The Good Life Page 32

  When they walked into the living room, Ann was on the couch. An almost-empty wineglass was sitting on the table beside her. “Well, here they are,” she said, “the party poopers.”

  “I am pooped,” said Paula, in a loud voice. “That sun was brutal today. Anyone mind if I go up?”

  “I’m with you,” said Jesse, feigning a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Me too,” said Sally.

  They all looked at Ann. “Good night,” said Jesse. “It’s been a great day. Thank you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Ann, her words slow and weighted with wine. “The three of you are going to bed?”

  “I’m whipped,” said Paula. “A little aloe for my sunburn and I’ll be in dreamland in fifteen minutes.”

  “Sally?” asked Ann. “You won’t stay up and talk with me?”

  Sally hesitated. She looked at Jesse. “Come upstairs,” Sally said. “We can talk for a few minutes before bed.”

  “I’ll come upstairs when I’m ready to come upstairs,” said Ann. “So, don’t wait up.”

  Jesse headed for the stairs, followed by Paula, and, reluctantly, Sally. Ann called after them, “Next time, I’ll invite some adult friends, not schoolchildren.”

  “Let it go,” Jesse whispered to the others.

  When they were gone, Ann got off the couch. She reached for her wineglass, but bumped it instead, sending it flying off the table and onto the straw rug, where it spun several times before rolling under the dining table. “Thank God for plastic,” said Ann aloud. She got down on her hands and knees and ducked under the table to get the glass. She would have just one more before joining the losers upstairs. She grabbed it by the stem, then—forgetting she was underneath the table—raised up her back and head, smacking it against the glass top. “Shit!” she said, ducking again, and then backing out into open space. She crawled to the couch, put her head back onto a seat cushion, and closed her eyes. And she slept in that position for an hour, when Jesse came back down the stairs and helped her friend into bed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Eileen made a big breakfast that Saturday. She had agreed to accommodate Nate, who asked to sleep in, as well as Mike, who wanted to take a long run outside, and serve the meal at eleven o’clock. Preparations, however, began at nine, when Eileen walked up the path to the big house and made a pot of green tea, Lauren’s favorite. Lauren, who had begun to appear earlier and earlier on weekend mornings, came down at nine thirty, ready to help. Eileen handed her a mug of tea, then put her to work making waffle batter while she fried the sausages. Still wearing his pajamas, miraculously dry, under his overcoat, Sam ambled into Ann’s kitchen through the back door and—after saluting Eileen—reported that Selma was taking a shower and would arrive on time. He then sat down in the window seat and looked at the newspaper Eileen had retrieved from the front walk.

  At quarter to eleven, with the sausage, bacon, and waffles in the oven, Eileen started the scrambled eggs and Lauren cut up the cantaloupe. Everything was going according to Eileen’s schedule. She and Lauren chatted about Josh, high school gossip, and Eileen’s early married life while the eggs cooked to fluffy perfection. When they were done, Eileen scooped them onto a platter and put them into the oven along with everything else. It was just shy of eleven, when Lauren set the melon slices on the island. Breakfast would be a buffet, Eileen had decided, with everyone serving themselves and eating around the kitchen table.

  At eleven, a wet-headed Mike walked into the room, followed by Nate, who had a notable bed head and was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt wrinkled from spending the night on the floor of his room. Selma, looking squeaky clean, blew in the back door. “Something smells awesome,” said Nate, yawning. “I didn’t even need my alarm.”

  “Well, I hope you’re all hungry,” said Eileen. “We’ve got enough food for an army.”

  It was just after Lauren and Eileen had removed the warm platters from the oven and set them on the island with the melon that Sam made his remark. It was not expected, or even, seemingly, remotely possible because there was nothing that portended its arrival. “She used to love me,” he said.

  Selma looked at Sam and then at Eileen. “Sam,” Eileen said softly. “Get a plate.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like,” continued Sam, lowering the newspaper and looking at Eileen. “You don’t know what it’s like not to be loved by your own wife.”

