The Good Life Page 6

  “He’s not as bad as he appears,” said Eileen, removing her sweater and then tucking the hem of her floral traveling dress underneath her before she sat.

  “That’s good,” said Ann, “because he appears to be pretty bad.”

  “Well, you’re right,” said Eileen, cradling her hands in her lap. “He doesn’t think like you and I think. He forgets what he’s doing in the middle of a task. He loses everything, mostly because he puts things down in illogical places and then can’t find them later. He spends some days walking around the house in circles, looking for this or that. But he’s docile and, except for his hallucinations, relatively content.”

  “Tell me more about his hallucinations,” said Ann.

  “Well,” said Eileen, “as I said, most of the time they’re people, somewhat troll-like in nature from what he has told me. He thinks they’re spying on him. It’s paranoia gone haywire, really. The doctor recently altered his medication, though, so things should change for the better.”

  “I hope so,” said Ann, glancing out the window behind her mother.

  “I’d love some tea,” said Eileen. “Selma and I looked in the cupboards, but we didn’t see any.”

  “I’ll have her pick some up at the store.”

  “That sounds good,” said Eileen. “Do you have any tea here?”

  “Of course I do,” said Ann.

  “I’d love a cup.”

  “Now?”

  “Lovely,” said Eileen. “If you have the time. I know you have things to take care of this afternoon.”

  Ann retucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ve got time for a cup of tea,” she said. She lifted herself out of the chair and walked slowly to the stove for the teakettle. She filled it with water, ignited the gas burner, and then set the kettle back down to boil. “So,” she asked, returning to the table, “where does he see these people?”

  “Outside, mostly,” said Eileen. “They sit in trees or in parked cars. Sometimes they wave or take notes.”

  “Good God,” said Ann, closing her eyes.

  Eileen reached across the space between them and touched Ann’s hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes his hallucinations are good. Sometimes he sees children.”

  “You should have told me,” said Ann earnestly.

  Eileen’s smile was tired. “He’ll be okay,” she said. “With all of us looking after him, he’ll be okay.”

  Ann looked into her mother’s blue eyes. She wanted to see behind them, to know what enabled her to care for such a sick man. What would Ann do if Mike got sick? What would he do if she got sick? The water boiled. Ann removed the kettle from the burner and extinguished the flame. Then she walked into the dining room to retrieve the china teapot she kept in one of the corner cupboards. She returned to the kitchen and rinsed out the dust with hot soapy water. No leaks. She poured in the water from the kettle, dropped in two tea bags, and then watched the liquid turn brown. Eileen studied her from the table. “Do you still drink tea?” she asked her daughter.

  “No,” said Ann. “I drink coffee.”

  “You used to drink it. Remember?” said Eileen. “You and I had it every afternoon, in the wintertime, when we were preparing dinner.”

  “Tea and cookies,” said Ann, bringing the pot to the table. “I’d forgotten.” Ann went back to the china cupboard in the dining room for two cups and saucers. She rinsed them in the sink and then brought them to the table. She sat and again looked out the window at the guesthouse.

  “You changed the color of the walls in here,” said Eileen, breaking the silence.

  Ann looked back at her mother. “That’s right,” said Ann, pouring out the tea. “You haven’t seen the house since it was just done, have you? We’ve made a lot of changes.”

  “Let’s enjoy our tea,” said Eileen, “and then I’d love a tour.”

  Ann gave her mother a tour that included almost everything: the home gym, spa, and game room on the lower level; the living room and dining room, Mike’s study, and the family room on the main level; and the master bedroom suite, guest bedrooms, and two of the other four bathrooms on the second story. She avoided Lauren’s and Nate’s rooms and their bathrooms because she knew what condition they were in. As a child, Ann had been expected to keep her room tidy. “Well,” said Eileen, as they walked back into the kitchen from the hallway. “You certainly do have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you,” said Ann. “We’re proud of it.”

  “Yes,” said Eileen. “I can see that.”

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in the guesthouse,” said Ann.

  “How could we not be comfortable?”

