Roll with the Punches (19 page)

"Man, I forgot how hard it is to keep a kite up. How long did we keep 'em up, Ed?"

"About twenty minutes, Mr. Hamilton. The wind was too high. They kept crashing."

"Call me Harold. I'm not dead yet." Dad picked up the paper.

I tried, "But you guys, about the car keys—"

Dal turned from the sink and breathed, "No."

This was my house. I mouthed back a swear word. "Look, I'm not having another day like yesterday if I can help it. Ever.”

Dal scowled at me.

"Dad,—"

"Sssst!" Dal sat down by me, smiling like an older brother, and clamped a hand on my knee. Every time I tried to speak, he squeezed my leg hard and started singing "
Like a Virgin
" very, very badly. Finally, I left the table with a sore leg and without Dad's car key.

*
      
*
      
*

After breakfast, I went to the garage to do a load of wash and was greeted with the sight of colorful heaps of pipes, scrap metal and wood alongside Music Man's canned goods piles. Some of the metal looked straight from a junk yard, some newly bought. It covered the garage floor.

Dal brought out some empty cartons to stack in a corner.

"What's all this?" I said officiously.

"Just stuff."

"Could you move it over?"

"What for?" He was looking at the stuff like he'd never seen it before.

"So we can get the car in here. And I'd appreciate it if—"

"Your dad said I could use the whole garage." He went back into the house.

I caught up with him at his bedroom. The door was ajar. He was sorting a box, turned away from me. I knocked.

"What."

Okay. Should I talk to the brown T-shirt stretched over the long, lean back or to the messy ponytail?

"Look, thanks for yesterday. And this morning," I told the ponytail. "Bringing him back, I mean. Smoothing things over." I bit a fingernail. "But you need to butt out of my business. Dad's wrong. We will need to put the car away some time in the next two months. And I do need his keys, even if he gets mad about it. I can’t have him taking off every day. I'm seriously on the edge with my job."

Dal didn’t look up from his sorting. Ugh. Those faded camouflage curtains had needed replacing for years.

"I work," I said. "God, why does no one get that?"

Soft thuds of paper in a metal can.

"Sorry about yesterday. I guess I was pretty rude." I cleared my throat. "But …"

Swish, swish
. Into the can.

"Anyway, um," I said. This was getting hard. "Yesterday, you thought I wanted to commit Dad. I really don’t. I'm fine with him staying here at home. Really. But he's a menace on the roads, and I just—what a mess. The neighbors are busy this weekend, and I have a—I'm busy this afternoon, and now, thanks to you, he could take off again.”

Swish.
Swish
.

I want my life back!
I wanted to yell. But instead, I said, "Look, since you're sort of responsible, could you keep an eye on Dad today? He knows how to microwave his lunch, but he needs a reminder on the medicines."

Silence.

I sighed, resigned. "Fine, just use the garage for a while. Dad's car is already a junk heap and it never rains here anyway."

Without meeting my eye, he held out the Chevy car keys.

I approached and took them. "Oh. Thanks." I turned to go. "But he may have spare keys hidden somewhere. I haven't had time to look, and Mom's not helping. She didn't really say he shouldn't drive. That was me. And I'm right."

Swish.

Ponytail dismissal.

By 10:30 that morning, I'd returned to Acorn Street from the grocery. I was supposed to meet James at the mall at 11:30, but the day looked like another hot one, and I just couldn't drive my unairconditioned car in nice clothes to a date. I called James and asked if he'd pick me up at Dad's house.

He hesitated. "Uh. Okay. I guess. Your dad isn't—"

I laughed. "Sorry about the other night. He is pretty …"

"Yeah."

I heard Dal and Music Man leave together as I changed pants and put on my only sexy tank top, a turquoise one with sequins at the neck that Harley had forced me to buy because watching me spend money was good therapy for her depression.

Bing, nosing in my cast-off jeans pockets, found a mashed Twix bar and disappeared it while I curled my hair. I was still applying makeup when I heard honking out on the street. That poor teenager next door. The whole neighborhood would be looking out their windows to inspect her pimply new boyfriend with the falling-down pants. I sure was glad to be past that stage. Bing was now working on a Kleenex from my pocket, and the annoying honking was even louder. Teenagers.