  Red-faced, Eileen said, “Okay, everyone, let’s eat.”

  “Is it because you love someone else?” Sam asked, his voice rising.

  “Gramps,” said Lauren. “Gran loves you.”

  “It’s okay,” said Eileen, whose watery eyes told everyone in the room otherwise.

  “Are you having an affair?” asked Sam. “Go ahead and tell me. ’Fess up to it, for Christ’s sake!” Eileen looked at her husband for a moment, and then ran out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Lauren followed her.

  “You two go ahead and eat,” said Selma to Nate and Mike. “I think I’ll take Sam back to the house and fix him something there for breakfast.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” said Sam, slamming the table with his open hand.

  Mike took Nate aside. “See if you can get him down to the guesthouse,” he said. “You have a way with your grandfather, and he may just listen to you. I’m going to find your grandmother.”

  As soon as his father left the room, Nate approached Sam. “Gramps?” he said. “Can we talk somewhere? I need your advice.”

  Sam looked at his grandson. “Of course we can,” he said. “What’s on your mind, son?”

  “Let’s go to your house,” said Nate, reaching down to help his grandfather up from the window seat. “We can talk there.”

  Sam glanced over at the food on the counter. “What about breakfast?”

  Nate looked at the platter of cooling scrambled eggs, then at Selma. “Selma will put everything back in the oven,” said Nate. “We can eat in a little while.”

  Sam licked his lips. “This can’t wait?”

  “No,” said Nate. “I’d like to talk now.”

  “Very well then,” said Sam, accepting Nate’s help to stand. They walked slowly toward the back door, which Selma opened. She closed it after them, then scurried over to the oven and turned it back on. She re-covered the food with the aluminum foil tents Eileen had left on the counter, then slid the platters into the oven. When she was done, she stood next to the oven with her hands on her hips, wondering what to do next. She didn’t, particularly, want to find Eileen, who was already with Lauren and Mike. And she didn’t want to interrupt Nate and Sam. She sighed as she removed the pot holders, and then sat at Ann’s kitchen table. She picked up the newspaper Sam had discarded and started reading the front page.

  In the living room, Eileen was sobbing. Embarrassed by her emotions, but seemingly unable to stop them, Eileen told Mike and Lauren she would be okay.

  “It’s okay to cry,” said Lauren, sitting on the couch next to her grandmother and holding her hand. Mike, with his hands in his pockets, stood over his daughter and mother-in-law. For the second time that morning, he was glad Ann was somewhere else. She wouldn’t handle this scene well. The first time was just after nine o’clock, when Sharon Rosenberg, the woman who’d come on to him at the resort in San Francisco, called him. He wondered how she’d found his private cell phone number before realizing he had given it to her husband, Paul.

  “I just knew you’d answer,” she said, after purring her name and asking if he remembered her. “Powerful, attractive men always answer.”

  “How are you?” asked Mike, his groin warming.

  “I would be just perfect if I could see you,” whispered Sharon. “I’m in Detroit, with Paul on business, so I thought I’d call.”

  “What do you think of Detroit?” asked Mike, unable to think of anything else to say.

  “What do you think I think of Detroit?” asked Sharon, chuckling. “It’s dreadful.”

 
Mike laughed.

  “I hear there is a good mall, some restaurants, and a four-star hotel about an hour from here,” said Sharon. “That would be about an hour from you, too. We could meet this afternoon.”

  Oh God, thought Mike, his warm groin now tingling. He remembered her open robe in the hallway of the resort. He remembered her lovely large breasts. In an instant, he pictured her naked, on top of him, her nipples inches from his mouth. She had a wide, fleshy ass he could hold on to, so unlike Ann’s. “I can’t,” said Mike, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

  “Please,” said Sharon slowly. “I would just love to see you.”

  Mike sat up. “And I’d love to see you,” he said, meaning it. “I just can’t today.”

