“All is well. Did you play mah-jongg this week? Or bridge?”
Blanche immediately launched into some of the same stories she told regularly. Her friend Joyce was having trouble with her son; he was threatening to take over her finances because she’d made a few small mistakes in her budget. She was certain that Karen was stealing food again; she thought that mean old woman stole everyone’s food, and since none of them locked their doors and all of them slept like the dead, it was easy enough to do. “The ambulance came for Mr. Wilson, took him away, and he’s been gone a long time. I don’t think he’s coming back.” And Clarice was flirting with all the men. “She’s disgusting,” Blanche added. “What that wrinkled old woman wants with a man at this late date, I’ll never know.”
They chatted for about an hour, and Anna made them a pot of tea; Blanche couldn’t have coffee or soft drinks anymore. Anna heard all the latest on the assisted living population and then began to make her way out. She kissed her mother’s cheek again and Blanche said, “If you have time this week, will you check on Mrs. Rothage? I worry about her. I think she’s very lonely.”
It brought Anna up short. When Blanche had her own little house in Oakland, Mrs. Rothage was her neighbor. It had been years since Mrs. Rothage went to the nursing home. She had been dead for three years. But she said, “Sure. I’ll let you know.”
It broke her heart. Blanche was declining. She would not have to report back on Blanche’s former next-door neighbor; Blanche would probably forget.
Anna’s life suddenly flashed before her eyes. Wife, mother, widow and then she would become her mother. She had a sudden and desperate yearning to make the next years count.
Then she remembered that’s what Chad had been talking about. Except he had never once said he’d like to live to the fullest with her.
FOUR
Anna had a great deal to get accomplished on her errand day. Before visiting with her mother she stopped by the dry cleaner, the watch repair, the hairdresser and the nail salon. After seeing Blanche she went by the grocery store and made a quick trip to Target for odds and ends for the house. When she turned down her street she saw Mike’s big SUV parked in front of her house. The garage door was open and her big trash cans were sitting on the driveway.
He was cleaning out the garage.
She pulled into the driveway and got out. “Mike, what are you doing?” she called out to him.
He leaned the broom against the wall. “When I was here last week I noticed the garage probably hadn’t been cleaned up in a while.”
“Like a year,” she said with a laugh. She grabbed her dry cleaning. “I should’ve called someone. I have help, you know. It’s just a matter of getting it on the schedule. Bob Stone said to call him with anything I need. I did manage to get the landscaper to clean up the yard and flower beds and gutters.”
“How’s the pool look?” he asked, joining her at the car and helping himself to grocery bags.
“I’ll get the pool cleaner to drain and acid-wash it, but it’s not in bad shape. Not really. But...”
“But the patio furniture is pretty dirty,” he said, toting four bags into the house. She noticed he wiped his feet before going in. When they got to the kitchen, he got busy emptying the grocery sacks. “I was planning on doing a little work in the backyard tomorrow so I’ll power-wash the patio and furniture.”
“I don’t want you to spend your whole weekend working over here,” she said.
“I’ll be done by noon tomorrow. It’s no big deal. I want to be sure everything is done. Everything Dad would’ve done.”
She chuckled to herself. Chad probably would have instructed her to hire someone to do it because he’d rather play golf. “Are you going out tonight?”
“I don’t have any plans yet, but it’s early,” he said.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? As you can see, I’ve been to the grocery store.”
He lifted a head of romaine off the counter and shook it at her with a grin. “I’ve been cleaning the garage. I’ll need protein. Or something.”
“I can put together something hearty that you’ll like. And I can rustle up a beer. No pressure. I don’t have any plans, so if you want to stay, I’ll cook. And if you don’t, that’s perfectly all right.”
“I have a couple of hours left in the garage,” he said.
“I really appreciate it, Mike. Especially you just doing it without asking.”
He ducked his head a little shyly and grabbed a bottled water to take with him to the garage.
Anna didn’t consider herself a great cook but she was certainly adequate and had managed to feed her family all the years they were growing up, even if sometimes that meant a casserole was left in the refrigerator for them to heat up.
There was spaghetti and meatballs in the freezer and one of Mike’s favorites was spaghetti casserole. She defrosted it, then added cheddar and mushrooms and black olives to the casserole. Then she showered and cleaned up the kitchen and great room. She put out place mats, napkins and utensils; they usually didn’t bother with a lot of fuss. She and Chad had eaten on TV trays for the last several years unless they had one or all of the kids join them. She found herself breathless with excitement for a couple of uninterrupted hours with her son.
When he was finally done in the garage, the casserole, along with garlic bread and a salad, using some of that romaine, was almost ready to serve. Mike went to his old room to wash up and came back wearing a clean T-shirt he’d found somewhere amid the stuff he’d left behind. Anna was so happy to see him she put her arms around him and he embraced her.
Her cheek against his firm chest felt so good. It was then that she realized how much she missed touching. This was going to be yet another adjustment she’d have to conquer, being alone now.
“You doing okay, Mom?” he asked sweetly.
“I’m getting by pretty well,” she said. “There are a hundred adjustments. A hundred. I’m trying to figure out how to be the only person on the team—the cleaner, the bill payer, the investor, the worker, the shopper, the stocker of supplies, the list maker and the person who has to get things crossed off that list. Sometimes my head spins. I forget things—I guess I’m just distracted. And of course I miss talking to your dad.”
Tears began to gather in Mike’s eyes.
“Have you lost weight?” he asked.
“Let’s sit and eat,” she said. “Tell me about school. Tell me about Jenn.”
He piled spaghetti on his plate. “Your weight?” he asked again.
“I think I have, but it’s just the confusion and having no appetite and for some reason without your dad around I don’t know what will taste good. So I have a bite of this, a bite of that, and then I lose interest.” In the eight weeks since Chad had died she’d lost twenty-two pounds. “You know what Grandma said? She said I could spare it.”
“How is Grandma?” he asked.
“The same. Cranky and more forgetful by the day. But they know at the senior center and she’ll be moving over to the full-care facility soon. And to memory care as soon as there is room. Mike, tell me about you. How are you getting along?”
“I’m doing fine,” he said, scooping food into his mouth. “I have trouble with the idea that he’ll never be around again.”
“I forget that sometimes and start to text him...” she said.
“I know!” he said. “It makes me feel a little crazy!”
“It’s perfectly normal,” she said. “I’ve heard people talk about it going on for years. I’ve even shouted down the hall for him, getting his name half out before I realize... It’s strange.”
“Are you okay with this will business? The ten percent to the unknown person or thing?”
“I’m not sure okay would be the best word,” she said. “I want to know who, what and why, but then I always have those questions about everything. When you get down to it, it was part of my job to want to know, as a defense attorney and as a mother.” She added a laugh so he would know she was taking the light side on this subject. “How about you? Are you okay with it?”
He chewed, swallowed and took a drink of beer. “I’m okay with it.”
It gave her pause. “You really are?”
He shrugged. “It’s his decision. His business. His money. If he didn’t want it questioned... Yeah, I don’t care.”
“You truly don’t care or you can decide you don’t care because you think that’s what your father wanted?”
“What’s the difference?” he asked.
“There’s a huge difference,” she said, believing it to be accurate with every word. “You can have absolutely no interest to the point that if you found out the details, you might actually forget them because they’re that unimportant. Or you can make an emotional decision not to pursue the answers out of respect for someone else’s request. In this case, your father’s.”