Club Sandwich (40 page)

Did Joseph die suddenly, or did he waste away in sickness? Perhaps he was injured and lingered for several days. Did Jesus sit with His brothers and sisters, His mother Mary, and grieve that the end of this precious man was near? Did His pulse quicken even though He knew what was to come and when? Yes, I think so, because He felt what we feel.

For this reason I can feel angry as I sit here, and throw it upon His shoulders. Because He knows my frame, because He remembers an eternity ago when He created me in His mind, my soul can rest in His arms. Pie in the sky? Call it what you want. This is when faith grows feet that carry us through the briars of the earthly journey. This is when we cry out, “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus,” because this thing called dying isn’t natural. We long for the day when He abolishes sin and sorrow and death itself forever.

I bounce my thoughts against the baseboards of the waiting room in time with the ticking clock.

Brett rushes in. “Where is she?”

“They’re still working on her.”

“I was shocked when Dad called.”

“I’m sorry about that, but I had to get going. Oh, Brett, it was awful!”

“It’s okay. I was so scared driving down here.” Pale and bloated-looking, she peels off her wool shawl. “So do we wait here?”

I nod. “Hopefully Brian will be here soon.”

“He’s giving instructions to the chefs, and he’ll be right down.”

“How did he feel about Dad calling him?”

“Furious. I chewed him out.”

“Thanks.” Fear swallowed my anger about an hour ago.

“Dad basically told me what happened.”

I fill her in on the details. “I don’t know what they’re going to find. I’m sure they’ll be doing a CAT scan. They said it will take a while.”

“Well, I told Marcus to count me out of all activities for the next week.”

“I’ll bet that felt good.”

“If it wasn’t because of Mom, it would have.”

That’s true. I’m a boob. Everything feels so fuzzy.

Lou and Mitch arrive at the same time, warm hugs and encouraging words at the ready.

Lou plops down next to me. “Brenda’s in the middle of the closing on her big house. She said she’s praying and that she’ll put you on the prayer chain at church. She said don’t worry about meals, the church will be bringing dinner in for the next few days.”

Krystal bustles in thirty minutes later and tells Debbie to go on home, she’ll hold the fort. Reuben’s got the kids.

“Can you get a ride home, Ivy?” Debbie.

“I’ll take her.” Brett.

With a soft kiss on the cheek, she leaves us.

Brian arrives. “Thanks a lot, Ivy.”

I sense Lou and Mitch and Krystal all holding their breath. Brett stands up. “Knock it off, Bri. You are so full of yourself. Sit down.”

I allow her the big-sister role. What’s more, I’m grateful.

She sits back down. “Better yet, why don’t you go down to Donna’s and get us all a latte?”

He stalks out.

The boy really is a prime candidate for Jerry Springer. I swear Trixie’s more mature.

His name is Dr. Smart. How reassuring. He doesn’t look like your typical doctor, more like a football player: stocky build, blond crew cut, wide feet. The Johnny Unitas of Shock Trauma.

We sit with him in the waiting room. Brian and Brett and me. It’s eight o’clock.

“Piecing things together from her medical history and the CAT scan, we’ve found she experienced a small stroke.”

Brett sucks in a breath.

“She’s actually fortunate it wasn’t larger, with the plaque buildup she has.”

“She didn’t want the angioplasty,” I say.

“She needs it done, and the sooner the better.”

“I don’t know how to convince her.”

“Do all you can. She needs to have this done.” He flips a page on his chart. “She’s been experiencing dementia?”

“Oh yes. Getting worse and worse.”

“And she’s diabetic.”

“That too.”

“Well, we think that her dementia is coming from her lack of kidney function.”

Wow.

“Her creatinine levels are extremely high. Has she been nauseated recently?”

“She’s definitely lost interest in eating and has been throwing up occasionally.”

“That’s probably why. She needs to begin dialysis.”

Can anything else be wrong?

“All right.”

“We’ll get her started right away, and I’m scheduling the angioplasty for tomorrow morning. Dr. Merritt is a good man. He’ll be doing the procedure.”

“Can we go in now?” Brian.

“Certainly. She’s sleeping.”

“Did she ever come around?”

“Oh yes. She was asking for her children.” He smiles, blue eyes crinkling. “Go on back.”

Thank God she’s breathing on her own, deep and peaceful. At least there’s that. Brian stands here shaking, and Brett cries. I’m sure they have regrets. We all know that the major responsibility for ailing parents always falls to one child, and the others continue to live their lives seemingly unscathed. But at least a few what-ifs must find their way in when your mom is lying there and could die, and you
didn’t find the time to stop in and chat or have a cup of coffee. Maybe her time in the hospital will afford them the opportunity to display their mettle, to acknowledge Mom’s place in their lives. For her sake if not their own. And Mom will think they’re so great.