  “It’s a bit small,” said Ann, “for a prolonged stay. It’s meant to be a weekend retreat.”

  “It’s perfect,” said Eileen. “Your father and I don’t require much.”

  Ann’s cell phone, sitting on the kitchen counter, rang Mike’s tune. “I’ve got to get this,” she said, already reaching for it.

  “Thanks for the tea and the tour,” said Eileen, grabbing her sweater from the chair before slipping out the back door. “We’ll talk more later.”

  Mike had just five minutes for Ann. He was in a financial status meeting, his third that day. Knowing she shouldn’t burden him, but unable to stop herself, Ann poured out her woes, fears, and concerns in sixty seconds. Mike listened to his wife while he thought about what the latest numbers would do to their annual target. When she was done, he assured her everything would be okay. He had to get back to the meeting, but he would come home after that, certainly in time for dinner. He suggested she call Nate and Lauren to ensure their presence at the table. It would be their first night as an extended family.

  Nate answered his cell phone, even though he knew it was his mother. He was sitting at Burger King with his best friend, Josh Petersen, having a late lunch in lieu of physics class. He balked when she told him to be home early for dinner; he had already made plans to go to the library with his girlfriend, Jenny Garr, to watch her study. Ann told him to be home by six o’clock, if he knew what was good for him. Nate told his mother she had no idea what was and what wasn’t good for him, but he would consider her request. After he hung up, he called Jenny. She told him under no circumstances should he go to the library. She could study better without him, and grandparents, she said, were important. After he hung up the phone, Nate took a sip of his chocolate shake and announced that women were sentimental idiots.

  Lauren called her mother back when she got out of chemistry. She promised to be home by six. She did, however, have a lot of homework that night and would not be able to stay at the dinner table long. Lauren hesitated just a moment before beefing up the fib, telling her mother that she had three tests the next day. Ann told her dinner would last thirty minutes, tops. From her brief visit that morning, Ann couldn’t imagine her father lasting more time than that.

  Emma Lindholm, Ann’s stout housekeeper, walked into the kitchen just as Ann was finishing her conversation with Lauren. Emma reported that the quail, wild rice, and spinach salad would be ready whenever Ann needed them. White wine would be served with dinner and pecan pie afterward. Feeling on top of things again, Ann gave Emma a rare pat on her substantial shoulder, then left the room. She would call Sally back from her speakerphone in the basement while she rode her Lifecycle.

  Just before six, Mike walked through the garage door into the kitchen, carrying his briefcase, with Lauren, backpack on one shoulder, who had been driven home by a friend. Ann gave them both quick kisses and told them to wash their hands for dinner, which would be ready in five minutes. They both walked out—Lauren to dump her stuff upstairs and Mike to turn on his home computer—just before Eileen, trailed by Sam, walked in the back door. “Doesn’t something smell delicious,” said Eileen, peeling off her camel-hair overcoat to reveal a pressed white blouse and a string of pearls paired with a pair of plaid wool slacks. She helped Sam out of his coat and then steered him to a window seat cushion, onto which he slowl
y lowered himself.

  “Yes,” said Ann, giddy with the evening’s early successes. “Our Emma has outdone herself, once again.” Emma, who was putting the finishing touches on the salad, turned from her task and smiled.

  “Hello, Emma,” said Eileen, walking toward her and extending her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” said Emma, wiping her hands on her apron before taking Eileen’s hand and shaking it once. The women, about the same age, took one another in with swift glances—checking for color in the face and eyes, stooped posture, or swollen ankles—quickly calculating physical strength and mental acuity. “It’s good to have you here. I’ve always liked cooking for a crowd.”

  “Oh, did you make our dinner?” asked Eileen, kidding her.

  “I’m happy for the opportunity,” said Emma, returning her attention and hands to the salad. Her knuckles, Eileen noticed, were plagued with osteoarthritis. Emma had stopped trying to hide this deformity, as her fingers were involved, and therefore visible, in every task she performed, from finely mincing scallions to guiding a dust cloth around the curves and corners of Ann’s furniture.

  “And I’m happy, too,” said Ann. “All I can do well in the kitchen is boil water.”

