Wife-In-Law (16 page)
I pushed aside the curtain and dodged the departing technician and his equipment. When we were alone, I told Zach, “If you wanted attention, we could have stuck needles in you at home.”
He smiled, grateful that I wasn’t acting serious. “Hey. Good to see you.”
I answered his unasked question. “I talked Kat into taking a little break. She’s gone to the bathroom, then to the snack bar for some coffee. Can I get you some?”
Zach glanced toward the hall with a frown. “I don’t think they’ll let me.”
“Won’t let you what?” Dr. Longcoat asked as he came in, only a flicker of recognition betraying that I’d overheard him. He had a name embroidered on his coat that started with a
B,
but it was so long, I couldn’t make it out.
B,
but it was so long, I couldn’t make it out.
“Have some coffee,” Zach answered. “Betsy, this is the neurologist. Dr. B, this is my wife’s and my best friend.”
“We’ll be releasing you shortly,” Dr. Longcoat said. “You may have some coffee then.”
“Good.” Zach leveled a piercing gaze at the doctor. “So what’s the story? Give it to me straight.”
The doctor pulled a card from his pocket. “I’d like to review your test results and consult with some of my colleagues, before I speak of this.” He handed the card to Zach. “Would it be convenient for you and your wife to see me at my office this afternoon at four? It’s located here in the medical complex.”
Zach’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why my wife? Why not just me?”
He was a detective, after all.
“You shouldn’t be driving right now, and your wife told me she’d like to be present when we discuss your case.”
Zach backed down, but only a little. “Okay. Four it is.”
“Very well.” The doctor bowed briefly. “Please excuse me, but I have another case.”
Caught off guard, I bowed right back, then felt like an idiot, my ears flaming. “I’ll go get Kat. I know she can’t wait to get you home.”
“It’s bad news,” he said, staring without focus at the ceiling. “I knew this was going to happen. I’ve known it all my life.”
“Oh, come on, Zach,” I said, covering what I knew. “No sense getting all worked up till you find out what’s really the matter.”
ALS had no cure. It was a long, agonizing death sentence.
Zach’s focus shifted to me and sharpened. “You know something. I can see it.”
Damn. “I’m going to get Kat,” I covered, “so we can take you home, and y’all can get some sleep before you have to come back. Then I’m going to bed.”
I hurried down the hall, wishing I could erase what I’d heard, but knowing I couldn’t.
Kat was just coming back from the snack bar with coffee when I found her. “They’re about to release Zach,” I said. “Maybe we ought to hurry. I just realized we left your dogs locked up in the bathroom.” I motioned toward home.
Kat waved her hand in dismissal. “No we didn’t. I put them in the backyard.”
This looks like ALS.
“Okay, then.” I sank abruptly into a chair. “I’ll just wait, then.”
“Okay, then.” I sank abruptly into a chair. “I’ll just wait, then.”
Kat exhaled a long breath. “Why don’t you go on and go home? No sense waiting for us. I’ll call you when we get home.”
I stood. “Or if you need anything before that.”
Kat nodded.
“Okay, then. I’ll go.” Escape. She would tell me this afternoon, and what I know wouldn’t come between us after that. I hugged her briefly. “Zach’s waiting for you. Now that the test is over, he’s fine.”
“See you.”
I cried all the way home, narrowly missing several fender benders in the morning traffic. Back in my bedroom, I closed all the shades and curled up in bed, sobbing.
This would kill Kat. She and Zach were halves of a whole.
Why did it have to happen to Zach? He was the best man I knew. He helped people every day.
I smashed the pillow in anger, but it didn’t help. Zach was going to die a horrible death, and Kat would have to die it with him.
I cried till I didn’t have any more tears. Then I took two sleeping pills, the first I’d taken since Greg left, and slept the day away.
My doorbell rang at six.
My eyes almost swollen shut, I threw on my robe and hurried to answer it, swiping at my wild bed hair. I looked through the glass curtains on the sidelight and saw Kat standing there with a heavy pot, her expression contorting.
I opened the door and took the pot, which clanked. “Come in, honey.”
She didn’t even react to my appearance, just came inside and waited till I closed the door, then fell to her knees, wailing, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! He’s dyin’! Not just dyin’—dyin’ long and horrible!”
I stashed the pot on the credenza, then pulled her up into my arms. “Oh, honey. What is it?”
“ALS,” she spit out sharply, as if it were poison on her tongue. “He can’t drive anymore. He can’t walk. He can’t work.” She sobbed. “It’s taken his work. He loves his work.” Her voice dropped, and she punctuated her words with her fist on my back. “It’s taking everything he cares about, and killing him, one molecule at a time.”
