The Goodbye Summer

  The pretty young waitress at the Amaryllis Café started to seat them at one of the tiny round tables with hard, spindly iron chairs, but Thea asked, with a smile and just the right amount of charm, if they might have a nice comfy booth instead. Sure they could, the waitress, whose name tag read “Ginger,” said agreeably, and Caddie thought, Why can’t I ever do that? She always went where she was told to go, sat where she was told to sit. She had a horror of appearing bossy or aggressive—slight as that chance was. Maybe you had to be old before you could get your way, but she didn’t think so.

  “Ahh,” Thea sighed, settling herself on the cushiony seat, spreading her things out. “I’m taking off my shoes.” She looked at herself in the mirrored wall beside them. “I love my hair, I love it, I love it. Don’t you love it?”

  “I do,” Caddie assured her, and Ginger said she did, too.

  “What can I get you ladies this afternoon?”

  Salads, they decided, but wine first. Caddie ordered without thinking, and the waitress brought two large, beautiful glasses of Chardonnay. “To vanity,” Thea toasted. “To looking fabulous for as long as we can.” They clinked glasses and drank.

  “Oh, it’s delicious,” Caddie said. “I haven’t had a real drink since…”

  “Since you found out.” Thea waited for her to explain why she was having one now.

  “I still don’t know what I’m doing. Except I know I can’t keep it.”

  “Last time we talked, you said you couldn’t ‘have’ it.”

  “Well, that’s progress.”

  Thea didn’t return her wan laugh.

  “I did have thoughts of keeping it. For a little while, about an hour, before Christopher—said what he said.” She moved her wineglass around to the four corners of her place mat. “I could see this picture, you know, us and a baby. A little family.” She’d seen the picture from behind, two hands reaching down on either side, holding the tiny hands of a toddler. Perfect symmetry. “But then, afterward, when I knew he didn’t want either one of us, it was as if he’d obliterated the baby. As if I’d miscarried, or there never was any such thing. Here.” She sighed, pushing her glass across the table. “I can’t drink this. I’m not thinking straight. I’ll have the baby, because otherwise it’s…” Like erasing herself, her own life. She’d rather tear out an organ.

  Thea reached across and touched her hand. “It’s going to be hard.”

  “I’ve been to an agency, and I think it’ll be okay. Thea, these people—they show you pictures of them, and they all want a child so badly. All I have to do is pick the couple I like best.”

  The couples, “Jackie and Todd,” “Maria and Bernard,” wrote descriptions of themselves under their photos. Of course they all claimed they were loving and stable, devoted to each other but still lots of fun, and the only thing they needed to complete their happiness together was a baby. Whom they swore to love and care for and cherish as if it were their very own. Caddie had only to choose who she liked the looks and the sound of best, and the counselor would arrange a meeting. Or not; if she preferred, she could pick a couple without meeting them at all. It was up to her.

  “The birth mother has all the rights; the parents don’t have any. It’s like a dating service designed just for me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” Thea said, smiling.

  “I know. Sometimes I think it was better in the olden days.” When you had to have faith in the system to find the perfect family, to whom you handed over your newborn child through tactful intermediaries without anybody meeting anybody. Like modern warfare; no muss, no fuss.

  “All the couples sound wonderful—it’s impossible to pick. They’re all so much better than me. As parents, you know, so—that’s making it easier. A little.”

  The only ones she didn’t trust were the ones who went out of their way to compliment her, the unknown mother, on her “courage.” As soon as they started on about the “selflessness” of her decision and how much strength and “heroism” it must take, she crossed them off. They were just sucking up. She didn’t understand her own motives, so how could they?

  Thea started to say, “Caddie, are you—” but she stopped.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “How are you feeling—how’s your health?”

  “Perfect, no problems. Except for being tired a lot. And I have the most powerful sense of smell, like a dog.”

  “Any cravings yet?”

  “No, but I have aversions, things that cannot pass my lips. Like mayonnaise. And melted cheese.”

  “Have you told Frances yet?”

  “I was going to, but she’s mad at me.”

