Текст книги "There was an old woman"

Автор книги: Hallie Ephron

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-three

Saving her a jelly doughnut had been a small thing, silly really, and yet so incredibly sweet, Evie thought as she walked back to her mother’s house licking the last of the raspberry jam from between her fingers. She only wished Finn had set aside two. She smiled, remembering that crullers were Ginger’s passion, and Finn hadn’t set aside a single one of those. That reminded her that she needed to call Ginger and tell her about the money she’d found.

She was almost back to the house when she heard a woman scream. She turned the corner to find cars blocking the street. A dark sedan with a blue light flashing in the windshield was parked in front of Mrs. Yetner’s house; behind it was Frank Cutler’s red sports car, and behind that was a dark Mercedes. Frank Cutler was up on his front porch. So was Mrs. Yetner. Another man, wearing a dark uniform, was up on the porch, too. A cop? Mrs. Yetner’s nephew Brian tipped back his red-brimmed baseball cap and looked on from the sidewalk.

As Evie watched, the uniform stepped between Frank and Mrs. Yetner. He put his arm around Mrs. Yetner and tried to herd her off the porch. Mrs. Yetner looked bewildered. Then angry. “Take your hands off me,” she said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But the officer kept right on pushing, practically lifting the poor woman off her feet. Tendrils of white hair were flying loose from what was usually a neat bun at the nape of Mrs. Yetner’s neck, and her glasses were askew. Her nephew obviously wasn’t going to help her out. He stood there in stony silence.

“Stop!” Evie cried.

The officer must have let go, because Mrs. Yetner collapsed like a marionette on the steps of Mr. Cutler’s house. Evie dropped her coffee and charged up the steps. She sat down and put her arms around Mrs. Yetner, shielding her from the men. Cold seeped off the stone steps through the flannel of her pajama bottoms and she could feel Mrs. Yetner’s birdlike bones through her thick sweater.

“Ridiculous . . . pea-brained . . . ticket-writing nitwit.” Mrs. Yetner sputtered the words, hand to her chest as she panted for breath. “Trying to put me away.”

That’s when Evie noticed that one of the old woman’s hands was coated in mud and she had on knee-high black rubber boots pulled on over her pant legs. The boots were coated with fresh mud, too, well up over the ankles.

“Honestly, Miss Mina,” the uniformed man said, the brim of his hat pulled low over his forehead. “No one’s trying to put you away.” He rolled his eyes at Evie and tapped a finger to the side of his head.

“Fiddlesticks.” Mrs. Yetner straightened her glasses and gave him a steely look. “I’m not your Miss Mina. And I’m not nuts.”

“Of course she’s not,” Evie said, shading her eyes to get a better look at the man. A yellow shield-shaped patch was sewn to the shoulder of his dark gray zippered jacket. A silvery badge was pinned over the brim of his cap. She could make out the word SECURITY.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said to Mrs. Yetner, though from his tone it was clear that he didn’t mean it, “but three times in the last month?” He shook his head. “Or has it been four?”

Mrs. Yetner didn’t answer. She looked frightened.

“You know it’s against the law, breaking and entering,” the officer added.

Evie felt Mrs. Yetner stiffen. She took a breath. “Now you listen to me. I was not breaking in. And I never entered. The door was open.” Mrs. Yetner jabbed a finger in the direction of Frank. “He’s the one you should arrest. He was hitting his golf balls. See?” She held out what looked like a muddy golf ball. “Into the salt marsh.”

Frank guffawed—an ugly sound. “Please, would you give me a break. If that isn’t the most absurd—”

“Absurd? Exactly. And dangerous, too,” Mrs. Yetner said. “Not to mention that the marsh is a protected area. Isn’t polluting against the law?”

“Polluting? For Chrissake, I wasn’t even here. You saw me drive up,” Frank shot back. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop harassing me?”

The officer heaved a heavy sigh. “You can always press charges.”

Frank glared at Mrs. Yetner. Then his look slid over to Evie and he wavered, the anger bleeding from his face. “I guess not. But she’d better keep off my property. I don’t want to have to file a restraining order.”

“Just you try,” Mrs. Yetner said under her breath.

“Oh yeah? And you’ll do what exactly?” Frank crossed his arms and scowled down at her. “I don’t like being threatened.”

“Neither”—Mrs. Yetner held his gaze, and as the seconds ticked by she seemed to grow calmer and calmer while he looked more and more like a balloon getting too much air blown into it—“do I.”

He was the first to look away. “Stupid cow.”

“Pardon me? What did you say?” Mrs. Yetner asked, calmer still.

Frank gave her an uneasy look. “Nothing.”

Mrs. Yetner took a deep breath. “All right then.” She straightened her back and rose to her feet. Evie stood with her. “I’m going home now. I think I’ve made my point.”