I swayed with her, not knowing what to say. There were no words of comfort. They would be lies. I couldn’t tell her it would be all right. It was all wrong, permanently and horribly and painfully. “It’s so unfair,” I said, crying with her. “So unfair.”
I led Kat into the living room and eased her onto the sofa, then sat beside her.
“The worst thing is,” Kat sobbed, “I think I lost him the minute the doctor told us.” She shook her head. “He just stared at me with empty eyes. Wouldn’t say a word.” She pulled back to look at me. “The doctor said it was a shock, and he’d come around. But all the way home, he didn’t speak.”
“The doctor’s right. It is a horrible shock. Zach needs time to come to terms with it.”
Kat reared back, angry. “Come to terms with it? And how do you propose for him to do that? He’s acting catatonic, but I can see the wheels turning in his mind. Already, he’s pulled away from me, and I know what he was thinking.” She pointed to the pot she’d brought. “I had to take his guns. I put him to bed, then grabbed the one from the bedside table, then got the others and put them in there. So he couldn’t get to them.”
I went to the pot and opened it to find three magazine-loaded pistols and a stainless steel .38, all fully armed.
Poor guy. I couldn’t blame him for wanting a fast way out.
A dull resignation settled in me. “I’ll buy one of those electronic safes and store them in my closet.” Where nobody else could get to them.
Kat’s face contorted. “I don’t know how to tell the kids.” She turned swollen eyes my way, her heart breaking all over again, the words coming in gasps. “How … can … I … tell … my …
children
?”
children
?”
Sobbing, she flopped onto her side on the sofa and brought her knees to her chest.
I hurried over and pulled a lap robe from the chair, then covered her and sat beside her, stroking her hair. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. I’ll call and tell them. You told mine about their father. It’ll be easier if I tell them. They can react without worrying about how it will affect you.” I stroked and stroked. “You just worry about you and Zach,” I soothed. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
Kat cried for another twenty minutes before her tears subsided at last. She sighed heavily, then sat up. “I have to go.” Her expression crumpled, the words thick. “I can’t leave him alone for long anymore. The doctor told me. He could choke.”
She stood, gathering what was left of her composure to face the man she loved.
I walked with her to the door. “Call if you need anything. Anything. Any time of day or night. Do you have food?”
She shot a glance at the pot. “Tons of soup in the freezer. I can whirl it in the blender a bit, so it’ll be easier for Zach to swallow.” Her eyes welled, but she didn’t let it overtake her.
“I’ll call Zach and Sada.” Kat nodded, then I asked, “Is it okay if I tell my girls?”
“That would be good,” Kat said. “Zach has Courtney”—his girlfriend—“but Sada will need somebody to talk to.”
“Okay.” I opened the door to a sweet, cool March breeze. “I’ll start cooking some stuff for y’all tomorrow, and bring it over. I’ll make all Zach’s favorites.” Fortunately, he loved casseroles, which went down easy.
Kat nodded. I felt like I should say something more, but there wasn’t anything else to say.
She paused, as if she felt the same, then turned to go, bleak as a prisoner heading for the chair. But she was strong. Strong enough to do what she had to, and I would be there to pick up the pieces when it was all over.
It took quite a few calls, but I finally managed to get Zach and Sada. Predictably, Zach responded with a long silence, then, “Where is he? How long does he have?”
“He’s home. Your mama’s looking after him.” As for the other … “I wish I could tell you how this will play out,” I said gently, “but nobody really knows. Some people last for ten years”—I’d looked it up on the Internet—“some only two.”
“Then he has two,” Zach said with a conviction born of hope.
“Zach, honey, I don’t know, and I don’t think the doctors do either, at this point. They’ll track his progress.”
Another silence, frozen thick with everything unspeakable. “I—thanks,” he choked out. “Is Mom—”
“Your mother’s a strong woman,” I told him, “but she’s going to need you and Sada very much to get through this. Not to help out physically, necessarily, although it might come to that, but for support.”
“Thanks.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. Call me for anything, okay?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The line went dead.
Sada finally called me back just as the
Tonight
show was coming on. “Nine-one-one?” she said without even saying hello. “Five nine-one-ones? What happened?”
Tonight
show was coming on. “Nine-one-one?” she said without even saying hello. “Five nine-one-ones? What happened?”
“Calm down, honey,” I said. “Breathe. I need you to be calm when I talk to you.”
“Something’s happened to my parents,” she said. “A car crash. Is that it?”
