Dying Wishes (23 page)

At
two-thirty
Strutter
took a
call on her cell phone, then dropped it back into her purse with a frown.
“Damn!” she said uncharacteristically.
Strutter
very
seldom swore, so our heads snapped up. “Olivia’s sitter just called. She woke
up from her nap crying, which is unusual for her, and she’s running a little
fever. I’m pretty sure she’s just cutting a tooth, but the sitter can’t risk
the other kids getting sick.” She turned her hands up helplessly. “I’m so sorry
to do this to you, but I’ve got to go pick her up.”

“You’d
be leaving in an hour anyway to collect Charlie,” I told her. “Such are the
demands of motherhood. I remember them all too well and none too fondly.”

“Off
you go, Sugar. We’ll get by, but you tell that baby girl to straighten up
because we need her mama here tomorrow,” Margo added, only half-kidding.

The
next hour and a half flew by. At a few minutes before four, I left Margo to
cope on her own and went to keep my appointment with the
Henstock
sisters. I felt a little guilty, knowing I would surely be offered a delicious
tea that would more than compensate for the lunch I once again had not had time
to eat, while Margo made do with peanut butter crackers at her desk.

“
Arf
arf
arf
arf
arf
!” yapped Henry joyously
as
Ada
opened the front door to me, and I gave the
little dog a pat. With all of the changes the sisters were about to face, I was
glad that they could keep Henry, nuisance though he could be, with them.

“Come
in, come in,”
Ada
urged, leading the way into the
living room where
Lavinia
already presided over the
tea trolley, which was laden with appetizing goodies. I hoped the growling of
my stomach wasn’t audible.

“Business
first, as I’m afraid I have another engagement to get to,”
Lavinia
fluttered. I had noticed a handbag, sweater and notebook stacked in readiness
on a table in the entrance hall. “Shall we get the signing taken care of?”

Obediently,
I took a seat and produced the necessary files and a couple of black ballpoint
pens from my briefcase. We set up a sort of assembly line and managed to get
all the documents signed by both sisters and safely tucked back into the file
folders before a beige sedan pulled into the driveway.
Lavinia
had been keeping a watchful eye out the front window the entire time we
shuffled papers.

“Goodness,
there they are,” she exclaimed and hurried into the hall to collect her things.
“I’m so sorry to leave before we’ve had our tea, but I don’t want to keep my
friends waiting,” she apologized. “We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.” She was
into the car and was gone, leaving
Ada
to drag Henry
unwillingly into the kitchen and out the back door to his run. When she
returned, I raised my eyebrows.

“
Lavinia
has made some new friends?”

Ada
harrumphed and reached for the teapot. “I would hardly call them friends.
They’re followers of some self-proclaimed spiritualist-
cum
-
channeler
. Has a website and
everything. Just to please
Lavinia
, I went with her
to one of the sessions. It was apparent to me that this woman had merely copied
a lot of occult claptrap out of an obscure book she found somewhere and has
managed to convince some gullible people that the information was channeled
through her. They actually pay good money to sit there while she reads them a
few pages at a time.”
Ada
snorted as she handed me my
cup. “Her specialty these days is convincing old people that they can take
their bodies with them into eternity, of all the ridiculous drivel. Never mind.
I’m quite used to
Lavinia’s
naiveté. This will pass
just as all of her other
dabblings
have. If anyone
suggests that she get together with them to drink Kool-Aid, I’ll interfere, but
so far there seems to be no real harm to this. Meanwhile, it gives her an
interest.”

I
laughed with her, but my thoughts were on more serious matters these days. “How
will you manage when one or the other of you passes on?” I couldn’t help but
ask. “Your lives have been intertwined for such a long time now.”

Ada
gazed out
the window, a wistful smile on her face. “We shall manage the same as any other
two people who have shared a lifetime, I suppose. After all, life is
essentially a series of losses. Eventually we learn to take our happiness in
moments as we encounter them, because that’s all we have.”