  “That’s not true,” said Eileen. “You used to be quite a good cook.”

  “That,” said Ann, taking a sip from her half-empty glass of wine, “was a long time ago.”

  “I’d like to say something,” said Sam abruptly from across the room. Eileen and Ann turned to look at him. For a moment, Ann had forgotten he was there. “This is a lovely place we’re staying in.”

  “Yes,” said Eileen, going to him and patting his back. “We’re lucky to be here.”

  “Hi, Gran,” said Lauren, twirling a strand of her black hair around her index finger in the kitchen doorway.

  “Lauren!” said Eileen, leaving Sam and crossing the kitchen to hug her granddaughter. “How nice to see you, dear. Did you have a good day?”

  “I did,” said Lauren. “How was your trip here?”

  “Fine,” said Eileen. “You’re sweet to ask. Come say hello to your grandfather.” Lauren walked with Eileen to the window, where Sam was still sitting, looking up at them. “Sam, you remember Lauren, your granddaughter.” Sam looked at Lauren blankly.

  “It’s your granddaughter, Lauren,” Eileen said again.

  “Well, so it is,” said Sam, struggling to get up as he extended his hand. “Hello, Lauren.”

  “Don’t get up, dear,” said Eileen. “It’s okay.”

  Lauren took his dry hand and gave it a gentle shake. As soon as he let go, she stepped backward and then quickly turned to face her mother. “Where’s Nate?” she asked.

  “Late,” said Ann, looking at her watch. “We’re eating in five minutes.”

  “Well,” said Mike, walking into the kitchen. “I hear we have company.”

  “Hello, Mike,” said Eileen, smiling at her son-in-law. “You look younger every time I see you.”

  “It’s your daughter,” said Mike, giving Eileen a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “She keeps me young.”

  “I’ll bet she keeps you hopping,” said Eileen.

  “That, too,” said Mike, turning to look at his father-in-law. “Hello, Sam.”

  “Hello, young fellow,” said Sam, brightly. “Thanks for having us to the party.”

  “You can come to our parties anytime,” said Mike, taking Sam’s hand and shaking it. “How was your trip out?”

  “Excellent,” said Sam. “The food was delicious.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Mike. “Let’s move into the dining room because I know we’ve got more delicious food coming.”

  “Nate’s not here yet,” said Ann.

  “Then Nate will join us when he arrives,” said Mike, escorting his mother-in-law into the dining room. When she was seated, Mike walked back into the kitchen to get Sam. Helping him out of the chair was like lifting a 180-pound bag of sand instead of a man with moving parts.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sam when his feet were planted on the Mexican tile floor.

  “Into our dining room for dinner,” said Mike, steering him toward the doorway. Sam scuffed along slowly like a windup toy, shifting his bulk from one side to the other and lifting his feet only enough to move them forward. Out of habit, Mike looked at his watch, which he immediately regretted.

  “Will we be late for our appointment?” asked Sam.

  “We’re doing fine,” said Mike, ushering him through the doorway and toward the side chair next to Lauren.

  “He does better in a chair with arms,” said Eileen.

  “Mike sits at the head of the table,” said Ann.

  “That’s all right,” said Mike. “Sam is our guest. I’m happy to give him my seat.” As soon as Sam was planted in Mike’s chair, Mike sat down next to him and across the table from Eileen. Mike suggested a blessing and they all bowed their heads, except Sam, who said he’d love some dressing. Mike said a quick grace, then put his napkin in his lap. On cue, Emma entered the room, her orthotic shoes silent on the carpet. Carrying a bottle of chardonnay, she poured half a glass for everyone. Ann’s she filled; Lauren’s she excluded.

  “When can I have some wine?” Lauren asked.

  “When you stop whining about it,” said Mike.

  “Very funny, Dad.”

  Emma brought in her spinach salad with hot bacon dressing on individual plates, as Ann requested. Ann preferred being served to scooping the contents of a family-style bowl onto her dinner plate. As soon as they all had salads in front of them, Ann lifted her fork. “Let the feast begin,” she said gaily.