Then I heard the doorbell. Squee! James! I gave a last twirl to the mascara wand, bopped Bing on the nose for eating Kleenex, and opened the door.

"Rhonda. You look great." James leaned against the door jamb in a cream shirt over nice khaki slacks. Oh, lord. Elegance draped over muscle. My knees nearly buckled from the yummy sight. Bing seemed to agree with me, nosing James's crotch.

My Spidey sense asked what this Adonis wanted. Lordy, could I deliver it? I concentrated hard, but I got nothing. My normal reading of people's desires had never worked with James, probably because I was so head over heels for him.

"Come in." I shooed a wounded-looking Bing out the back door.

Mr. Handsome hesitated on the doorstep. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah." I locked the sliding glass door. "Dad's gone to see my mother. She's due to move to rehab tomorrow. You want a drink here before we go?"

"No, thanks. Hey, I have a new firewall program for your computer. Got a second for me to install it?"

A whiff of some divine aftershave met my nose as I got near him. "Oh, can’t. Laptop's at the condo. Dad's been a little zealous about throwing things out, and …"

That grin gave me weak knees. Wow. Our first real date was actually in progress!

Out front was a fancy silver Lexus. "New car?" I said, as he held my door.

"My sister's.”

I couldn't help running my hand over the leather dash.

"Rhonda, no offense, but your dad didn't drive himself to the hospital, did he?"

"No," I said. "Somebody took him. But he went to the beach alone in the car yesterday. Scared us."

Frowning, James pulled away from the curb. "He's still got car keys? Rhonda, you have no idea how many old folks end up in the ER because they lose focus at the wheel for just a couple of seconds. With his issues, I …"

Shit. Dad’s issues were following me onto my big date? I said defensively, "We got one set of keys. We're trying to convince Mom to help us find the rest, but she's not buying it.”

Arlene, standing in her drive, frowned at us as we passed.

James said, "Rhonda, I—hasn't your dad been around the bend for a while? You make sure to get those keys. I'm really worried.”

Preaching to the choir here!
"James, I've been busy with Mom. And Dad is fine. He can still beat the pants off me at cards. Hey, do you like to dance?"

"He's had symptoms of Alzheimer's ever since I met you, right?" James smiled.

This was not date talk. "Nope. The doctor says it's stress and normal aging. Could we—"

"Didn't he forget your mom's birthday this year? First time ever?"

"Oh. Yeah, but—"

"Rhonda, I see them all the time. And the families in denial.”

“Oh, no!” I was determined to lighten up. "I only deny my chocolate habit. Say, how did Yvette take your ditching her at the deli?"

He snorted. "She’s okay." He turned onto the 22 freeway going west. "Um, how old are your folks?"

I sighed. "She's seventy-one. He's nearing eighty. James, why are you suddenly so interested in my folks?"

"Rhonda, that hospital scene is still etched in my mind.”

I reddened. I’d been trying to forget it, myself.

He reached for my hand. "Rhonda. Your dad thought he knew me, and I've never seen him before in my life. Delusions are a bad sign. He should be tested. And the way he danced with Yvette and the nurses—if he's that friendly with strangers, people could take advantage of him."

"Yeah." I breathed and tried to get back my date mojo. I looked at his gorgeous profile. He did care a lot about my folks . But this was a date, damn it.

He continued to probe me with questions about the elderly until I revealed Dad's escapades since Tuesday, feeling more and more deflated, weighed down, and just plain wrong.

"James, isn't the mall that way?" I pointed over my shoulder, almost past caring.

"Detour," he said. "Left my wallet at work. Won't take a second." He flashed me a melting smile.

We got off at Beach Boulevard, went down a side street and stopped in a tree-lined parking lot in front of a large, low building with a discreet sign: "Shady Acres." It was beige and institutional-looking, hidden from the street behind thick bushes.

"Want to come in for a sec?" He opened my door, and I followed him up the ramp to the front door. A key pad with a speaker sat by the doorbell. He punched in four numbers and the door buzzed open. We entered the linoleum-covered entryway and he disappeared down a hall. I found myself in a well-lit room, surrounded by wizened, white-haired people in vinyl-covered reclining wheelchairs, mouths open, napping in front of a blaring TV set. One woman had her arms tied to her chair with white cloth strips. She coughed a raucous, juicy cough, showing her one remaining tooth.

