A Month of Summer (23 page)

Teddy measured the distance with an uncertain glance. “Ho-kay,” he said finally, and started toward the fish tank.

I waited until he was out of earshot, then turned back to the doctor. “How’s he doing today?”

Dr. Amadi blandly recounted my father’s condition while writing on his clipboard. Imbalanced electrolytes, blah, blah, blah, uncertainty about the medications in his system, blah, blah, blah, they were keeping him sedated for now, and they would know more tomorrow, blah, blah, blah. “He’s resting comfortably,” he finished, and raised a self-satisfied brow, as if that solved everything. “We will assess his progress today, then most probably move to some tests, MRI and ultrasound. There is the possibility that his rapid decline is the result of a secondary condition—head injury, stroke, a series of small strokes. These things can go undiagnosed in the dementia patient. If he has been alone in the house, all of these are possibilities.” He gave me a narrow look. “Has he fallen recently?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling as though I’d been accused of something and should defend myself. “Not that I’m aware of, but it could have happened.”

“I see.” The doctor stepped away from the door, holding the clipboard against his chest, the silent message being that he was finished jotting notes and therefore ready to move on. “We will know more in two or three days, when the erroneous medications have been cleansed from his system, and his electrolytes are once again within normal range.”

“Forgive me for not understanding,” I said. It was a typical legal maneuver—soften up the opposition by apologizing for your stupidity, then ask the tough questions. “But yesterday I had the impression that he would only be here for a day, possibly two. Can’t we go ahead and run the tests today?”

Dr. Amadi tipped his chin upward, bristling. “We will, of course, care for him to the utmost of our ability. We will be in contact as things progress. There is very little you can do for him now.”

Sidestepping me, he brushed by and disappeared down the hall.

I gaped after him as he turned the corner, then I stepped into the room and watched my father sleep for a few minutes. Teddy came in, and we stood there together, neither of us saying anything. It was impossible to know how to feel about my father, finally quiet, crumpled in a hospital bed with his mouth hanging open and his gown wet because he’d been drooling on himself. I moved the pillows and adjusted his head. As I turned to leave, Teddy went back and covered him with the blanket, then stood over the bed, gently stroking his hand.

My emotions did a wild swing, and I exited the room, then waited in the hall. When Teddy came out, he patted me on the head as if I were a child. “It all right, A-becca. Daddy Ed sleepin’.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Ssshhhh. He sleepin’.”

“Yeah,” I answered, and we started down the hall.

“We gone see Mama now?” Teddy’s face lifted hopefully. “Mama here?”

“Down the street at the nursing center,” I answered. “We’ll have to go in the car.”

“Kay-Kay here?” He scanned the corridor and peered into the rooms we passed, as if he expected to see Kay-Kay in one of them.

I thought about what he’d said the day before, that Kay-Kay had gone to the hospital and not come back. If Kay-Kay had suddenly become ill, all of this might make some sense. Perhaps the stress of taking care of Teddy and my father had been too much. “I’m not sure, Teddy. We’d have to know her full name to check.”

“Oh,” Teddy said, and that was the end of the conversation. We stepped into the elevator, and he was fascinated by the buttons and the lights above the door.

As we drove down the street, Teddy asked questions about how the elevators worked at the hospital, what stopped them from bumping into the roof, the floor, and each other. At the nursing center, Ouita Mae Barnhill was sitting outside the front door in her wheelchair, her purse clutched in her lap. It seemed strange to see her there after having run across her at the hospital the day before.

“We just seem to show up at all the same places,” I commented as the automatic door on the wheelchair ramp opened, and a worker came out, pushing an empty laundry cart. Teddy left me and walked up the ramp, craning to observe the top of the door frame. Inside, he looped around, came back out the center door, and headed up the wheelchair ramp, one careful step at a time, waiting to see if the door would open on its own again.

“There it go!” He cheered, fanning his hands in the air.

Ouita Mae laughed. “It’d be good if we could all get that excited about an automatic door, now wouldn’t it? He’s sure enough a cheerful chap.”

“He’s Hanna Beth’s son.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Teddy.”

“Oh.” Ouita nodded. “She’s asked about him. This morning, she woke up fussing about Teddy. I reckon she’d had a dream or something. She’ll be glad you came today.”

