Read Wherever Grace Is Needed Online
Authors: Elizabeth Bass
Wherever Grace Is Needed (32 page)
37
A
SSISTED
L
IVING
SSISTED
L
IVING
O
n a Saturday morning, Truman and Peggy took Lou out—“to give you a little time,” Peggy explained to Grace. They were going to have brunch and maybe do a little shopping. They were gone four hours. Grace started to get antsy after three.
n a Saturday morning, Truman and Peggy took Lou out—“to give you a little time,” Peggy explained to Grace. They were going to have brunch and maybe do a little shopping. They were gone four hours. Grace started to get antsy after three.
When they all returned, she offered Peggy and Truman something to drink while Lou hurried to his room. “He’s probably tired, I guess,” Grace said.
Truman jumped in. “Him? Why should he be tired?
I’m
the one who’s eight-two!”
I’m
the one who’s eight-two!”
Peggy laughed. “We should probably go. Methuselah here needs a nap.”
They called good-bye up the stairs and then traipsed out, arm in arm, looking like newlyweds.
Her father came down a little bit later and wanted to watch
Animal Planet.
Animal Planet.
“I think I’ll see if any orders have come in,” Grace said.
She made a pass by her computer and checked the Rigoletto’s Web site, but there were no new orders to process. She sighed restlessly. Now what?
When all else fails, do laundry.
She went into her bedroom and scooped the laundry hamper out of her closet. Then she went to her dad’s room.
When all else fails, do laundry.
She went into her bedroom and scooped the laundry hamper out of her closet. Then she went to her dad’s room.
She had dumped the contents of his hamper into hers and was heading downstairs with it when a flash of something on his bureau caught her eye. A brochure.
The glossy booklet for Live Oak Villa on Town Lake was familiar to her because it was a replica of the brochure she’d thrown into the recycling bin months before. This version was so brand-new it still let off a fresh ink smell. She felt her chest rising and falling as she forced herself to draw in deep breaths.
Her father had
sneaked out
to look at Live Oak Villa? Last spring he’d been outraged at the idea of being packed off to live at an assisted living facility.
sneaked out
to look at Live Oak Villa? Last spring he’d been outraged at the idea of being packed off to live at an assisted living facility.
She picked up the brochure and hurried downstairs. In the living room, she picked up the remote and zapped the television screen. It flickered to black, causing her father to turn in alarm.
“What is this?” She held up the brochure.
A surge of anger crossed his face. “You got that from my room!”
“Yes, I did,” she said, unrepentant. “Where did
you
get it? Is this what you and Peggy and Uncle Truman were doing today?”
you
get it? Is this what you and Peggy and Uncle Truman were doing today?”
“Don’t blame Peggy. It was my idea. I asked her and Truman to take me.”
No wonder they’d fled so quickly after dropping him off.
“But
you
were against this last spring!” she exclaimed. “Why would you even want to go looking at a place like that?”
you
were against this last spring!” she exclaimed. “Why would you even want to go looking at a place like that?”
“Because I can’t stay here forever. I have to make plans.”
“Why?”
The look he leveled on her broke her heart. It was a look that told her that all the fears she harbored were his fears too. All her dread was amplified in his eyes by a power of ten.
Because he had been so quiet about his illness these past months, especially since the accident with his hand, she had hoped that he was just adjusting to living with slightly diminishing capacities and uncertainty of what the future would bring. Or that Alzheimer’s had already relieved him of long-term worries. But that look told her he could still remember what he was losing.
“Don’t be mad, Grace. Do you really think I’m going to let you be my nursemaid? It was wrong of me to even let you come here to live—to give up your business, leave your friends.”
Her throat felt tight. “You didn’t
let
me. I did it, and now I’m here. Are you going to abandon me?”
let
me. I did it, and now I’m here. Are you going to abandon me?”
“It would be for the best.”
“For who?”
He forced a smile. “Whom.”
She wanted to scream. “I won’t let you do it. If you’re worried about me—”
“I’m worried about
me.