  “Your loss,” said Sharon flippantly. Yes, thought Mike. “I’m going to give you my number,” she said, “just in case you change your mind.” Mike wrote it down. “I always answer my phone. Day and night.”

  “Okay,” said Mike, looking at the number he had just written.

  “Call me, Michael,” said Sharon. “Any time at all.”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” said Lauren to her grandmother. “I know he doesn’t mean what he says.”

  “I know it, too,” said Eileen, blowing her nose. “I don’t know why it hurts so much.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Mike sat down in the chair across from the couch where Lauren and Eileen were sitting. It was the chair he sat in when he and Ann had drinks in the living room, and so he was comfortable. He tried to focus on the conversation at hand, on Eileen and Lauren, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Sharon. Should he call her? Should he meet her, just for a drink?

  “It hurts because you love him,” said Lauren. “And he loves you.”

  At this, Mike decided he was in the wrong place. “I’m going to check on Nate and Sam,” he said, standing. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes or so.”

  “Fine,” said Eileen, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry to be so silly about this.”

  Mike gave his mother-in-law a hug and then left the room.

  “You’re not being silly,” said Lauren. “He hurt your feelings.”

  And at that, Eileen’s tears flowed again. “I can take his physical disabilities,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the crumpled tissue. “I can take changing his sheets and helping him get dressed and, sometimes, feeding him. In many ways, it’s like having an infant again.” Eileen blew her nose with a fresh tissue from her apron pocket. “I can take anything,” she continued, “except when he insults me.” Lauren wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “When he tells me he doesn’t love me,” said Eileen, softly, “I die inside.”

  Lauren’s eyes blurred with tears. “He does love you,” she managed to say.

  “How do you know?” asked Eileen, looking at her granddaughter. “He never tells me anymore.”

  “I can see it,” said Lauren. “I can see it in his eyes.”

  On his way through the kitchen, Mike told Selma, who was still at the table reading the newspaper, that everyone would be ready to eat shortly. Selma smiled at him as he walked out the back door and returned her attention to the story she had been reading about show dogs. Mike signed her paychecks, but she would have breakfast on Eileen’s schedule.

  In the guesthouse, Mike found Sam and Nate, side by side on the couch, watching the History Channel. “Anybody hungry?” asked Mike, standing next to the couch with his hands in his pockets. Neither Nate nor Sam responded. Mike spoke louder, over the volume of the television. “I said, is anyone hungry?”

  “You said is anybody hungry,” said Nate, still looking at the images of tanks and army men on the screen.

  “Let’s go, guys,” said Mike, walking in front of them to turn the television off.

  “Dad!” protested Nate. “We’re watching something here.”

  “And your grandmother,” said Mike, standing in front of the set, “has worked all morning to prepare a breakfast that’s drying out in the oven.”

  “I’d like to watch the program,” said Sam quietly.

  “I’m not going to listen to that,” said Mike, pointing his finger at Sam. “You started this.”

  Nate got up from the couch. He turned the television back on, then told his father to go outside with him. On the way out, Nate stuffed his bare feet into his grandfather’s slippers that were lined up next to Eileen’s pair in the entranceway closet and grabbed his jacket from the hanger next to the one holding Sam’s overcoat. Outside, Nate explained to his dad how agitated Sam had been and how the television was sometimes the only thing that would get him refocused. In another ten minutes, Nate suggested, Sam would be calm enough to join them for breakfast. In fact, Nate thought, he would have forgotten the entire incident. Arms folded across his chest, Mike listened to his son talk, and then said, “I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate that you have a relationship with your grandfather. In fact, I commend you on that. But I’m a little tired of these games we have to play. I’m hungry, and I’d like to eat the meal Eileen prepared. And I don’t see why we need to wait any longer. As far as I’m concerned, he can eat with us or he can have a bowl of cereal in front of the TV.”

  “He’s part of this family,” said Nate.

  “Yes,” said Mike. “And he and your grandmother are living here temporarily by the good graces of your mother. We are doing our best to make this work. But it cannot be all one way, Nate. Nothing in life is one way.”