She
turned back to me fondly. “Think about it. Our first experience with serious
loss is probably the death of a pet or a grandparent. After that we might lose
a friend who moves away, a spouse to divorce or war, our parents.” She looked
back out the window.

“We
lose jobs and homes and sometimes, most tragically, even children. After that
we lose our vision, our hearing, and maybe even our marbles,” she chuckled,
“and finally we lose life itself. That’s the way it is, and no self-appointed
prophet or quack spiritualist can change the natural course of events, no
matter what
Lavinia
hopes. She has fallen into the
clutches of one after another of those charlatans her whole life, poor darling,
despite dear Papa’s attempts to get her to see reason.”

I
nodded understandingly. “Is that where she went this afternoon with her new,
um, acquaintances?”

“I’m
afraid so. She’s run off to hear this latest one-name guru tell her how she can
live to be a thousand if she drinks enough pomegranate juice and learns to
visualize her happy place or something,” she said ruefully, “but try as she
might to escape her fate, she knows she’s just as mortal as the rest of us.
Mama and Papa died, and we’re both going to die, and no one can say for certain
what happens after that. We can’t say because we can’t possibly know until we
die ourselves.”

She
reached for the teapot and refilled our cups. “But to answer your question, my
dear, if
Lavinia
passes on before me, I shall do as I
have always done, take care of my home, cook my dinner, get my hair cut, go to
the dentist, and hope for those flashes of love and joy that come along every
now and again to balance the books, as will
Lavinia
should I be the one to leave this world first. She’s a lot tougher than I’m
making her sound.”

“Do
you have each other’s power of attorney for health care? I’m sorry to pry, but
I’ve been getting my own documents in order for the past couple of weeks, so
I’ve become rather a bore on the subject,” I apologized.

“Not at all.
Yes, dear Gerald
helped us get everything tidied up some time ago when
Lavinia
had her TIA episode.”

“Gerald
MacRae
? He’s my attorney, too.”

“I
believe he mentioned that the last time we played bridge,”
Ada
murmured, “along with something about your friend Margo’s dog. What was that
all about?”

“It’s
a long story that turned out to be much ado about nothing,” I assured her.
“Anyway, I’m glad to hear that he’s taken care of things for you and
Lavinia
. He seems very competent.”

“Oh
my, yes,” she agreed. “He and his wife are absolute fiends at bridge, too.” She
paused before deciding to continue. “Dr. Petersen has helped us put one other
back-up plan in place, so you really needn’t worry about us.
Such
a lovely man.
He’s been our physician simply forever.”

My
ears perked up. “What plan is that?” I put down my cup and waited.

She
smiled gently. “Sister and I had quite a spell of not being able to sleep at
about the same time we were consulting with Gerald. Dr. Petersen helped us out
with short-term prescription for
Seconal
, a quite
powerful barbiturate. At first he was very hesitant, and then he seemed to
reconsider. He mentioned that it’s not an uncommon problem for people of our
age, but he cautioned us to take the pills only when we were absolutely certain
that we needed them. He was quite clear about that. We had the prescriptions
filled, but the oddest thing happened. Just knowing we have them stashed away
in our medicine chest seems to have solved the problem. We sleep very well now,
knowing the choice is ours to take them or not. It’s really very comforting.
More tea, dear?”

~

On
Wednesday morning I arrived at the Vista View sales desk with a somewhat
lighter heart. Although Ginny was preparing to leave Vista View, she had
apparently regained her emotional equilibrium, which was good to see. She might
still have concerns about Margaret’s death, but she had decided to let me off
the hook, and that was a huge relief. Tommy had his much-needed job back, and
we had put an end to his girlfriend’s shenanigans. Young Olivia had cut her
tooth and reverted to her smiley, adorable self, allowing
Strutter
to rejoin us. Best of all, my pal Bert was on the mend. I resolved to pay him a
visit at lunch time.