In my heart, I resent this. I’d be insane if I didn’t admit it. After I’ve done the majority of cooking and laundry and running around, they’ll simply sit by her bed and even the score. But for Mom’s sake, it’s better.

Brett’s different these days. At least she says thank you to me. But Brian’s never once sat me down and said, “Ivy, I know you bear the brunt of the family burden, I know I’m not capable of dealing with this, so I want you to know how thankful I am for you.”

That’s never going to happen. He thinks that because I live in her house, I deserve all I get.

I take Mom’s hand, punctured by an IV. “Let’s hope that angioplasty does the trick.”

“I know.” Brett. “And the dialysis. Especially if it clears up the dementia. It sure would be nice to have the old Mom back.”

Brian continues to sniff. “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t stand this.”

He turns, and I lay a hand on his arm. “You did fine at St. Joe’s, Bri.”

“That was just a broken hip. We could lose her, Ivy.”

“I know. Look, go on ahead. I’ll call you if anything develops.”

If I want him to play nice, I should do the same. And honestly, I pity him right now more than I ever have. No wonder he drinks like he does.

Brett kisses his cheek and pats his back, and off he goes. Maybe Dani will talk him into coming back.

“To tell you the truth, I’m sorry about Mom.” Brett. “But I can’t say I’m sorry I can’t accompany Marcus these days.”

“It must be tiring.” I rub Mom’s arm. Maybe, somewhere in her subconscious, she can feel the love.

“It’s more than that.”

“That doesn’t sound good. What is it?”

“I’m suspicious of his motives for running.”

“Marcus? I always thought he was a committed Republican.”

“I did too. Obviously not dyed-in-the-wool like us Starlings. It’s a power trip. Pure and simple.” She begins to rub Mom’s other arm. “I see a man for sale. Corporations meeting with him, other special-interest groups. All trying to buy his allegiance. So how can I support that?”

“I don’t see how you can.”

“I mean he’s obviously not going to take a stand for what he believes.”

“If he really believes anything.”

“Exactly.”

“Have you talked with him about it yet?”

“I’ve tried. It’s like talking to a brick. He’s decided he wants this bad.”

“So if he can’t have another woman, he’ll woo the political whore.”

“Exactly! That’s exactly it, Ivy. Either way, I’m left on the outside. Maybe that’s what he wants. And here I thought maybe we’d actually have a decent politician in Annapolis. How foolish of me.”

Hmm.

“So do I tell him to go on without me? That I can’t support his campaign?”

“What do you think you should do?”

“Seems to me I don’t have a choice, not if I want a real relationship. It’s the beginning of the end.”

“The beginning?”

“That’s true.”

“Let’s go get a cup of coffee.” Sure.

We head down one of the many glass elevators to the atrium and Donna’s Coffee Bar and Restaurant. She orders a triple latte, whole milk. I get a tea.

We sit at a table overlooking the atrium, glass walls towering above us. “I’ll support you in whatever you do.”

“I don’t know how much more of this life I can stand. I feel like I’ve lost myself, Ivy. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to look like or act like anymore. I’d rather go it alone than play the trophy wife beside a plastic man.”

See? I could have it a lot worse. Maybe there’s something to be said for being stuck in a quagmire.

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a few days? We can run to and from the hospital together. You know, mutually support each other during this trying time.”

“Those are good words. Marcus will go for that. And it’ll give him an easy explanation for why I’m not standing by his side.” She deepens her voice. “My wife asks for your prayers as her family goes through this trying time surrounding the illness of her mother.”

I kiss her cheek. “Why don’t you go home and pack a bag, and I’ll meet you at my house? You can bunk with me.”

“That’ll be nice.”

My house will soon burst if anyone else comes to stay.

It’s kind of nice, though, isn’t it?

Mitch walks into Mom’s room.

He kisses my forehead but doesn’t let it linger. Disappointment mixes with relief.

“How’s our Dorothy?”

“Tomorrow will be a big day for her.” I point to the large machine by her bed. “They’re dialyzing her now.”

“I was on my way home from a dinner with a potential business partner.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Still keeping a few irons in the fire. You going to be okay?”

“I have to be, right?”

He rubs my arm. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

We talk in the coffee shop for an hour. He builds me up, tells me I’m more woman than he’s ever met, tells me he’s so proud of me. And at the end, he leans forward and kisses me. And I kiss him back, and dear God, what am I doing?