  “Meaning Gramps has to give back?” asked Nate.

  “Something like that,” said Mike, knowing how ridiculous that statement sounded as soon as it left his mouth.

  “He has Parkinson’s disease and dementia,” said Nate. “What kind of giveback are you looking for?”

  Mike looked, briefly, at the ground, and then back at Nate. “Look,” he said. “I don’t understand his disease. I don’t know how it works.”

  “It doesn’t work, Dad,” said Nate. “His brain doesn’t work like it should. Do you think he said those hurtful words to Gran on purpose? Sometimes he has no idea what he’s saying.”

  “I know that, Nate,” said Mike. “I just don’t know how to handle it.”

  “You can’t just handle this. It’s not like a business decision.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m good at, Nate.”

  Nate lifted both of his arms, pointing his hands at the big house. “Obviously,” he said. “And if you’re that good at business, you can certainly figure this out.”

  “To what end?” asked Mike. “What am I going to do with this information?”

  Nate turned to go back inside. With his hand on the doorknob, he said, “You will not profit from this information, Dad. There is no financial gain. But if you make an effort to understand him, you will learn other things, things that matter more.”

  Mike put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Maybe I should just leave that in your capable hands,” he said. Nate turned the doorknob and opened the door. “Can we eat soon?”

  “I’ll push him a little,” said Nate. “Gramps and I will be in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll go tell the others.” Mike waited until Nate went back inside and shut the door before he turned and walked back up the path to the back door. In the kitchen, Selma was still reading the newspaper and breakfast was still in the oven. Mike assumed Lauren and Eileen were still having a therapy session in the living room, so he went to his office, where he was needed, and sat down behind his desk. Sitting on his calendar was the phone number Sharon gave him that morning. He picked it up and looked at it. “Sharon,” he said aloud, before crumpling up the paper and throwing it away.

  It wasn’t until almost twenty minutes later that Eileen, looking both composed and apologetic, appeared in the doorway of Mike’s office. “Are you still hungry?” she asked softly.

  “Sure,” said Mike, getting up from his chair and wondering what food that had been sitting in a warming oven for almost a
n hour would taste like. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” said Eileen. “I don’t know what made me react that way.”

  “Where are the others?” asked Mike, putting his arm around Eileen’s shoulder as they walked down the hallway.

  “Lauren’s putting the finishing touches on everything,” said Eileen, “and Selma’s gone to get Sam and Nate.”

  In the kitchen, Lauren was setting tall glasses of orange juice on the table. Mike sat down and drank his immediately. “Well, everything looks pretty good,” said Eileen, surveying the food Lauren had arranged on the island. “It would have been much better when it was fresh.”

  “At this point,” said Lauren, “I’d eat the foil.” Mike smiled, realizing again that his daughter could be funny.

  Moments later, Selma, Nate, and Sam walked into the kitchen through the back door. “Something smells good,” said Selma, taking off her coat.

  “You’re kind,” said Eileen. “Sit down—everyone. I’m going to bring the food to you.”

  Mike looked at Nate, who winked at his dad. Lauren chatted with Selma, and Nate resumed his conversation with Sam while Eileen went back and forth between the table and the counter with plates of food. Mike sat silent, with his hands across his chest, until he was served. “This looks wonderful,” he said to Eileen, putting his napkin in his lap and lifting his fork. He had already eaten his first bite of scrambled eggs when he realized no one else was eating. He put his fork down on his plate.

  Eileen served herself, then sat down next to him. She bowed her head and said aloud, “Thank You, Father, for this food we are about to receive. In Jesus’ name, amen.” She then cut a piece of sausage and put it in her mouth. Only then did Nate, Lauren, Selma—even Sam—begin eating.

  “This is absolutely delicious, Lauren,” said Selma.

  “Thanks,” said Lauren. “Gran did most of it. I was just her helper.”

  “With helpers like you, I read the entire morning paper,” said Eileen, smiling at her granddaughter.