  “Oh,” said Eileen, pushing her chair back from the table. “I almost forgot your bib, Sam.” She reached into the pocket of his gray cardigan sweater and took out and unfolded a white cloth and plastic bib big enough to fit a baby elephant. She placed it on his chest, and then wrapped the ends around his neck and snapped them together. As soon as it was in place, a glob of Emma’s dressing dripped out of the corner of Sam’s mouth and landed on his unprotected lap. Lauren involuntarily shuddered. “Obviously, it’s not a foolproof system,” said Eileen, apologetically.

  “That’s okay,” said Mike, moving his eyes from Sam to Eileen. She chatted about the drive as the rest of them ate their salads. Lauren, who had lost her appetite when her grandfather had spit-tled out his salad dressing, drank water slowly from her glass as she stole glances at him. He was barely able to manage his fork, once stabbing his lip with the tines and making it bleed. Eileen reached over and wiped away the tiny dots of blood with one hand while she ate her salad with the other.

  “This is delicious,” she said. “I can tell Sam is enjoying it, as well.” No one looked at Sam, perhaps all fearing that, by now, his bib would be covered with masticated Bermuda onion and avocado. Lauren, who couldn’t get the image of giant cartoon character Baby Huey out of her head, unsuccessfully stifled a giggle. Ann reached under the table and squeezed her knee. Mike simply shot her a stern look. As soon as they were done with the salad, Emma cleared the plates. Ann excused herself from the table when she saw Nate steal past the doorway. She caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “To my room,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t care whether you’re hungry or not,” whispered Ann urgently. “You will wash your hands and come into the dining room. There, you will be as civil as a diplomat to your grandparents and then you will join us for dinner.”

  “I’d love to,” said Nate, sarcastically, “but I’ve got a ton of homework.”

  Ann put her hands on her hips and grinned falsely at him. “That is the most ludicrous thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” she said. “You’ve got one minute to get in that dining room, if you know what’s good for you.” The moment those final few words left her mouth, both she and Nate knew they were false. She had said them too often; they had
no meaning. And Ann knew that Nate actually did know what was good for him. He didn’t seek trouble. Sure, his room was always a mess, and his homework was done poorly, and his disrespectful attitude was tedious. But he was not driving his car when drunk. He was not doing drugs—at least Ann had found nothing in her periodic jacket and pants pocket searches. Ann and Mike had never been frantic in the night, seconds away from calling the police because he was not home and might be in danger. Other mothers worried about that. Instead, Ann worried about the distance between them. When he had pulled away, farther away than he had already been, Ann had done nothing to bring him back. It was as if they were attached by a large rubber band, stretched to the point of breaking.

  “But you always tell me that I don’t know what’s good for me,” said Nate, jerking his head to shift his bangs.

  “In this case I think you do,” said Ann, turning her back to him. She returned to the dining room just as Emma was putting a dinner plate in front of her seat.

  “Nate will be joining us shortly,” Ann said to Emma. “You can just put the salad on his dinner plate.” Emma nodded her head, then returned to the kitchen.

  “Nate’s home?” asked Eileen. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He’s just washing up,” said Ann, sitting. “Apparently, his after-school plans took longer than he realized.” They all returned to their dinners. Sam coughed, launching several rice grains into the air like miniature artillery fire. They landed, six of them, on Ann’s white tablecloth. No one said anything. Nate walked into the room looking bored already. He hesitated a moment, and then sat down next to his grandmother in the only empty chair.

  “Hello, Nate,” said Eileen, reaching over to hug him. “You’ve grown since last Christmas.”

  “Hi, Gran,” said Nate, arms at his sides.

  “I need a hug, young man.”

  Instantly reddening, Nate lifted his arms and draped them loosely around his grandmother’s rounded back. He lifted his eyes to meet his father’s. Mike winked. As soon as she let him go, Nate pulled away. He glanced at his grandfather, whose bib was newly spotted with rice grains and gravy, then shifted his gaze downward. “Hi, Gramps,” said Nate to his salad. Sam said nothing.