“No, honey.” No sense beating around the bush. “Your daddy’s sick.” My voice betrayed me, breaking on the last.
Silence.
Dread raised Sada’s alto voice to a childlike soprano. “It must be really, really bad. What is it, a heart attack?” Pause, then a whispered, “Cancer?”
I tried to be gentle, but the words I had to say were machetes. “He has ALS.”
“ALS? What’s ALS? Speak English.”
“It used to be called Lou Gehrig’s disease. It’s a degenerative neurological condition. Your daddy’s having trouble swallowing, and his leg doesn’t work.”
“So what are they going to do about it? What, surgery? Medicine?”
I didn’t know if she was unaware of what ALS was, or in denial. “This is going to be a long, hard fight for both your daddy and your mama. Kat was really tired and upset, so I said I’d call you and Zach. Honey, is there anything I can do for you?”
I could almost hear her mind spinning. “Tell me the truth,” she said with uncharacteristic calm.
“There is no cure or treatment,” I told her quietly. “We’ll make him comfortable. Don’t worry about that. Your mama and I will take care of him.”
“I’m coming home,” she said with a maturity I’d never heard from her.
“Fine. Do you want me to get you a ticket?”
“Thanks, no. There are flights every hour from here to Atlanta.”
The New York route took only a couple of hours. “It would probably be best if you waited till the middle of the day tomorrow. Give your mama a chance to get some rest and be with your daddy.”
“That makes sense. I’ll call when I get the particulars.”
“Great. I’ll probably be up all night.”
Sada finally started to cry. “Me too.”
“I love you, sweet girl.”
“I love you too,” she said, then hung up.
I called my girls, who comforted me as I knew they would comfort Sada.
Then I stayed up all night, trying to numb myself with old movies, but it didn’t work.
O
ne long, hard year later, almost to the day, I sat between Kat and Little Zach—who was now a grown man, and taller than his father had been—at the funeral home while droves of Big Zach’s friends, neighbors, church friends, aging hippies, straight-arrow agents, and street people, alike, paid their respects at the casket where he lay like a perfect marble Grecian statue, his pale, handsome face arranged as it used to be, not drooping out of recognition as it was when he’d died. Kat had insisted on an open casket, so people wouldn’t gossip and wonder what
really
happened to him, but Sada couldn’t handle the whole body thing, so Emma had taken her to a movie.
ne long, hard year later, almost to the day, I sat between Kat and Little Zach—who was now a grown man, and taller than his father had been—at the funeral home while droves of Big Zach’s friends, neighbors, church friends, aging hippies, straight-arrow agents, and street people, alike, paid their respects at the casket where he lay like a perfect marble Grecian statue, his pale, handsome face arranged as it used to be, not drooping out of recognition as it was when he’d died. Kat had insisted on an open casket, so people wouldn’t gossip and wonder what
really
happened to him, but Sada couldn’t handle the whole body thing, so Emma had taken her to a movie.
Sitting there, I couldn’t help wondering if my father was still alive out there somewhere, or dead and buried by those from his new life. Suddenly, I ached for him with such surprising sharpness that I forced my attention back to the hard work of the present.
After the mourners stood by Zach’s body, they moved to murmur condolences to Kat and Little Zach. I listened in awe, feeling like an eavesdropper, as one after another shared the positive influence Zach had been on their lives.
Exhausted, Kat had been stoic since Zach stopped breathing three nights ago. She hadn’t called anybody right away. Instead, she’d lain beside him and talked as if he were his old self, about all the things they’d discussed when he could still speak. About what they’d done together, good and bad, and the fun they’d had. About the kids, and their growing up. About how Zach would always be in her heart. About how she would show their grandchildren his picture and tell them his story. About how she would find love again, which Kat had insisted would never happen.
Then, when the faintest hint of dawn had shown in the east, she’d called hospice to tell them, and they came and got his body before the neighbors were up to see and comment.
It was a quiet, gentle leaving, his release, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Kat had borne it all with dignity, but I knew the worst was yet to come, when everybody went back to their lives, and she would be alone.
A sudden hush fell on the room, and I looked up to see Greg signing the book by the door. I don’t know why, but that made me very angry. I’d heard he had broken up with his secretary and moved back to town, but he had some nerve, showing up now.
For Kat’s sake, though, I didn’t react.
He crossed to sit by Amelia, who glared at him, then carried Madison out of the room. Unfazed, Sonny leaned over and shook Greg’s hand, then introduced Macy to her grandfather.