Behind them was an unoccupied reception desk with a cheerful activity calendar above it. Orange paper jack-o-lanterns and laughing ghosts hopped around the walls. An aromatic blend of school cafeterias and beach restrooms met my nose.

A bent gray woman in worn purple slippers toddled toward me. Wary and gaunt, she wore a purple hat and sweater over beige slacks and carried a white patent leather purse. Her voice was thin. "Have you seen my daughter? She's supposed to come and pick me up soon. I've been waiting a while. I just don't know what happened to her." A conspiratory smile made it seem she and I shared a secret.

"No. I haven't seen anyone," I said, looking around.

"Well, I have a hair appointment." An arthritic finger pointed at me. "Did she send you to take me? I can't drive anymore, you know."

Another woman buried in a wingback chair facing the TV set turned and said, "Oh, shut yer trap about that, girl. You make me tired. All day long, askin' about her daughter." Her hair hung lank and beige, and her mouth was an ugly gash in a pale, sagging mask of a face.

Purple Hat Lady said, "I'm leaving today, Bernice. My daughter said so. So you just mind your beeswax."

The reclining cougher resumed hacking with great gusto.

Solidly built Bernice painfully rose and steamed toward Purple Hat Lady, her cane loudly popping the linoleum. "That's about enough out of you! You want me to show you what for?"

The cane swung up in the air and waved menacingly toward me and the purple hat. I caught it on a down swing, and got a dagger look from Bernice, who yanked it away with surprising force.

She glared at me. "Who said you could barge in here? You weren't invited, you big bully. This is a private party." For a moment, the commanding woman Bernice must have been glimmered through as she drew herself up tall. Then she squinted at the other woman. "Tell your friend to mind her beeswax, too."

A younger woman hurried in from the hall and set something on the desk. "Bernice! Sit down! Myrtle, your daughter's just been here. She'll be back in a few days."

Myrtle looked crestfallen. "But I have a hair appointment. She said someone would take me.”

The woman came around the desk and put her arm around Myrtle. "Honey, let's go get you a seat for lunch. You can wait for your daughter in there."

"Keep this for me." Myrtle quickly pulled something out of her purse and tossed it to me as she passed. It was a soiled Depends in a Ziploc bag.

James then showed up and whisked me toward the door, punching in more numbers to exit. I shoved the Depends bag in a trash can by the door. Only then did I see the sign in red block letters posted above it:
DUE TO WIDESPREAD FLU EPIDEMIC, PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR VISIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK
.

"Rough crowd," I said outside, feeling my lungs start to congest. "You work there?"

"Yeah. I'm a long-term sub for the PA that doles out meds and checks everyone's condition daily. Alzheimer's patients can get pretty feisty and hurt each other in a big place like this. The staff can't be everywhere at once."

We reached the car and got in. "Is it only for women?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Mostly. If a guy's the least bit violent, he has to go elsewhere or get drugged big time."

So much for putting Dad with his Zeusian temper and his flying cane in there, or anywhere nicer. What depths would we have to settle for if we ever needed to place him?

"I never realized your job was this—" I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the distinctive smell that had followed me outside.

"Glamorous?" He grinned, pulling the car onto the street. "Just wait. Elder care is the next big boom, the wide-open employment wave of the future. The Boomers are fast approaching geezerdom and every picky one of them is going to need all types of elder care, from basic cooking and cleaning to bottom-wiping, but with typical Baby Boom flair. My sister Nadja and I have studied the elder care market, and we want in on the ground floor. We're opening our own chain of best-practices care homes. In fact, our first six-bed board and care just opened in July." He sighed. "But I haven't quit my day job yet."

His cell phone, clipped to the visor, chirped. He answered it on speakerphone. A voice said, "James, we have a problem. It's Betty.”

He sighed. "Coming. Give me five minutes." He frowned, switching it off. "Sorry. Speak of the devil. I need to swing by Nadja's for a sec."

My stomach rumbled.

He cheered up. "Actually, this is perfect. You can see how much better our place is than Shady Acres. I know a good specialist, Dr. Madden, for a diagnosis. Then if you need to place your dad, Nadja's is the Cadillac home away from home. We take the pressure off families so they can enjoy their parent instead of working so hard to keep them at home that they come to hate them."