The
morning passed pleasantly enough. I chatted with a couple of rental prospects
and wound up showing a man and his wife the still-empty unit that was to be the
Henstocks
’ new home. The couple knew the apartment
was no longer available, but they wanted to get a feel for an actual unit, so I
took them over. I was glad to get another look at it myself to be sure that all
was in readiness for my friends. I was reassured by the bright, yet cozy,
ambience of the place and could easily picture the sisters—and Henry, of
course—enjoying its comfort and security.

After
locking the unit and returning my prospects to the visitors’ parking lot, I
drove to the Phase III nursing facility to say hello to Bert. The feeling of
dread I experienced before entering any medical building quickly dissipated in
the cheerful reception area. Comfortable chairs, lots of potted plants and
flowered drapes at the floor-to-ceiling windows softened the functional counter
behind which several staff members had workstations.

“Goodness,
another visitor for our Mr. Rosenthal,” chirped the plump, motherly lady I
approached with my request. “We’re going to have to rename this building Albert
Rosenthal Hall at this rate.” She winked at me chummily. “We’re going to miss
him when he goes back to his apartment. He’s really livened up the place.”

“He
does that,” I agreed and smiled to myself as I followed her directions, not to
a patient room but a solarium at the rear of the third floor, where
convalescing patients were enjoying the sunshine. Bright chintzes and flowering
plants furnished a number of small seating areas where patients read or dozed
or chatted quietly to the accompaniment of classical guitar music wafting from
concealed speakers somewhere above us. The overall effect was that of the lobby
of a four-star hotel in a resort area, not a nursing facility in Connecticut.
The more I saw of Vista View, the more I was coming to appreciate what it had
to offer those who lived there.

I
spotted Bert dozing in a wicker chaise behind a large potted palm, an unlit
cigar drooping from his hand. He was his usual nattily attired self in a
crisply ironed blue shirt, albeit without a tie, and charcoal gray trousers.
His leather slippers were the only indication that he was at all indisposed.

I
approached quietly, uncertain whether to disturb him, but I needn’t have
worried. Within seconds, his nose wiggled.

“
Tova
Signature,” he correctly identified my perfume.
“Must be Kate.”
His eyes popped open. “How are you doing,
Gorgeous? Come by for that dance?”

“Maybe
later when they play something a bit livelier,” I retorted, unable to stop
grinning at him. I pulled a chair closer to him and sat. “See? I knew all that
walking you were doing was bad for you.”

His
trademark cackle rang out, reassuring me further. “We’ll have to do up an
article for the
Journal of the American
Medical Association
on the dangers of exercise,” he agreed. “So what
trouble have you stirred up lately? The last time I saw you, you and your
good-looking blonde friend were causing a ruckus at the punch bowl.”

I
laughed at the memory of Saturday night’s confrontation gone wrong, which
seemed eons ago, and filled him in on the events of the last few days. He
listened intently, his face registering a gamut of emotions. By the time I got
around to telling him that Tommy was back at work, he was beaming with relief.

“Wow,
you couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried. Life, love and intrigue among the
geriatric set, or in this case the not-so-geriatric set.” He cackled again
softly, his face sobering. “Ms. Preston is really leaving over this Margaret
Butler business? That’s too bad, a real shame,” he said thoughtfully. “Why do
you think it’s so important to her?”

I
considered the question. “I thought I knew Ginny pretty well, but it turns out
I didn’t. I knew she was efficient and responsible, a person who prided herself
on getting things done, but I’m afraid those traits sort of tipped over into
obsession. In this instance her natural sense of accountability somehow
escalated into guilt when the fact is she had no control over the situation.
Whatever happened to Margaret, or didn’t happen, probably had no connection
with Vista View at all, but not knowing is driving Ginny crazy. It won’t let go
of her, so she’s letting go of it by leaving here.” I shrugged. “That’s my best
guess anyway.”