  Thea sat back. “Frances is mad at you?”

  “Furious.”

  “Why?”

  As hard as it had been telling Nana what she’d done to her sculptures, it was even harder telling Thea.

  “You didn’t. Oh, Caddie.” Her eyes had gone white around the rims with amazement.

  “I know. It was awful. It was mean.”

  “It’s wonderful. Oh, I wish I’d been there to see it. That night? With a pick and shovel? Caddie Winger—you’re an ax murderer!”

  “I am!”

  “Did it feel good?”

  “Yes! Well, not afterward. While, yes, it was great, like I was on a mission. But afterward, it was awful. I had no right, Thea, no right, and I hurt her feelings. I don’t even know why I did it!”

  Thea smiled, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t?” When Caddie didn’t respond, she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you—why did Frances put green dye in the washing machine? I didn’t mind, my underwear was getting a little dingy, but what was she trying to do?”

  “I think she was dyeing things green to stand for newness. As a contrast. To the old things in her project—you know she’s doing a project on oldness.”

  “What color are old things?”

  “You’d have to ask her. She’s gotten very secretive about it, though. The whole thing embarrassed her.”

  “What did Brenda say?”

  Caddie had been trying not to think about that. “She said it’s ‘suggestive.’ Nana doesn’t want to go home, she loves it at Wake House, but Brenda says she might have to. She can’t keep her if she gets—really wacky.”

  “Well, I don’t understand that. What sort of elder-care place is she running if she can’t keep someone like Frances?”

  Their salads came. While they ate, Caddie told Thea about the letter she’d found in her mother’s old room. “It’s signed ‘Bobby,’ and there was a Bobby Haywood in the band she was playing with then. There’s no return address, but it’s postmarked from a town called Clover in Delaware. I looked it up on a map,” she admitted. “It’s tiny, only about four hundred people.”

  Thea looked puzzled. “Who is it?”

  “Well.” She inhaled. “It might be my father.”

  “Oh, Caddie.” She brought her folded hands to her mouth. “Oh, honey.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you try to call him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You didn’t call? Why not?”

  She pretended to think. “Mousiness? I will. Sometime. But you know, Thea, he’s probably not there anymore, that was over thirty years ago. If he even ever lived there—he could’ve just been passing through, he could’ve been driving by a mailbox. He could live anywhere.”

  Thea looked patient.

  “I will! One of these days. I think about it all the time. But—this isn’t something you just do.”

  The waitress came over to ask if they wanted another drink. “No, thanks. It’s no fun if I’m the only one,” said Thea, who’d finished hers and about a third of Caddie’s. “Besides, I might get even wiser.”

  Caddie paid the check while Thea was in the ladies’ room. “So,” said Ginger, making conversation, “you and your mom having a nice day out?”

  Caddie smiled up at her. “We went shopping, got our
hair done.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah. We’ve had a wonderful day.”

  Thea confirmed it on the ride home. “I had the best time. Thank you for lunch—you sneak, I’ll get you for that.”

  “I did, too, the best time.” She found a place in front of Wake House and parallel parked.

  “I know what I’m going to do,” Thea said, yawning. “Take a little nap. Wine in the day puts me right to sleep.”

  “I’ll go in with you, I guess, say hi to Nana. See if she’ll speak to me yet.” She took Thea’s arm as they crossed the street. This time of day, people were usually out on the front porch, watching the sun start to set while the afternoon cooled off. But the porch was vacant. The house was empty inside, too, nobody but Cornel and Bernie sitting on the sofa in the Red Room, hunched over, hands between their knees. They looked lost.

  “Where is everybody?” Caddie asked from the hall.

  “In their rooms.” Cornel stood up.

  “My grandmother, too?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s happened?” Thea asked, going over and taking him by the arm.

  He patted her hand, blinking into her face, his turtle lips spread in a pained smile. “Edgie’s gone and had a stroke.”

  “Edgie! Oh, no.”

  Bernie lumbered up, too. “It happened right after you left.”