And you, too. I can’t abide the thought of you taking care of me as if I were an infant.” He smiled at her. “You’ve become bossy enough already.”
me.
And you, too. I can’t abide the thought of you taking care of me as if I were an infant.” He smiled at her. “You’ve become bossy enough already.”
Tears stood in her eyes and she had to look away. She tossed the brochure on the coffee table. “This is a mistake. Living among strangers? How will that help you?”
“How will it help me to live here with you and see you fritter away your life?”
“I’m not frittering away anything! I
want
to be here. With you.”
want
to be here. With you.”
“It’s not your decision to make. It’s mine, and I don’t want to put off making it until it’s too late.”
She looked down at him for a moment longer. He was so tranquil about it all, while she felt as if there was a tornado of rage being whipped up inside her.
She barely croaked out, “I don’t accept this,” before she had to run back upstairs to her room. She threw herself facedown on the bed and blamed her brother for planting this seed in their father’s mind last year. And Uncle Truman and Peggy for abetting her father. She remained indignant even against the onslaught of Heathcliff and Earnshaw’s soothing purrs.
Maybe
eventually
he would have to think about moving out—maybe—but right now he was nowhere near that stage. It was outrageous.
eventually
he would have to think about moving out—maybe—but right now he was nowhere near that stage. It was outrageous.
She remained upstairs, entering a couple of CDs she had found at a garage sale this morning.
Later, when the more mellow light of evening was coming through the windows, she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Her father ducked his head in.
“Why don’t we go out to dinner?”
“A public setting is no guarantee that I’ll be any calmer than I am at home,” she warned him. “Just ask Uncle Truman.”
“I want Mexican food,” he said, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe he didn’t remember.
She relented. Twenty minutes later they were seated in the first wave of Saturday night diners at Fonda San Miguel. During the drive over she had worried about how they were going to handle the subject of Live Oak Villa when it came up, but she could have saved herself the anxiety. The whole dinner, Lou chattered about Forsytes, even though he’d spent most of the afternoon watching shows about pelicans and Komodo dragons. Even discussion of the perfect mole sauce, which usually would have merited at least a mention, was bypassed in favor of Forsytes.
But the dinner did cool her off somewhat. When they got home and Lou suggested a game of chess, she slipped obediently into her old spot. She hadn’t played in weeks.
The game started as their games always did. She always felt a little sorry for that first doomed pawn she pushed forward. As the black and tan pieces marched toward each other, she braced herself for the onslaught. When a gap opened up, leaving a castle in plain view of a bishop, her father held back, which made her suspicious. What did he see that she couldn’t? In the next few moves he started munching her pawns, tearing down her meager defenses.
After he’d caught both her knights, she decided to make a mad move with her queen and brought her out as a sort of last-ditch, flags-flying, hopeless-cause charge toward his king, which was still flanked by pawns. She took out a bishop and a castle, putting herself in position to grab the pawn standing between her queen and his king, which was boxed in.
“Check?” Her voiced wavered a little in amazement. She’d said the word so rarely.
“Hmm.” He looked down and studied the board. What seemed like an interminable amount of time passed, and then he castled her knight at the other end.
“Dad...” she said.
“What?” He glanced up at her with his eyes wide open. “Go ahead.”
She couldn’t believe it. Suspecting a trick, she slowly moved her piece forward and bumped off the pawn.
Her father stared at the board in surprise. “Is that checkmate?”
“I said check earlier,” she reminded him.
“I heard you.” He looked up at her. “Well, go ahead.”
“What?”
“Take the king. You won.”
“Yeah, but...”
He sat back and sighed contentedly. “Do you want to watch an episode of the Forsytes with me?”
She was still in shock. She’d dreamed of victory for so long, she’d expected that when it finally came she would be jumping up and down, pumping her fist and whooping madly. She’d thought—on the off chance that she ever did win—her father would have some scathing things to say about her scattershot strategizing, or maybe just the law of averages. Instead, he was already strolling back to the television, as if what had just happened was of no moment at all.
