The mall parking lot is cold and windswept. At the height of the holiday buying season it should be full, but it’s only at half capacity, if that. Holly is exquisitely aware that she’s on her own. There are large empty spaces where the wind can really do its work, numbing her face and sometimes almost making her stagger, but there are also clusters of parked cars. Ondowsky could be hiding behind any one of them, ready to leap out (I’m very fast) and grab her.
She runs the last ten steps to the rental, and once she’s inside, she pushes the button that locks all the doors. She sits there for half a minute, getting herself under control. She doesn’t check her Fitbit because she wouldn’t like its news.
Holly drives away from the mall, checking her rearview mirror every few seconds. She doesn’t believe she’s being followed, but goes into evasive driving mode anyway. Better safe than sorry.
She knows Ondowsky might expect her to take a commuter flight back home, so she plans to spend the night in Pittsburgh and take an Amtrak tomorrow. She pulls into a Holiday Inn Express and turns on her phone to check for messages before going inside. There’s one from her mother.
“Holly, I don’t know where you are, but Uncle Henry’s had an accident at that damn Rolling Hills place. He may have a broken arm. Please call me. Please.” Holly hears both her mother’s distress and the old accusation: I needed you and you’ve disappointed me. Again.
The pad of her finger comes within a millimeter of returning her mother’s call. Old habits are hard to break and default positions are hard to change. The flush of shame is already heating her forehead, cheeks, and throat, and the words she’ll say when her mother answers are already in her mouth: I’m sorry. And why not? All her life she’s been apologizing to her mother, who always forgives her with that expression on her face that says Oh Holly, you never change. You are such a reliable disappointer. Because Charlotte Gibney also has her default positions.
This time Holly stays her finger, thinking.
Why, exactly, should she be sorry? What would she be apologizing for? That she wasn’t there to save poor addled Uncle Henry from breaking his arm? That she didn’t answer the phone the minute, the very second, that her mother called, as if Charlotte’s life is the important life, the real life, and Holly’s only her mother’s cast shadow?
Facing Ondowsky was hard. Refusing to immediately answer her mother’s cri de coeur is just as hard, maybe even harder, but she does. Although it makes her feel like a bad daughter, she calls the Rolling Hills Elder Care Center instead. She identifies herself and asks for Mrs. Braddock. She’s put on hold and suffers “The Little Drummer Boy” until Mrs. Braddock comes on. Holly thinks it’s music to commit suicide by.
“Ms. Gibney!” Mrs. Braddock says. “Is it too early to wish you happy holidays?”
“Not at all. Thank you. Mrs. Braddock, my mother called and said my uncle has had an accident.”
Mrs. Braddock laughs. “Saved one, more like it! I called your mother and told her. Your uncle’s mental state may have deteriorated somewhat, but there’s certainly nothing wrong with his reflexes.”
“What happened?”
“The first day or so he didn’t want to come out of his room,” Mrs. Braddock says, “but that’s not unusual. Our new arrivals are always disoriented, and often in distress. Sometimes in great distress, in which case we give them something to calm them down a bit. Your uncle didn’t need that, and yesterday he came out all on his own and sat in the dayroom. He even helped Mrs. Hatfield with her jigsaw puzzle. He watched that crazy judge show he likes—”
John Law, Holly thinks, and smiles. She’s hardly aware that she is constantly checking her mirrors to make sure Chet Ondowsky (I’m very fast) isn’t lurking.
“—afternoon snacks.”
“Beg pardon?” Holly says. “I lost you for a second.”
“I said that when the show was over, some of them headed into the dining hall, where there are afternoon snacks. Your uncle was walking with Mrs. Hatfield, who is eighty-two and rather unsteady. Anyway, she tripped and might have taken quite a bad fall, only Henry grabbed her. Sarah Whitlock—she’s one of our nurses’ aides—said he reacted very quickly. ‘Like lightning’ were her actual words. Anyway, he took her weight and fell against the wall, where there’s a fire extinguisher. State law, you know.