Evie retrieved Mrs. Yetner’s cane from the grass and handed it to her. But Mrs. Yetner’s first step was a stumble.

“Here,” Evie said, taking her arm again, “let me help you.” Evie could feel the men watching as she helped Mrs. Yetner cross the street.

Brian at least hurried over and took Mrs. Yetner’s other arm. “Aunt Mina, doesn’t this prove the point that I’ve been trying to make? You didn’t even remember the other times this has happened. I can only imagine what other little mishaps you’re covering up, or worse still, forgetting.”

Mrs. Yetner’s grip tightened on Evie’s arm and she blanched. The scar down the side of her face and neck was livid.

As they continued across the street, Brian went on in a quiet voice that Evie could barely hear. “You may not like it, but it’s time to start looking seriously at nursing—”

“I am not going into a nursing home,” Mina spat back at him.

“Fine. Elderly housing then. Assisted living. Call it whatever you like. Some kind of residential setting where they can give you the help you need and not make you feel like you’re being a bother.”

That stopped Mrs. Yetner in her tracks. She stared at Brian, her mouth open.

Brian went on. “Look, I know you’re not feebleminded. That’s not what this is about. But let me call around and make some appointments so you can at least see what your options are. I’ll try to set up some visits for tomorrow. Monday afternoon. All right?”

Mrs. Yetner sagged, and in a quiet voice, she said, “Oh, all right. If you must.”

Chapter Twenty-four

It wasn’t until Mina was inside her house with the door firmly shut that she let go of Evie’s arm. Feeling utterly defeated and trembling with humiliation, she sank down on a bench in the entryway and stared at the mud she’d tracked across the threshold. Mina could hear herself panting like she’d been running.

“Are you all right?” Evie asked.

“Of course I’m all right,” Mina said. How could her own nephew talk to her that way? And in public?

Evie made a murmur of sympathy. What would have happened, Mina wondered, if the girl hadn’t shown up? That man was going to handcuff her and haul her off to jail? And Brian, standing right there and not lifting a finger to help.

As if she couldn’t take care of herself. She’d been taking care of herself for—

“Here, let me help you off with these.” Evie squatted down in front of her.

“It’s all right. I can do it.” Mina bent over and strained to reach the boot. Tried to take a deep breath, but that made her back ache. She needed to slow down, to breathe, and get the pounding in her chest to ease.

Reluctantly she gave up, leaned back, and let Evie pick up one of her legs then the other, tugging off the tall rubber boots like her mother used to do when she was in first grade. Her feet came out bare. Mina reached into each boot and pulled out the bedroom slippers that were stuck inside. She dropped them on the floor and slid her feet into them.

Evie set the boots on the mat by the door. Then she went into the kitchen and came back with some paper towels. She wiped away the mud Mina had tracked into the entryway.

“Are they still out there?” Mina asked.

Evie stood and looked out through the window in the front door. “They’re talking.”

“Having a jolly postmortem on my behalf, no doubt.”

After a long pause, Evie said, “They’re leaving now.”

When she heard the sound of a car engine catching, Mina felt the tension finally drain from her back. “I’m quite sure they think I’m a complete nitwit. Delusional. But this thing nearly hit me in the head.” She set the golf ball on the hall table. “As if I could make up something like that.”

Evie picked up the ball and examined it.

“He said it was”—Mina continued, lowering her voice though she knew no one but Evie could hear her—“the third time that I’ve set off that alarm.”

“But it’s not?” Evie offered Mina her cane.

“Could someone forget a thing like that?” Mina took the cane and stood. “With that alarm blaring? You tell me.” She pushed away the supporting hand Evie offered. She’d be damned if she’d let herself be treated as an invalid.

She made her way to the bathroom where she washed the mud off her hands and arm. Afterward, she stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. The scar had turned bright pink. She ran her fingers along its rippled surface. Pink or not, it was completely numb. A blessing, really.

She moistened a washcloth and wiped away streaks of mud from her face. Then she turned her head so she could no longer see the scar.

When she’d turned forty, Mina’s face had started to remind her of her mother’s. But her mother hadn’t made it past seventy. Now the person in the mirror was a complete stranger. The loose skin on her cheeks looked like antique vellum, foxed with age. Pouches sagged under her eyes. Deep lines were incised from the corners of her mouth to her chin. It was odd. Though she was physically transformed, she felt like exactly the same person she’d been when she was twelve.

She could take looking older. Feeling older, even. But losing her memory and her mind? Turning into a person that people talked about but never to? Mina swallowed a knot of fear in her throat and left the bathroom.

“You’re the one who sold me on the therapeutic effects of a nice cup of tea,” Evie said as Mina sank into her chair in the living room. “How about I fix one for you now? I know where everything is.”

