Song of Renewal (28 page)

“I’d rather look at this change as good,” Charlcy now opined in glass-half-full mode. “Good that he will have his needs met. At least we won’t have to worry about neglect.”

Liza agreed. The care at Concord Place was exemplary, not the case in many such settings. And she and Charlcy should know. They had thoroughly checked out dozens of other assisted living institutions.

Oh, how she wished for the funds to afford one of the loftier, elegant choices, but neither she nor Charlcy, with their limited finances, could carry such a financial burden.

Their father’s savings had long ago been bankrupted by their mother’s extensive medical expenses. The daughters had been forced to sign over the bulk of his forthcoming retirement and estate to Concord Place. Of course, some of their father’s services were covered by insurance or Medicare. The only thing left that was truly his was his room’s furniture, and even that was subject to question.

Concord Place did not supply all the luxuries, but it did provide comfortable at-home-ness and excellent care. The package was conveniently unbundled so that Charlie’s expenses were customized to his needs.

“In all,” Liza said, “we made a good choice, Charlcy.”

“Yup.” Charlcy yawned hugely, stretched, and then growled, “What’s taking them so long?”

“He was doing his recreation thing,” Liza, too, stretched, growing groggy in the warm sunlight spilling through the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. “He’s probably walking today. She has to locate him.” The supervised walking was one of the things here that she appreciated. Dad needed his exercise. It could perhaps improve the quality of and even prolong his life.

She rose and strolled out to the next-door deserted lounging area where a big-screen television played Oprah’s interview with John Travolta. Charlcy sauntered in moments later. The lounge sported plush earth-toned easy chairs and sofas in comfortable conversational arrangements.

Well stocked library shelves lined an entire wall in the lounge. Liza had learned that the books, all genres one could imagine, were donated. She was also delighted to learn that many of the residents still enjoyed reading during lucid periods.

“Penny’s a real sweetie pie to stick by Angel’s side like she does,” Charlcy said over Liza’s shoulder as they fingered through the book collection. “It’s good to know that she’ll call us if she sees any changes.”

Penny was always happy to do hospital duty in emergencies. This celebration wasn’t exactly in that category, but things being unpredictable, Liza took nothing in life for granted. Somehow, she needed her father more now than ever before. She was certain Dr. Abrams had sensed that very thing. She prayed fervently that her dad would be lucid today. Even if he wasn’t, just being near him was life affirming.

“I’m glad Garrison chose to come with us,” she told Charlcy. “I wasn’t sure he’d agree to pry loose from the hospital, but I’m glad he did. He and Dad were close all through the years.”

“Pops has always been like a father to me,” he’d told Liza earlier when she suggested he come along. “Sometimes even
more than my own dad. Yeah, I’ll go with you. I’d like to see him. It’s been a while. Charlie was always sharing words of wisdom along the way, just when I needed ‘em. I really miss that.”

“Yeah,” Charlcy said, dragging Liza’s attention back to the moment at hand. “Dad was always easy to love. Always a generous spirit.”

Liza and Charlcy shared a smile, one of unique sisterly affinity.

“Where did everybody go?” Garrison appeared in the lounge, impatiently scratching his head. “Where did she have to go to get Pops? China?” They all laughed and went back to settle into rockers again. It seemed as though each of them now flowed in peaceful acceptance of what the day would bring.

Eventually Pops appeared, still dressed in white Reebok walking shoes with rumpled, mismatched conventional clothes. “How are you today, Dad?”

He lowered his long length into the cushioned seat of one of the rocking chairs. “Aah,” he closed his eyes and sighed. “This cool feels good. It’s hot as Hades outside.”

Simultaneously, Liza and Charlcy heaved sighs of relief at Charlie’s lucidity. Liza knew that Charlcy, like herself, would relish the moments, however brief. However tenuous.

“Where’s your girlfriend, Pops?” Charlcy said, venturing onto dubious ground.

He frowned for a long moment, during which Liza noted his fresh, closely cropped haircut. One of the services at Concord Place was an on-site barber and beauty shop, which was a god-sent convenience. Suddenly, Pops’ bushy white brows lifted in enlightenment. “Oh, you’re talking about Sally.” He slowly shook his head, entertaining some mysterious musing. “She’s playing bingo, I suppose,” he finally said, crossing his long, spindly legs. Liza’s heart gave a lurch at seeing the bony appendages poking out from beneath loose, flappy brown slacks
legs, remembering how compact he used to be. Not heavy. Just solid. Healthy.

