzanne.”

  Suzanne blushed deeply.

  “Good Lord,” she said.

  Later, when I returned from work, Suzanne, Carrie, and Miss Trudie were all sitting around the kitchen table. The room was dead quiet, except for the whirring of the overhead fan. Something was wrong. But if something was wrong, why were they all shaking their heads and smiling?

  “Okay,” I said. “Who did what to who?”

  “Do you mean to whom?” Miss Trudie said.

  Suzanne said, “How about we got another bill from Green Carolina and I just got off the phone with the owner. I called him and told him the whole story about Wendy and Kathy and he was steaming mad. You want to hear what he said?”

  “There’s just no telling,” I said.

  Carrie blurted out, “He’s going over there tonight after midnight and pulling all the boxwoods and azaleas right out of the ground. I love him.”

  “Who’s telling this story, madam?” Suzanne said. “And you can’t love him. His name is Howard.”

  “Sorry,” Carrie said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Can you believe it?” Suzanne said.

  “Yes, but how weird! I had the same thought a few weeks ago when the first bill came in. Does he want help?” I said.

  “I’d even pitch in for that one,” Miss Trudie said.

  “We can dress like ninjas,” Carrie said. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “Now you’ve really lost it,” Suzanne said.

  “Hopefully, this is the last you hear from Wendy,” I said. “But you know it won’t be.”

  “I smell real trouble,” Carrie said.

  “Remember when she threatened to sue me?” Suzanne said.

  Miss Trudie spoke up. “That woman’s full of some bodacious bull.”

  “Same thing as bull dukey,” Carrie said.

  “Yes,” Miss Trudie said. “Except worse.”

  Chapter 13

  Labor Day Approaches

  Every other day there seemed to be some new speculations about tropical depressions that were going to ruin Labor Day weekend, which was still two weeks away. No, they wouldn’t. Everyone with a brain in their head had a Plan B in place. But familiar with the tumultuous climate as I was, it was still remarkable to live through and witness the sudden changes in the ocean, the temperature, and the air. It was such a grand departure from the norm that it defied memory. The ocean sprang to life in crazy ways, twisting with choppy eddies, slapping itself with relentless whitecaps in the harbor, and on the horizon there were dozens of swirling water spouts. Swimming would be ill advised.

  The good news about impending hurricanes was that they cooled the air. It was drizzling, small-­craft warnings were in effect, and the skies looked ominous. It wasn’t pretty but it was cooler. As you know, in the Lowcountry, the weather has a spectacular range like any other diva. Lowcountry natives are born with internal barometers. We feel changing weather in our bones.

  Nonetheless, Suzanne, Carrie, and I decided to walk the beach Friday morning. We crossed the dunes with my dog in tow, but in one glance we knew the beach was too wild. Only a few ­people were out there, a ­couple of stalwart surfers and two determined joggers. The sand was running with the brisk wind, leaving wavy scars across the beach, and even from where we stood, it stung our ankles like thousands of tiny needles. Pi
ckle had no desire to play. She stood on her hind legs leaning against my knees, squinting up at me. I picked her up so the sand wouldn’t hurt her eyes or go up her nose.

  “I think it’s not a beach day for my pup,” I said.

  “And for me either,” Carrie said. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Let’s go get some breakfast,” I said. “This lemon ain’t worth the squeeze.”

  “Pancakes,” Suzanne said. “Must have pancakes.”

  “Uh-­oh,” Carrie said as we hurried to get back to the house. “Somebody has anxiety! Is this date-­related?”

  “Well, hell yes, it is! Like, what am I supposed to wear?” Suzanne said. “Maybe the wind will pick up and they’ll close the bridges.”

  I started to laugh. The weather was foul but it wasn’t nearly bad enough to close anything. Although, I was pretty sure no one was playing golf or tennis or going out in their boat this day or the next. And parasailing was probably a bad idea too.

  “You’ll see,” Carrie said. “Dating is just like riding a bike. You never forget. I should know.”

  “You sure should,” Suzanne said, and giggled.

  “Wear your navy linen dress,” I said. “It looks great on you.”

  “You think?” Suzanne asked.

  Carrie said, “I’ll lend you my tan straw woven clutch. It would be perfect with that dress. And I have a great necklace you can wear.”

  “Make sure you have on good underwear,” I said, and they stared at me, surprised that I might think that Suzanne would even consider diving into the sheets with Harry Black on their first date. “What? What if you get in a, heaven forbid, car wreck? Why are y’all looking at me like that?”

  Suzanne shook her head and Carrie snickered.

  “I need coffee,” Suzanne said as a way of changing the subject.

  “Yeah, and a new push-­up bra,” Carrie said.

  We burst out laughing and hurried back to the house, heading straight for the kitchen, where Miss Trudie sat at the table sipping coffee and reading something in her large-­print copy of Reader’s Digest.

  “Could’ve told you this was not a good day for the beach,” she said. “My knees woke me up.”

  Miss Trudie had joint pain. I wondered what she took for it.

  “G’morning! It’s not a beach day. That’s for sure,” I said, and opened the pantry closet. “Okay, pancakes. Now, where do y’all hide the Bisquick?”

  “Bisquick?” Suzanne said. “I don’t think we have any.”

  “Suzanne? Even I know you can’t call yourself southern if you don’t have Bisquick in the pantry,” Carrie said.

  “In this house I cook from scratch,” Miss Trudie said. “You girls want pancakes? Get me the canister of flour, Lisa. I’ll have a batter made in five minutes.” She got up and took milk, eggs, butter, and maple syrup from the refrigerator and put them on the counter. She was amazingly spry for her age.