  “Edgie?” Caddie quavered. She’d been here, she and Bea, sitting on the couch. Both sisters had waved goodbye and told her and Thea to come back from the beauty shop looking “glamorous!”

  “She was reading the Reader’s Digest out loud to Bea,” Cornel related. “Bea said she started slurring her words and saying how she couldn’t see too well all of a sudden. Bea knew what it was right away and ran to get Brenda, who called the ambulance. Meanwhile, Edgie’s on the couch—Bea told her not to move, but she gets up and bam, her leg gave out. She didn’t know, just thought it had fallen asleep. She’s got a bruise on her face, but otherwise not too much. From the fall.” He looked down mournfully.

  “Is she in the hospital?”

  “The medics came,” Bernie said, “and took her on a stretcher in the ambulance. Brenda took Bea and Magill in her car, and Mrs. Brill went in the ambulance with Edgie.”

  “Mrs. Brill?”

  “Calm as a cucumber. Very efficient. Good in a crisis, turns out.”

  “Should we go, too?” Caddie asked Thea. Shouldn’t they do something?

  “Not yet, we’d just be in the way.” Thea moved between the two men and lowered herself to the sofa with a muted grunt. “There’s nothing for us to do, and Bea’s got Brenda and Henry. And Mrs. Brill.”

  “Poor Edgie,” said Caddie, looking from face-to-face. “What will happen?”

  Bernie cleared his throat. “Depends on how bad a stroke it is. Sometimes it’s the end of everything and they’re never the same, sometimes they get right over it. Just depends.”

  “On what part of the brain it hits,” Cornel explained.

  Thea nodded slowly.

  They knew all about strokes, these three, Caddie thought. Getting old made you an expert in all sorts of things you never wanted to know about.

  “Magill’s s’pose to call as soon as there’s anything to report,” Cornel said, taking the seat beside Thea, lowering his backside creakily.

  Bernie dragged a chair close and collapsed on it.

  “I’d like to wait with you,” Caddie said. Thea started to move over, make room for her on the sofa. “But I think I should go up and wait with Nana. Because she’ll be…” She didn’t know what Nana would be. But maybe frightened and upset, and if so, Caddie should be with her. “Let me know if you hear anything?” she asked, and Cornel said sure, of course they would.

  “Thank you,” Thea called softly. “Thank you, Caddie.”

  She turned back in the doorway. “For what?”

  “For the loveliest day.”

  “It was great—we’ll do it again soon.”

  Thea covered a sad smile by blowing her a kiss. “I hope so!”

  18

  Bea was the only one allowed to see Edgie for the first couple of days. The first time Caddie went, Edgie was asleep, and the second time she was out having physical therapy. Finally, a whole week after the stroke, Caddie found her in her room and wide awake.

  They’d given her a triple, but nobody was in either of the other two beds right now. She didn’t see Caddie at first—Bea, perched on the edge of her bed, blocked her view—but Magill did. He’d been slouching on the heater-air-conditioner unit under the windowsill; he stood up carefully, holding the sill with one hand and sleeking his hair back with the other. “Hey.” He greeted her with his shy-sly smile. “Look who’s here, Edgie.”

  Bea stood up, too. “Why, it’s Caddie—look, Edgie, Caddie’s come to see you.”

  Bea looked exhausted; in one week, she’d aged ten years. Caddie set her jelly jar of petunias down on the cluttered bedside table and hugged her. Bea was as tall as she was, and strong for her age; despite all her infirmities, she’d always seemed powerful, like a farm woman, a pioneer, somebody who took care of business with her tough, capable hands. But her sister’s stroke had cut her down and changed everything. She looked ready to surrender.

  Edgie made a sound like “Ehhmm” from the bed. She was listing a little to the side, one arm tucked under the sheet, but she lifted the other and held it out in welcome. “You,” she said. “Fine-ly.”

  “I know.” Caddie kissed her cool cheek and took her one strong hand, and got a good squeeze in return. “You look wonderful,” she said in relief, and it was nearly true. Edgie looked pale and tired, but the old impish twinkle in her eye was the same, and the same glad smile when she saw Caddie lit up her face.