Young.

Vital.

As she took a seat near him, Liza also noticed that his socks did not match. One was athletic white, the other dress black. At that moment, it didn’t matter. At least his rumpled burgundy shirt was clean and buttoned right. Almost. His gray hair had wet comb tracks.

Liza swallowed back a lump and smiled. “Happy Birthday, Dad.”

His blue-gray eyes focused more keenly on her. “What day is it?”

“August twentieth.”

A tiny cloud passed over his features, then lifted. “By George, it is my birthday, isn’t it?” He smiled then. A warm,
there
smile.

“Dad.” Liza rushed to capture the
there
-ness. “Tell me about Sally.” Why did she say that? Because it was the first thing that popped into her mind. She needed that Daddy-connection like oxygen. She longed to hear her daddy talk – about anything on the universe as long as she could hear his sweet, rumbling voice.

“Well,” he leaned back, one crossed-over leg swinging slowly, chin raised in contemplation, “she’s nice. Most of the time.” He chuckled mildly. “Pretty, too, when she takes time to primp. Sometimes, however, she’s not so nice. Steals things, you know?” His brow scrunched. “Not always. Just sometimes. I have to hide everything here. More sticky fingers around this place than you can imagine.”

They all watched him, thankful that for that moment, his mind latched on to the here and now. “Y’know,” he said suddenly, softly. “I’m a very lucky man to have my two daughters and a wonderful son-in-law here with me on my birthday.”

Liza’s breath caught in her throat at the vivid coherence of his words
.

“Say Pops.” Charlcy stirred restlessly, obviously antsy to detour him from maudlin directions. “You never finished telling us about Sally. What’s happening with you two?”

He skewered her with a piercing look and lifted an imposing finger. “That is none of your danged business,” he snapped. Then he smiled smugly, crossed his arms stubbornly across his concave torso, and rocked vigorously.

“
Whooee,
” Liza chortled. “I guess he told you!”

“I reckon he did.” Charlcy shifted in the rocker with mock indignation, and then burst into a contagious grin.

Chuckling, Garrison pulled his chair over and started chatting with Pops for a spell of light man-banter, ignoring the times his father-in-law failed to recall certain instances, filling in and guiding him to safer topics, bringing tears to Liza’s eyes with his gentle sensitivity and respect.

“Where’s Angel?” Pops suddenly asked. “Did she come with you?”

Garrison shot Liza an inquiring look. She shook her head, frowning.

“Angel couldn’t come, Pops. But she sends her love.” Garrison smiled tightly, obviously uncomfortable with dishonesty.

“Sweet girl, Angel,” Pops murmured, rocking more sedately and lazily swinging his leg in rhythm.

“Look at those squirrels, playing on the little red birdhouse,” Liza squealed, pointing out the window at a beautiful berm of flowers and shrubs encroaching on the mulched foundation of the pristine white pole supporting the critters’ playhouse.

“See the one hanging upside down from the birdhouse?” Pops asked. “He’s my buddy. Name’s Squiggy.”

Squiggy was indeed, dangling upside down from the tiny red birdhouse, tail twitching happily.

Pops continued his pleasant rhetoric. “I was a’comin’ out and feeding ‘em all for a while. I’d save my breakfast bread to feed ‘em each morning.” The warmth faded from his creased features. “Then they found out and took it away from me.”

“Who, Dad?” Liza felt dread settle in her chest. Indignation rose up from the cement heaviness. How
dare
they forbid him to feed the critters bread crumbs.

“Everybody,” he grouched. “They saw me feeding them and then they started bringing bread crumbs and – -“ He shrugged morosely. “I just let ’em have it. Such hateful people.”

“The others didn’t know how much it meant to you, Pops.” Charlcy said, attempting to smooth over a simmering situation. Paranoia was raising its ugly head.

“Oh, they did.” One stern finger shot up like a flag. “They’re just mean is what they are.”

Liza felt another piercing longing for her daddy.
Oh God. Why?

She looked at Charlcy and saw the same emotions mirrored in her. Liza determined again that she would get through this. She would continue to take it one minute at a time. Savoring each peaceful, rational one.