Greg melted. He shot me a watery look, then turned his attention back to Macy, who climbed into his lap and barraged him with little-girl questions.
As the line to the casket lengthened, the space between us filled with people, so I didn’t see Greg again till he got to the front. Visibly distraught, he looked down on the friend he’d lost, and started to cry.
At first, I thought he was just pretending, but when he looked at me again, his eyes were filled with a pain I’d never seen.
I looked away, feeling sorry for him, but not wanting to.
Greg wiped his eyes with his spotless handkerchief, then approached Kat. “I—” His eyes welled again. “God, Kat, I’m so sorry.” He broke down and hugged her, his shoulders heaving. “So sorry.”
Taken aback, Kat shot me a look of confusion as she patted his back. “Git a grip on yerself,” she said quietly.
Chastened, Greg stood up, smoothing his tie, and nodded, then turned and left.
After the visitation, Amelia sat between the girls’ car seats in back of their rented minivan and ranted about Greg’s taking advantage of the situation to see her and the children. I leaned back from the front seat and tried to change the subject, but she ignored me.
Then Macy put her hand on Amelia’s arm and asked, “Why do you hate my granddaddy? Did he kill somebody?”
Amelia’s mouth snapped shut. “I don’t hate him,” she said. “I’m just mad at him.”
Macy frowned. “Why?”
I lifted my eyebrows and stared at Amelia in challenge.
“I’ll tell you someday, when you’re older,” my daughter deflected.
“Copout,” Sonny said over his shoulder.
Macy thought a bit, then asked, “Do you want me to hate Granddaddy too? I will, if you want me to. He was pretty nice, but I could hate him.”
Out of the mouths of babes.
“
I
don’t hate Granddaddy,” I offered.
I
don’t hate Granddaddy,” I offered.
“I
like
Granddaddy,” Sonny said from the driver’s seat. He looked at Amelia in the rearview mirror. “Zach was his best friend, honey. He had a right to be there.”
like
Granddaddy,” Sonny said from the driver’s seat. He looked at Amelia in the rearview mirror. “Zach was his best friend, honey. He had a right to be there.”
Amelia leaned back. “So now you’re taking up for him?”
“It’s called forgiveness,” Sonny told her. “You might want to try it.”
Amelia stared past sleeping Madison.
“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” he went on, God bless him. “But he deserves a second chance, for the girls’ sake, as much as anything.”
“Oh, all right.” Amelia sighed. “If everybody’s going to gang up on me, I’ll give him a chance.”
Sonny grinned. “Good. Because I told him he could come over after the funeral and take us out for ice cream.”
Wait a minute! “Come over
where
?” I demanded, causing the baby to stir.
where
?” I demanded, causing the baby to stir.
Sonny grinned at me. “To your house. That’s where we’re staying.”
Eyes sparkling with mischief, Amelia rolled her lips inward, clearly enjoying having the tables turned.
Now that my house was finally mine, I liked it that way, and the last thing I wanted was for Greg to set foot into it. “I’m afraid that won’t work,” I said. “I’m helping Kat with the reception after the funeral, and I don’t feel comfortable about Greg’s being there when I’m not.”
“Who’s Greg?” Macy asked, picking up on my agitation.
“Okay,” Sonny said. “We’ll meet him outside. How about that?”
If I said no, I’d end up looking like the one who was holding a grudge. So I decided to go against my instincts and set a good example. “That’s fine.” I looked at Amelia. “You ought to go with them, sweetie.” I shifted my attention to Macy. “Would you like Mama to go with you and Granddaddy tomorrow for ice cream?” Dirty pool, but she deserved it.
Macy started clapping and bouncing her feet up and down between the front and back seats, singsonging, “Ice cream with Granddaddy and Mama! Yay! Ice cream with Granddaddy and Mama.”
Amelia placed her arm across Macy’s legs to still her. “All right. All right. I’ll go.”
Macy leaned over and hugged her mother’s arm. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Amelia patted her. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she said to my smiling reflection in the rearview mirror.
I broke into a grin.
At least Greg had gotten our minds off our grief.
The next morning dawned cool and gray, suitably dreary for what we had to do. The funeral was at Zach and Kat’s church, Mount Vernon Baptist. The large sanctuary was filled with flowers, and I was glad to see that the casket was closed, covered with a blanket of red roses. The ceremony was very nice, with a poignant message from the minister about the brevity and uncertainty of life, versus the reassurance and peace of reconciliation with God through Christ. He thanked God that we had been allowed to have Zach with us, and that Zach was now whole and free in heaven.