  “I fixed her hair.” Bea sat down on the other side of the bed from Caddie. “The nurses were doing it all wrong.”

  “Oh, it’s pretty.” Like soft yellow cotton. “I hear you’re coming home soon.”

  Edgie’s smile was off-center, but pure joy. “I hear.”

  “Boy, we’ve missed you. It’s not the same with you gone.”

  She said something Caddie couldn’t make out.

  “Says she can’t wait,” Bea said.

  “This place,” Edgie said clearly, then made a face, including sticking out her pink tongue.

  Caddie had to remind herself not to speak too slowly or loudly; Edgie wasn’t deaf and there was nothing wrong with her mind. “Well, it won’t be long now, you’ll be out on the front porch in your green rocker.” The green rocker was Edgie’s, the blue one next to it Bea’s. Unofficially.

  Edgie put her right hand to her lips, as if praying.

  “Talk,” Bea urged, “don’t pantomime. She gets so tired, but she’s got to talk.”

  Her sister sighed, grunted. “I talk,” she said with effort.

  “And to think I used to wish she’d shut up once in a while.” Bea laughed with watering eyes, and Edgie gave her hip a push with her good hand.

  “She’s doing great,” Magill spoke up from the foot of the bed. “She’s the queen of rehab. You should’ve seen her on the parallel bars today, Caddie. Sheena of the jungle.”

  Edgie snickered. “ ’Cuz of her,” she said, patting her sister’s knee. Then something garbled. She scowled, frustrated, and tried again. Caddie still didn’t catch it; it sounded like timer rain.

  “Time is brain,” Bea explained. “That’s what Dr. Cao says, the neurologist. They got her to the hospital fast and gave her clot busters. The faster the better.”

  “It could’ve been much worse,” Magill said. “If you hadn’t called 911 as quick as you did.”

  Caddie already knew that, everybody at Wake House knew it, but it was good of him to say it again in front of Bea. It was the only thing that consoled her, the only bright spot in this whole disaster: that she had done right, acted properly.

  Caddie had been warned to keep her visit short. They talked for a little longer, then she sto
od and said she’d better go.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Bea said quickly.

  Caddie leaned over and put her cheek next to Edgie’s. “I’ll come see you again.”

  “You better,” she said clearly.

  “You get strong, you hear, and come home soon. Because we really miss you.”

  “Miss you.” She draped her arm around Caddie’s neck and hugged her hard. “Take care o’her.”

  “I will. I will.” They kissed again, and Caddie straightened up quickly—how awful it would be to cry in front of Edgie. “Bye, see you. Need a ride?” she asked Magill. “I was going over to see my grandmother now.”

  “Guess I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said, taking her place on the edge of the bed. “Thanks anyway.”

  Bea was already out in the hall. “Let’s go in here,” she said, guiding Caddie into a tiny, too-bright waiting room. Full of people; there were only two empty seats left together, and they were underneath a blaring TV set. “No, let’s—” She pivoted, and they went back out in the hall. “There’s a place down here.” A bench under a bulletin board at the other end of the corridor. “Can you sit for a minute, Caddie, do you have time?”

  It was Sunday, she had all the time in the world. They sat on a vinyl-covered bench with a water fountain on one side and the red-lighted emergency exit door on the other. No real privacy, but the dead-end hall was relatively secluded. Good thing, Caddie thought, when Bea put her hands over her eyes and burst into tears.

  She’d brought her handbag, a square black carryall with a silver clasp. When she opened it, Caddie caught the mint-and-cellophane scent of Nana’s purse and wondered if all old ladies’ pocketbooks smelled the same. “I’m a wreck,” Bea mumbled into her wrinkled handkerchief. “Can’t keep this up.”

  “You’re not getting enough rest. Edgie’s in better shape than you are.” She’d never seen Bea cry before. She could hardly stand it.

  Wiry strands of pewter-gray hair had come down from her careful coronets; she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “I’m not holding up well at all. I feel ashamed to be this frightened.”