At a loss for how to respond, I changed the subject. “Are you headed out to lunch?”

Tipping her chin up, she smiled and nodded. “My grandson’s taking me. He ought to be along any minute.” She checked her watch and glanced expectantly toward the door. “Lands, I’ll tell you, I can’t keep up with that boy—so many things to do and people to see, and every time I turn around, his beeper is going off, and he’s rushing here and there. I just have to sit down and wait, sometimes.”

“I guess it would be that way.” In a sense, I could relate. The more successful the law practice became, the more it seemed as if I ended up catching Kyle on the fly. He was always on his way to somewhere, in a hurry, overbooked, late for a consultation, a meeting, a mediation, a court date, an opportunity to schmooze with corporate executives in charge of big real estate deals. I loved the fact that he was successful, confident, good at what he did, but there was always that part of me whispering in my mother’s voice that I should be keeping up, preparing to take care of myself and Macey, that I shouldn’t make the mistake of leaning too much on Kyle.

Perhaps he sensed that. Maybe that was why he was attracted to Susan Sewell. Maybe she made him feel needed. . . .

The door swished open, and both Ouita Mae and I looked up. A doctor stepped out, slipping off his lab coat.

Ouita Mae smiled. “Well, there he is, finally,” she said loudly enough for him to hear. He’d turned to look over his shoulder, watching as Teddy raised and lowered his foot on the mat by the handicapped entrance, setting off the chime that warned of the door opening.

The doctor finally turned away, pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. “Ready?” he asked, then noticed me and paused.

“This is my grandson.” Ouita Mae tried to move her chair forward to make introductions, but slid in the seat instead and ended up teetering on the edge.

Both the doctor and I stepped forward to help. He ended up with the chair and I with my hand under Ouita Mae’s elbow.

The rush of assistance embarrassed her. “I’ll be glad when this leg gets stronger,” she complained, situating herself in the wheelchair. “It’s time I got back to normal.”

The doctor gave me a covert look, and I understood the meaning. He was afraid his grandmother wouldn’t be getting back to normal anytime soon. Steadying the wheelchair with one hand, he extended the other to me. “Phillip Barnhill.”

“Rebecca Macklin,” I introduced myself and shook his hand. His grip was warm, strong, steady. A nice sort of hand for a doctor.

His grandmother smiled proudly up at him. “The nurses call him Dr. Phil.”

Letting his head fall forward, he grinned sheepishly. “All right, I’m sure she doesn’t need the whole history.”

“I was just trying to make her laugh,” Ouita Mae defended. “She’s had a tough go the last few days. We had a chat about it last night at the hospital, didn’t we, dear? The two of us almost wrecked on the plane together coming into Dallas.”

Dr. Phil turned to me curiously, and I blushed. “It’s a long story.” No doubt Dr. Phil’s life was filled with long stories of aging parents and caretaking dilemmas just like mine.

“There’s room for three at lunch,” Ouita Mae offered, then glanced toward Teddy. “Four, I mean. You’re welcome to join us.”

“We can’t,” I said. “But thanks. I’d better take Teddy in before he wears out the door.” There was more weariness in the comment than I’d meant to convey.

Ouita Mae smiled indulgently in Teddy’s direction. “Hanna Beth will be so tickled to see you both.” Glancing over her shoulder at her grandson, she said, “Rebecca belongs to Mrs. Parker— Hanna Beth. She flew here all the way from California to see about things.” She turned back to me. “Phillip is your mother’s doctor, you know.”

I blinked in surprise. A million questions ran through my mind, but by the door, Teddy’s investigation was causing the chime to ring incessantly.

“We can talk later,” Dr. Barnhill offered. “If your mother knew she had visitors out here and I was holding them up, she’d bust my chops.”

“Phillip!” Ouita Mae scolded. “Mind your language!” As they started down the sidewalk, she stretched upward in the chair and snatched at his earlobe. He ducked away playfully, and they continued across the parking lot.

CHAPTER 14

I fell asleep after another morning session with Gretchen, and when I woke up, Teddy was sitting by my bed. He’d bent forward over the rail and taken hold of my hand. His cheek was resting lightly on my fingers, and he was just watching me.