She studied the board, devastated, trying to figure out where she’d gone right. It had to have been a mistake on her part. The urge to drag her father back to the board and play the whole game over was almost unbearable.
“Grace?” he asked, so sweetly that she couldn’t help walking over to the television and turning it on for him. She was fairly certain her father had already watched the particular episode he clicked on—watched it five times, probably—but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. Nor could she focus on the story.
A few minutes in, when her father’s face registered his absorption into this familiar fictional world, she slipped out quietly and went to the back porch for air. She was surprised to find Dominic sitting there, petting Iago. She’d forgotten she’d let Iago out when she and her dad had come in from Fonda San Miguel.
She sank down on the porch on the other side of Iago.
“Is something wrong?” Dominic asked.
She shook her head, but she felt a tear rolling down her cheek and had to shrug her shoulder to wipe it off with the arm of her short-sleeved shirt.”I beat Dad at chess tonight.”
“Wow,” he said.
“I know. I can’t believe it.”
“No—I mean,
wow,
he was actually winning all that time?”
wow,
he was actually winning all that time?”
She sent him a sharp look. “What’s so strange about that? He always beats you too.”
“Yeah, but . . .” He shifted uncomfortably.
She froze. “Dominic, are you saying you’ve been
letting
him win?”
letting
him win?”
He gaped at her. “Well,
yeah.
I just assumed everybody was.”
yeah.
I just assumed everybody was.”
“For how long?”
He puffed his cheeks and then exhaled. “Since . . . I don’t know . . . May?”
“That’s four months!” she exclaimed.
Four months. All this time, she had been telling herself that—from the chess angle, at least—Lou was tack sharp. That he had to be doing okay because he could still beat the pants off her at his favorite game. It was the thing she’d been clinging to—her benchmark for proving to herself that he wasn’t getting any worse.
Dominic fidgeted uncomfortably. At first she thought he must feel embarrassed to see her so upset. But when he spoke, she realized his reaction stemmed from something else entirely. Pity.
“You must really suck at chess,” he said.
The woman, Diane, was perfect for her job as tour guide at Live Oak Villa. She was outgoing without being overbearing, sensitive when she needed to be but not creepily so, and most of all, upbeat.
Grace trailed after the woman through forest-green carpeted hallways, peeking into the dining room, the all-day snack bar, the conference room, the rec room, and the library that boasted two thousand volumes and a grand piano. Then they toured a couple of the apartments, which were standard one-bedroom units with kitchenettes. The whole place seemed great—almost like being in a college dorm again, only with nicer digs.
“Of course, these are the supportive housing units for our more independent residents,” Diane told her. “I’m showing you these because when I spoke to Mr. Oliver, I sensed he still values independence and privacy.”
Grace latched on to the flip side of this tidbit—the sinister hint of a hidden place where they intended to exile him to later, where there was no privacy or concern for him as an individual. “So when he gets to a later stage, you’ll move him over to a group ward?”
Diane smiled patiently. “We call it a Special Care Unit. All rooms are private, but our SCU building is based more on a communal model, to keep residents with more rigorous supportive needs in a social, secure environment.”
“I’d like to see this SCU,” Grace said.
Diane smiled at her. “Of course. But first, why don’t I show you the garden?”
A stalling tactic, obviously.
Grace was expecting an institutional courtyard with benches, but instead there was a large plot of land with waist-high raised beds where flowers grew, and tomatoes. And beyond it were shaded walking paths. “A feature we’re very proud of,” said Diane. For a moment Grace forgot the dreaded Special Care Unit.
“Dad could walk Iago back here,” she said.
“Who?”
“His dog.”
The woman’s forehead creased with lines. Grace felt a clamping sensation in her stomach. “Dad has a dog. Didn’t he tell you that? Iago’s very important to him.”
“No, he didn’t say anything about . . . Is it a small dog?”
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