They told me a story about a family on your street growing up. They told me that handing off your baby is part of Irish heritage, part of how Irish families take care of each other.”
My mother shakes her head slowly, as if a hinge in her neck has suddenly gone loose. “They wouldn’t dare . . . I should go in and check on your grandmother.”
I think, Everyone wants to get away from me.
“I have an idea how you can make that promise to Catharine,” my father says.
We both turn. Coming toward us in khaki pants and denim shirt, my father appears even bigger than usual. He looks over my head at my mother. I feel myself dwindle into invisibility.
My mother says, “I thought you were going back to work.”
“I know how we can help your mother.”
“I don’t appreciate everyone attacking me,” my mother says, her voice on the edge of hysterical. “I am doing the best I can for my mother. I don’t need to be second-guessed.”
“No one is attacking you.”
She gestures with her hands, palms upturned. “Then why do I feel like I’m being attacked?”
“Please,” my father says, “just listen for one minute. I know you’re exhausted, and I’m trying to help.”
My mother stares at him. I can see that she is seething.
My father smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think we should hire a private nurse to sit with your mother every day at the home. I spoke to the director there, and as long as your mother’s not seriously ill and we provide outside medical care, she can stay in her current room. They have no problem with that as long as she doesn’t require any medical apparatus like oxygen or an IV, which she doesn’t. After all, what she really needs is an aide who will keep an eye on her, and make it easier for her as she readjusts to her old life.”
My mother nods, thinking. “Well, we could talk to some agencies and do some interviewing. It’s not a bad idea, Louis. It might work. Let’s just see how my mother does at the rehab hospital and play it by ear.”
“Sure,” he says, “but I actually already spoke to someone about the job.”
Her eyes widen. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“She’s a wonderful nurse, and she already has a relationship with your mother, and it turns out she’s looking for a more regular schedule that will allow her to be home with her kids.”
My mother looks at my father as if he’s nuts.
“Who?” I say. “Nurse Ballen?”
He nods. “I just spoke to her, Kelly. Nothing is definite. I knew I had to talk to you first.”
“She’s my mother, Louis. I should hope you would talk to me first. For God’s sake.”
I walk away from their voices, into Gram’s room. She is lying on her back, eyes closed, skin ashy. I close the door, but I can still hear the rise and fall of my mother speaking, the steady murmur from my father.
“Gram,” I say, “I have great news. It looks like you’ll be able to stay in your room at the home. Mom and Dad are working it out now. You’ll be able to go back to your old life. Everything will be exactly the same as before. Just like you wanted.”
There is no response from the old woman, the stranger, lying on the bed.
“Gram,” I say, a little louder.
“Visiting hours are over,” a nurse says, from somewhere behind me.
WHEN I arrive home Lila is there. I’m surprised, pulling into the driveway through the twilight, to see a light in the kitchen window. She usually spends the evenings at Weber’s place. When I walk through the back door I find Lila sitting at the table flipping through the newspaper, drinking peppermint tea. I can smell the peppermint from across the room.
I put my purse down on the counter and try to order the thoughts that have rattled through my head these last few days in the hospital. There is so much I want to talk to her about. I try to think of what to say first. I want to tell my sister that I have pictured her, us, in the future. I’ve seen her as an adult with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a streak of gray in her hair. I’ve seen her playing games with my baby on the kitchen’s linoleum floor. I’ve seen the two of us growing older, side by side.