“Hi, Mama,” he whispered, smiling, his sweet, soft eyes looking into mine.

Teddy
, I thought,
oh, Teddy, if you’re a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
My heart filled with a rush of love. I couldn’t have forced words past my lips if I’d wanted to, but I was afraid to speak anyway. Disturbing the air might cause my Teddy to vanish like a mirage, and once again I would be alone in the room. I lay there and held his hand. It felt real. It felt so real. . . .

“Don’ cry, Mama,” he whispered, then took a tissue from the box and clumsily dabbed my cheek. “Don’ cry.”

They’re happy tears,
I wanted to tell him.
These are the happiest tears.
I gazed at Teddy, taking in the look and feel and scent of him to make him real. He’d been in the sun too much without his hat. His forehead and cheeks and the back of his neck were burned, his skin dry and leathery. He smelled of wood and soil and growing things— the damp, earthy odors of the garden house. His hair needed washing and a trim, but his clothes were clean. I was glad, because it meant someone was taking care of him.

I looked around the room, expecting to see Kay-Kay, or Edward, perhaps Rebecca, but there was no one. My mind succumbed to the fact that Teddy probably wasn’t there, either. He couldn’t possibly have come alone. My fingers squeezed tighter around Teddy’s, as if that could keep him from vanishing when someone came in and woke me up.

I heard voices in the corridor, but I couldn’t make out the words. They came closer, and I caught fragments of conversation.

“. . . really doing better. You’ll be . . .” It was Mary’s voice. Perhaps I wasn’t dreaming after all.

I couldn’t hear the answer or identify the other voice. It was a woman’s. Rebecca’s? She was speaking in hushed tones, trying to keep the conversation private.

“She’ll be glad,” Mary replied. “. . . missed him. But I wouldn’t tell . . .” The word “her” and whatever came afterward were muffled.

Wouldn’t tell her what?
I thought.
What?

The answer was shrouded in a grave tone. A few moments later, Mary was gone, and Rebecca entered the room wearing a cordial smile and offering a pleasant greeting. “You look like you’re doing better. Your nurse and your therapist are giving good reports. They say you’ve come a long way in the past few days. That’s good, because Teddy has seedlings potted everywhere. I think he’s counting on you to come home and help plant the flower beds. Isn’t that right, Teddy?”

“Tha’s right.” Letting go of my hand, Teddy sat back in his chair and started cataloging flowers on his fingers. “I got mar-gold, and batch-er butin, see-nas, got butin mum, divide the iris and the daffy-dill . . .”

I laughed when he said “daffy-dill.” That was one of Edward’s words. The trees in the front yard were surrounded by daffodils. Edward always made nonsensical jokes as we worked out there.

Huh-uh, Daddy Ed. I don’ know.
Even years after he’d memorized the punch line, Teddy always answered the same way, so as not to spoil Edward’s joke.
What the silly f-ower?

Teddy always threw his head back and slapped the ground, as if the joke caught him by surprise every time.
Oh, that a good one, Daddy Ed! That a good one!
He laughed and snorted until both of us laughed with him. Teddy loved to make people laugh.

A smile tugged my lips as I savored the memory. I tried not to imagine how the smile looked from the outside, my mouth hanging slack, my cheeks hollow. It felt like a smile on the inside, which was all that mattered.

“We gone go Wal-Mart,” Teddy offered, his eyes widening with anticipation. Teddy enjoyed Wal-Mart, especially the gardening center with its rows and rows of flowers. Sometimes he would wander among the plants for an hour while I did my shopping. He talked to the employees, helped them with watering, pruned dead leaves, picked up spilled grains of fertilizer and fed them to the plants. “Gone go Wal-Mart, get some Mir-cal Go.” He glanced at Rebecca for approval, and she nodded. “And some pizza. I like pizza. Got the flat meat.” He held up his fingers with about an inch of space in between. “Little flat meat. Tha’s good.”

“Pepperoni.” Rebecca shook a finger at him. “Last night, you stole all the pepperoni.”

Ducking his head, Teddy honked and laughed. “No, I did,” he said finally, his head and shoulders swaying back and forth as he smiled adoringly at Rebecca.