  “Carrie? Make yourself useful and give me a big bowl from the cabinet,” Miss Trudie said. “Bisquick indeed. I need the canola oil too, hon.”

  “Maybe I’ll fry a pan of bacon,” Suzanne offered. “Y’all want bacon?”

  “Are you kidding? I always want bacon. I’ll set the table,” I said.

  “Well, I’m going to soft boil an egg for myself,” Carrie said. “I’ve finally lost enough weight so that my leggings don’t give me reflux anymore.”

  “You’re the only person I know who would accuse her exercise clothes of such a thing,” Suzanne said.

  “Well, it’s true,” Carrie said.

  We had breakfast and began what I thought would be an unremarkable day. After we ate, I washed the dishes as the others went on to what they had lined up for themselves. That was becoming the routine and it suited me fine. They cooked, which was always a time-­consuming, messy process. Occasionally, I got out my juicer and made juice for everyone. But it was one thing to make a batch for one person—fresh juice for four turned the kitchen into a war zone. So they cooked and I washed the dishes, which was over in a flash, or so it seemed to me.

  One of the nice things about dish duty was that there was a window over the sink. Outside, little Carolina wrens sang and hopped from one branch to another in a crepe myrtle tree. The birds were sweet to watch and they lifted my mind to a contemplative state once everyone had left the room. For some reason, Kathy Harper was on my mind that morning, almost as though she was nudging me. I knew, for some inexplicable reason, that the only way I would get the nudging to stop was to get to the bottom of her story. Who was she really? And what had been her true purpose in this world? And what had her life meant?

  After I wiped down the stove, I went to my room to dress for work. The tower of Kathy’s boxes was staring at me in the face, taunting me.

  “Okay! I surrender!” I said to the thin air.

  I decided I would go through some of Kathy’s things that afternoon when I got home. Either that or live with a high-­rise of cardboard where Palmetto bugs (cockroaches) would eventually make their home. I don’t know why bugs love cardboard but they do.

  There was a rapping on my bedroom door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “You decent?”

  It was Suzanne.

  “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

  She entered the room and sat on the end of the bed.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, when I was talking to Harry, he mentioned to me that he was going to be cutting back your hours.”

  “Are you kidding me? Oh God!” I dropped to the hassock that stood in front of the armchair. “I can barely make ends meet now!”

  “I know. But that Green House Project is eating his budget alive.”

  “So Paul’s going to be earning my salary instead of me?”

  “In a roundabout way, I guess that’s sort of true.”

  “Well, that really, really stinks.”

  “I agree. Remember, we’re basically all in the same boat. Anyway, I was thinking that instead of you trying to rent an apartment, why don’t we swap some eldercare for rent?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. Look, you said yourself that if I brought in someone to look after Miss Trudie that she’d throw them right out on their ear, and I think you’re right. She already likes you. This is a no-­brainer.”

  “Yeah, but she needs someone all the time, Suzanne. I can’t be with her all the time.”

  “I realize that. You’ve got an architect coming around here with high hopes, parents in Hilton Head who presumably like to see you once in a while, and a daughter and stuff going on, like the job you have. No, I get it. I was just thinking, though . . . here, look at this. I did the math.”

  She showed me a piece of paper with a rate multiplied by hours that would bring my workload up to thirty-­eight hours per month. I’d still be trading hours for rent at a rate I’d never find in the marketplace. It was the deal of the century.

  “Carrie and I can work our big important social lives around yours so that there’s almost always someone here. On those occasions when Miss Trudie has to be alone, I’m going to strongly suggest that she wear a personal alarm device.”

  “What if she won’t?”

  “Then I don’t know. But I can’t keep worrying about her like this.”

  “Listen, Suzanne, I’m happy . . . no, I’m thrilled to offer my time in exchange for a place to stay, but you know this still isn’t going to fully protect her. You can’t ever fully protect anyone.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you could keep her meds straight. I mean, that is the toughest one for me. She hates the intrusion. Anyway, I just want to be able to say that I did my best. Can you help me get one of those alarms?”

  “I can bring you some examples this aftern
oon,” I said. “And Suzanne?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No, thank you! Like I said, we’re all in the same boat. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Yep. Have a great day.”

  I wondered why she didn’t ask her sisters for help with a full-­time person. But maybe they didn’t have control over their family’s money. It had sounded like that when she talked about them some time ago. Maybe asking for money might start trouble between her sisters and their husbands. That was probably the reason. Suzanne didn’t want to start trouble. They all stood to inherit the house, but they couldn’t finesse the care of their benefactress. How stupid. I told myself for the thousandth time that I’d never give control of my finances to another person. I might not have had much, but what I had was mine.

  I looked at the box of Kathy’s ashes that was on the floor next to the chest of drawers and I sighed hard. Is this all there is?

  I decided then that before I went to work I was going to compose a text to Marianne, and I did. If my daughter never spoke to me again it would be her choice. I was not going to give up on her. She was my child.

  Marianne, I wrote, my heart is so heavy with sadness from not hearing from you. I can hardly bear it. Whatever differences we may have doesn’t change the fact that I’m still your mother and I love you with all my heart. Please take a moment to let me know you are all right.

  I looked at my words for a few moments and thought well, it was my heart reaching out for hers. If this didn’t work, I’d do it again and again until I could find the right words to unlock her anger. I hit the send button.

  I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and went upstairs to check on Miss Trudie and my dog before I went to work. The door to her sitting room was open.

  “Miss Trudie?”

  She came into the room from her bedroom. Pickle was right behind her.

  “Oh! I thought you’d left for work!”

  “Well, I’m leaving now, but I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go.”

  She smiled at me.

  “No, sweetheart, you go have yourself a good day. If I need anything I’ll call you.”