Mina sighed. Yes, a cup of hot tea would be lovely. Especially one that she didn’t have to make herself. She was about to say so when she remembered the incinerated teakettle. She felt a new flush of humiliation creep up her neck.

“No, thank you, dear. You’re kind to offer. But really I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me. You already have your hands full. Are you going back to the hospital today?”

Evie checked her watch. “Oh, shit.” Her face colored. “I mean sheesh. How’d it get so late? The doctor’s only there until noon, and I have to take the bus again unless Finn has put some gas in the tank.”

“Well, you certainly don’t want to miss the doctor.” Mina pushed off the afghan and heaved herself to her feet. “Take my car keys. I’m not going anywhere, and in case you can’t get your mother’s car started, you’ll have a backup.”

“You sure?”

“Oh my, yes. I should have offered earlier. Besides, I haven’t driven it in days and it’s like an old dog that needs to be walked every once in a while. As soon as I find my purse—” Mina glanced around the living room. Where had she left it?

“I saw it. Hold on.” Evie disappeared into the kitchen. She came back a moment later with Mina’s handbag.

Of course. Now Mina remembered setting it carefully on the quilted placemat on the kitchen counter, determined not to lose it again. What on earth was the matter with her?

“Thank you so much,” Evie said when Mina handed her the car keys. “This is so generous of you. You really are a peach.” Evie started to go but turned back. “You sure you’re okay? Is there anyone I should call to come stay with you?”

“Stay with me? Pshaw. If there’s anything I know how to be, it’s alone. You go. Hurry.”

“Thank you.”

As Evie started out through the dining room, Mina noticed for the first time that she had on loose red-and-blue-plaid flannel pants. Were those pajama bottoms?

“You’re going out in those?” she asked.

Chapter Twenty-five

You’re going out in those? Mrs. Yetner’s parting shot was a zinger—a gibe masquerading as an innocent question. Evie would have bristled had it come from her own mother. But she loved it coming from Mrs. Yetner. She gave her startled neighbor a quick hug and chuckled as she hurried back to her mother’s house to shower and dress for the hospital.

When Evie pulled the shower curtain, two roaches ran down the drain. In the shower, she let hot water run hard, pounding her sore shoulders and neck. Was that man really going to arrest Mrs. Yetner? More likely he’d said that to rattle her. If that had been his intention, it worked.

Right after Evie had helped Mrs. Yetner off with her boots, she’d looked out and seen the officer and Frank Cutler talking, their heads bent. The man had acted like a police officer, but since when did police badges say SECURITY? Maybe he was a private security guard.

The golf ball was no figment of Mrs. Yetner’s imagination. When Evie had picked it up and scraped dried mud off its dimpled surface, she could tell that it was no ancient relic, either. Still, it could have been lying in the marsh for months, and there was no way to tell whether Mr. Cutler had been the one who’d launched it.

Before Evie left for the hospital, she made sure all the windows were shut and set up roach bombs on the bathroom and kitchen floors. SUPER FOGGER, the label read. PRO GRADE. The bomb didn’t just have a warning label. It had a warning booklet that peeled off the can: Hazards to humans and domestic animals. Environmental hazards. Danger of explosion. Leave the premises for at least four hours. Ventilate thoroughly before reentering.

The label almost talked her out of it until she noticed on the kitchen ceiling four translucent wormy creatures, which sadly she recognized as moth larvae. As she rushed out of the house, bombs activated, locking the door behind her, Finn was in the driveway raising her mother’s garage door. He waved to her.

“Hey,” she said, heading over to him.

“Everything okay?”

“We had a little excitement.” She hadn’t realized, but she was out of breath.

“I heard. Something about a golf ball.” He shook his head and picked up a red square gallon gas can from the ground by his feet. The contents sloshed. “This should be enough to get you to a gas station. And the fix to your front steps is only temporary, but at least you won’t kill yourself coming and going.” He unscrewed the gas cap and inserted the can’s long yellow spout into the opening.

As he started to pour, Evie smelled the pungent gasoline odor. She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to stop for gas on her way to the hospital.

“There,” he said, pulling out the spout. “Hop in and give it a whirl.” He came around, pulled open the driver-side door, and gestured with a welcoming hand. Then he hesitated. “Hold on. Stay back.” He crouched alongside the car. Unhooking a flashlight from his tool belt, he played the light under the car, around and behind the rear wheel.

“What?” Evie stepped closer. Then she smelled it. The odor of gasoline had gone from strong to overwhelming. She put her hand up over her face.

“Your mother’s car didn’t run out of gas.” Finn stood and faced her, brushing his hands off on his pant legs. “Gas ran out of it.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Long after the girl had gone, Mina could feel Evie’s strong arms around her and a faint fruity smell that Mina finally placed. Raspberry.