Moments later, they moved to the dining room, where frothy white cake frosting rippled and glowed beneath the firelight of seventy-five candles. “Make a wish and blow ’em out, Pops.” Charlcy led him over and helped him huff enough air to extinguish them.

“What did you wish, Dad?” asked Liza.

Without hesitation he said, “Oh, I wished I could see my lovely wife again.”

Startled, yet curiously warmed, Liza gauged Charlcy’s reaction. Her sister’s face remained unreadable. Untouched. But for once, Liza didn’t care. Her dad was reliving a happy moment. He
so
deserved his happy memories.

Under Charlcy’s direction, the motley gang broke out into a totally dissonant rendering of “Happy Birthday,” one in several keys and with a number of staggered endings.

Music drifted over the intercom as they ate. Pop tunes, including Broadway numbers. “I Could Have Danced All Night” and “Do Re Mi,” among others.

“Dance with me, Dad?” Liza heard herself saying, surprised. At the same time she was glad she’d acted spontaneously, because her father unhesitatingly stood and held out his hand.

The song was Robert Goulet’s “If Ever I Should Leave You,” the melody and lyrics so poignant Liza felt as if she would drown in emotion. It swirled and pummeled her insides for long moments, threatening to take her under. But when she looked up into her father’s lined, once-handsome face, one now smiling and content with his little girl in his arms, she felt a peace settle upon her like she’d not felt since early childhood, before Mama’s emotional state was shot to wads.

It took her back to a carefree time when just a touch from those calloused, gentle hands could calm all her fears. She laid her head over on the skinny shoulder, and for just that moment, let her peaceful heart connect with his.

She knew that this moment was a gift from above. One she’d never forget.

“Move over, you hog,” Charlcy said, nudging her. “Let me show Pops how to really dance.”

Liza stepped away as the old fifties tune “Dance with Me Henry” struck up. Liza noted that all the tunes were rather smooth and easy-paced. Noninvasive. Important in that setting. Several other residents were attempting to shake a slow leg as Charlcy and Pops did a fair version of a stammering jitterbug. Liza and Garrison then jumped in the pitiful fray to level out
their musical sensibilities. They fit smooth shag steps to the old ditty, enjoying every moment of it.

Festivity reigned, as much as it possibly could considering both the physical and mental limitations of the partygoers. Cake and ice cream loaded plates served to lighten spirits, even of those with the most dire challenges.

Liza’s curiosity piqued when she heard, “There’s Sally.” She turned to watch a petite, white-haired, rather well-dressed lady who’d arrived late.

“Bet she was a knockout twenty years ago,” Garrison muttered out the side of his mouth.

Liza had to agree. Charlcy leaned to whisper in her ear, “Sally’s having a good day. Last time I was here, she hadn’t combed her hair for at least two days, nor changed her clothes. That time she was shrieking at Pops. Called him Frankenstein, she did.”

The corners of her mouth twitched upward before she cleared her throat, sobering. “Sad. Today is a real improvement.”

Remarkably attractive for her circumstances, Sally rushed to plant a big smooch on Pops’ flushed cheek. “Happy Birthday, Charlie,” she gushed, and was rewarded with a lopsided, silly smile.

Liza and Charlcy’s gazes collided and they both burst out laughing, a sound swallowed by all the commotion the kiss drew from the group. Everybody was pointing and muttering and snickering. Some of the more mentally challenged remained passive as staffers spoon-fed them cake and ice cream.

“Y’all are disgraceful,” sputtered one plump, gray-haired woman from a nearby table. She glared at Sally, pulled herself up self-righteously, and stuck her nose in the air.

“You’re just jealous,” singsonged Sally, still rooted near Charlie’s chair.

“Yeah, Gertrude,” yelled another dark-haired female resident from across the room, this one standing and waving a fist. “You just want ‘im for yourself.”

“So-rry,” sang Sally, grinning at the protestor like the Cheshire puss. “Can’t have ‘im!”

Gertrude sprang to her feet, tossed her head back, and stomped from the dining room, muttering obscenities.

“Would you listen?” Liza leaned over to whisper to Garrison, seated next to her at one of the white-clothed, six-seater tables with multicolored silk flower arrangements sprouting from their centers. Guest of honor, Charlie, sat at its head with two other residents flanking him. “Women are fighting over him.”