Then Sada got up and spoke about her dad. How she managed, I couldn’t say, but she only faltered a few times. I was so proud of her, and I could see that Kat was too, even though she was silently crying the whole time.
Next, the director of Zach’s division praised his service to the community, telling stories of Zach’s generosity and bravery.
Last, Little Zach talked about the ways his father had shown him how a Christian man should be. The anecdotes were ones I’d never heard, and they almost undid me with their simple clarity and power.
Then Little Zach paused, looking pointedly at the other side of the pews, and I followed his line of sight to see Greg with his face in his hands.
Good. Maybe this would make Greg look at his life and change his ways.
We were over, but I didn’t hate him anymore, and I sincerely hoped he could get his life together. After all, he’d provided well for us, and he
was
the girls’ father.
was
the girls’ father.
Little Zach finished by challenging the men in the room to follow his father’s example while they still had a chance to make things right. Then he sat down, and a Scottish pipe-and-drum band marched in from the back of the church, the sound of “Amazing Grace” filling the air to bursting.
That did it. Amelia and Emma and I leaned on each other and started to sob.
After the service, Emma took Sada back to Kat’s, and I followed. Frankly, I couldn’t handle seeing that coffin go into the ground any more than Sada could. Better I should get everything ready for the luncheon. So back on Eden Lake Court, the three of us distracted ourselves with work, helping the ladies from the church set out the food. By the time everybody started to arrive, I was ready to sit down with a cool glass of tea and rest a little.
I didn’t see Greg come in. I just heard his voice from the front room, where Kat was sitting. I got up and went to see. Greg was sitting next to her, his forearms braced on his thighs, hands linked, in earnest conversation. Blending into the conversations all around them, they talked for a long time before he got up. I backed out of sight before he could see me.
I didn’t ask Kat what he said. If she wanted to tell me, she would.
After everybody went home, I sent Kat to bed, then made sure the house was in good shape. Frankly, it was better than it had ever been. The church ladies had given it a real going-over while we had been at visitation, banishing the dogs and cats to the playroom downstairs, then cleaned the kitchen till it shined.
Scratches and whines came from under the basement door.
For the first time ever, I was glad for those animals. I let them back in, whispering, “Go see Kat. Go see Mama,” as they escaped and made for her room.
They could comfort her in a way I couldn’t.
I followed them to find Kat and Zach and Sada piled up in her bed, looking at photo albums—surrounded by licking, purring pets.
Kat looked up with a sad smile. “Thanks so much for everything.”
“It was nothing,” I said, and meant it. “I’m going home now. Greg’s coming over to take the kids for ice cream.”
Kat nodded. “I’m glad. He talked to me for a long time today. He really wants to get his life turned around.”
Typical. His best friend just died, and he bends Kat’s ear about himself. “For the girls’ sake, I hope he does.”
Greg’s behavior would speak far louder than anything he said. If he’d reformed, we’d see it. If not, nothing lost, nothing gained.
Noting my skepticism, Kat added, “This really hit him hard, Betsy.”
This was no time to discuss Greg’s egotism, so I responded, “It hit us all hard.” I turned to go. “Call if you need anything. I’m right across the street.”
Kat hesitated briefly. “I think we could all do with a few days’ rest.” It was her way of letting me know she wanted some space, and time alone with her children.
“Sounds good to me.” The real work would start when Little Zach and Sada went back to their lives, leaving Kat alone in that big house while the rest of the world went right on spinning. I’d be there for her then.
Little Zach … Now that his father was gone, we’d have to stop calling him that.
I got home to find that Greg and the kids had already left for ice cream, so I started making supper. I had just put a roast in the oven when I heard a car pull up, then the sound of Macy’s laughter. I went to the door and opened it, only to find Greg standing there with a vanilla ice cream sundae from Bruster’s in his hand, all hot fudge topping, with no cherries, just like I liked it. “Hi. I brought you a treat.”
Macy raced past us as I accepted it. I stepped back to let Amelia and Sonny in.
Sonny clapped Greg’s back. “Thanks for the ice cream, Granddaddy. See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow?
He bent to chase Macy. “C’mere, you! It’s time for somebody to have a nap.”
Carrying placid Madison, Amelia trailed her fingers across my shoulder as she passed. “We’re going to breakfast, then the children’s museum. You sleep in. You’ve earned it.”
She shot a look at her father, then at me, and went into the guest room, closing the door behind her.
Left alone with Greg on my doorstep, I felt excruciatingly awkward, but some stubborn part of me kept me from asking him in.
“Is it okay if I come in?” he asked with a tentativeness I didn’t recognize.
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