It had been a while since Mina had been properly hugged. Not since her sister. Mina sat at the kitchen table as memories flooded back. She and Annabelle, young, walking arm in arm to Sparkles. Annabelle supporting her in the shallows, helping her learn to float on her back. Buttoning the long row of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on the back of Annabelle’s wedding dress.

Their last embrace might have been one of the last times that Mina visited Annabelle in the nursing home, a few weeks before her sister slipped into a coma and was moved to the hospital where Mina had promised her she’d never end up.

Mina had arrived that day and found Annabelle parked in the corridor outside her room, hunched over a locked-in tray-table in what the nurses called a geri-chair. Asleep? Mina couldn’t be sure.

Her sister’s once lustrous auburn hair, now white and wispy, was neatly pulled back into a bun at her neck. Her eyeglasses were anchored with a band that went around her head. The blouse and pants Mina had bought for her a few weeks earlier were already swimming on her.

When she’d stepped closer, she heard Annabelle muttering. She had to stoop to make out the words. “Don’t say that.” A pause. “You already . . . had your chance.” The words came out in short intense spurts, on puffs of breaths like Annabelle was trying to blow out a match. “You just be quiet.”

“Hello, dear,” Mina said, laying her hand gently on her sister’s arm. She kissed the top of her head and breathed in shampoo scent. Even if the staff couldn’t keep Annabelle from sliding into oblivion, at least the attention to hygiene was excellent.

Annabelle lifted her head and blinked, an unfocused look in her eyes, then coughed weakly. Mina could hear her labored breathing. Pneumonia and heart failure would eventually be the official cause of death.

Mina lifted her sister’s hand and pressed it against her own cheek. “Hello, Annabelle.”

Finally her sister’s gaze connected with hers. “Hello, dearest,” Annabelle said. The flicker of recognition was still there, thank God. That sweet smile. Then Annabelle raised her arms and gave Mina what she didn’t know would be her last hug.

“Who were you talking to?” Mina had asked.

“Talking to talking to talking . . .” Annabelle gave a vague wave of the hand. Her once long, tapered fingers were knotted with arthritis, the way that Mina’s were becoming. “Friends.” Annabelle blinked twice, her gaze wandering until it anchored once again on Mina. “Imaginary friends.”

“You know they’re not real,” Mina said.

“I know, I know.” Annabelle put a finger to her lips, shhh, and added in a stage whisper. “But they don’t.”

Mina had laughed, and then stopped laughing because it was clear that Annabelle didn’t get her own joke, and she wasn’t about to start laughing at her sister. Not then. Not ever.

Later, after Annabelle was back in bed, Brian had arrived at the nursing home. “Hello, Mother,” he’d said, standing in the doorway like a cigar store Indian.

“Hello, Gilbert,” Annabelle had said. She raised her eyebrows in Brian’s direction and asked Mina, “Is he imaginary, too?”

Fortunately Brian never heard that. He wouldn’t have found the comment amusing, not the slightest bit.

He came over to the bed and kissed Annabelle’s cheek.

Every once in a while, even then near the end, Annabelle had surprised Mina, as she did at that moment when her gaze sharpened. “Oh!” She pursed her lips, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. Then she licked her thumb and wiped his cheek. Annabelle never had been much of a doting mother, but she had liked her things spotless.

Brian had drawn back. “Mother, please.”

The familiar sound of her car engine turning over brought Mina back to the present. Apparently Evie needed to borrow her car after all.

Mina remembered the chicken she’d thawed. Chicken cacciatore was a simple recipe. Chicken, chopped green and sweet red pepper, a can of Hunt’s tomato sauce, plus an onion, which Mina left out. These days, onions of any kind gave her heartburn. She hoped the chicken, having been thawed and then refrigerated, wasn’t going to kill her.

A short time later Mina had put together the ingredients. She set the lid on the pot and turned the burner low to simmer. She could leave it there for hours because she liked her chicken well cooked, to the point where the meat was falling off the bone. With rice and a green salad, she’d have dinner for at least four nights.

Before she sat down again with the paper, she pulled her calendar from the kitchen wall. Three baby burrowing owls were pictured for May—not anything she was likely to see out her window. She wrote BRIAN in Monday’s block. She could hardly forget the reason he was coming back.

Annabelle’s had been a slow decline. In the early days, she’d felt her marbles slipping away. Then, even those were gone. If Mina hadn’t been there, she’d have forgotten to eat. Forgotten to clean herself. Eventually she completely lost track of what she’d lost track of.

Mina was determined not to let her present slip away. In today’s box in tiny printing she started a list.

1. Burned teakettle

2. Purse + oatmeal in icebox

3. Lost legal papers

4. Set off C’s alarm

To the last item she added a question: For the third time?