Dangerous Women Part 64

The note I found on my own pillow when I woke later said, Still alive? (One answer only) [__]Yes (we need more cereal) [__]No (we don't) The expression on Gloria's face as I sat down to breakfast made me wince. "Oh, no, not another bench warrant for parking tickets."

"No, of course not. I took care of that. You took care of that," she added quickly. "I didn't sleep very well."

"I tried to wake you so you could sleep in a real bed. You didn't stay up all night, did you?" Staying up all night and then sleeping all day was something Gloria was p.r.o.ne to when life handed her lemons without water, sugar, or gla.s.ses; I'd warned her that wouldn't fly with me.

"No. All those Killer Ladies gave me bad dreams."

For a moment I thought she was kidding, but she had the slightly haunted look of a person who had found something very unpleasant in her own head and hadn't quite stopped seeing it yet. "Jeez, Glow-bug, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left that note."

"Oh, no, that was funny," Gloria said with a small laugh. "Did you find mine?"

"Yeah. Yours is funnier, because it's true."

"I'll remember you said that." She looked down at the bowl in front of her. "You can have this," she said, pushing it toward me. "I'm not hungry. All night, I kept dreaming about Angels of Death. You know, the sneaky ones."

"They were all sneaky," I said through a yawn. "Women are better at staying under the radar, remember?"

"Yeah, but the ones who took care of people, like nurses and aides, they were the sneakiest." Pause. "I can't stop thinking about Mom. How much do you know about that place she's in?"

I shook my head. "Trash TV's got you jumping at shadows. Better swear off the crime channels for a while."

"Come on, Val, didn't all that stuff about Angels of Death creep you out?"

"You're the crime buff," I said evenly. "I want my MTV. Or, failing that, wolverines."

"You didn't last night," she said with a short, humorless laugh.

"Touche. But enough is enough. Tonight is box-set DVD night. One of those bizarro things where even the cast didn't know what was happening-Lost Heroes of Alcatraz or 4400 Events in 24 Hours. What do you say?"

My bad mash-ups didn't rate even an eye roll so I checked out the morning news on the iPad while I ate her cereal. Maybe getting her own iPad would put her in a better frame of mind, I thought. She'd love the games. Not to mention the camera-although I'd have to make her promise in writing not to upload any sneaky candids to the web.

"Val?" she said after a bit. "Even if I am jumping at shadows, humor me for a minute. How did you find that home?"

The only way to kill shadows was to turn on all the lights, I thought resignedly. That was what big sisters were for, although I'd never imagined I'd still be doing it at fifty-three. "It's a nice place, isn't it?" She nodded. "Doesn't have that inst.i.tutional smell, residents aren't wandering around confused or tied to their beds, lying in their own-"

"Val." She gave me the Eyebrow. "You're not answering the question."

"Okay, okay. I didn't find it-Mom did. She and Dad had an insurance plan through Stillman Saw and Steel-"

"But Stillman went under twenty years ago!"

"Lemme finish, will ya? Stillman went under, but the insurance company didn't. Mom and Dad maintained the policy and Mom kept it up after Dad died. She knew she didn't want us to have to go through what she did with Grandma, which was the same thing Grandma had been through with her mother. You were only a baby when Grandma died, so you missed it. But I didn't."

Gloria looked skeptical. "I have friends whose parents spent a fortune on policies that never paid them a nickel."

"Mom showed me everything some years back. Obviously it's all aboveboard and legit-otherwise, she wouldn't be able to afford that place." I decided not to mention that although Mom had seemed perfectly all right to me at the time, she had already felt herself starting to slip. "The policy pays about half the cost, her pension and the proceeds from the sale of her house cover the rest."

"And when the money from the house is gone?"

"We step up, little sister. What else?"

Her eyes got huge. "But I'm broke. I don't even have anything I can sell."

"Well, if you don't win the lottery, you'll have to go to Plan B and get a job," I said cheerfully. Gloria looked so dismayed, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh or smack her one. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If we come to it."

"What do you mean by that?"

This was something I'd hoped to avoid until such time as it became moot. "Mom made a living will. She's DNR-Do Not Resuscitate. No defibrillator, no tubes, no ventilator, no extraordinary measures. Her body, minus useful organs or parts, goes to the local med school. Her decision," I added in response to Gloria's half-horrified, half-grossed-out expression. "You know Mom-waste not, someone else would be glad to have that liver."

Gloria gave a short laugh in spite of herself. "Okay, but Mom's liver? She's eighty-four. Do they take anything from people that old?"

I shrugged. "No idea. If they don't, that's more for the med students."

"It doesn't sound very respectful."

"On the contrary, Glow-bug-they actually hold memorial services twice a year for all the people who willed their remains to the school. They invite the families and they read out the names of all the deceased, thanking them for their contribution to the future of medicine."

She looked a little less grossed-out, but no happier. "What happens after, uh, you know, when they ... when they're done?"

"They offer cremation. Although Mom said she'd prefer compost. There's an organization that plants trees and flowering bushes-"

"Stop it!"

"I'm sorry, Sis, maybe I shouldn't have told you about that part. But it is what Mom wants."

"Yeah, but she's got Alzheimer's."

"She was clear as a bell when she set this up."

We went back and forth. Gloria just couldn't seem to get her mind around our mother's rather alternative approach to death. A Viking funeral would probably have been easier for her to accept. From the various things she said, I wasn't sure whether she felt guilty for being the ever-absent daughter or hurt that no one had thought it necessary to consult her. Maybe it was a little of both.

Or a lot of both. The age difference had always made it hard for me to see things from her perspective. I'd thought it would get easier as we got older, but it hadn't, probably because Gloria was still where she'd been at twenty-five, trying to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up.

"Sorry, Glow-bug," I said finally, collecting the breakfast things. "This debate is called on account of my job."

"I don't know how you do it," she said, watching me rinse the bowls and put them in the dishwasher.

"Do what-make a living?"

"Stay awake looking at spreadsheets."

"It helps to see all the little numbers with dollar signs," I told her. "I'm sure you can find something to keep your eyes open." But probably not Plan B yet, I thought as I shut myself in my office and woke the computer.

Doing other people's taxes isn't the most exciting work I've ever done, but it's virtually recession-proof and less physically demanding than cleaning toilets. It's not even really that hard once you know how-although knowing how can be tricky. Every third change in regulations, I added another hard drive to back up my backups. There wasn't as much paper as there used to be, which was a relief. But I couldn't bring myself to rely completely on cloud storage-there's tempting Fate and then there's teasing it so unmercifully that Fate has to make an example of you. I stuck with CD-ROMs-not enough room on USB drives for sticky notes. One of my younger colleagues had a system using stickers with symbols-a clever idea but I thought I was a little too old for such an extreme administrative make-over. Especially after my recent lifestyle makeover.

In the ten years since Lee and I had come to our senses and called it quits, I'd discovered that living alone agreed with me. But that was over now. At first, Gloria had made vague noises about looking for a place of her own when she got back on her feet-whatever that meant-but I didn't kid myself. My sister was here for the duration. Even a boyfriend was unlikely to change things. The kind of men Gloria attracted invariably wanted to move in with her rather than vice versa, usually because they needed to.

I heard the car pull out of the driveway just as I stopped for lunch; the usual time Gloria headed out to see Mom. Mom's appet.i.te was poor these days, but Gloria could usually get a few extra bites into her. It was one of the reasons the staff was so fond of her.

"I wish everyone's family was like her," a young nurse named Jill Franklyn had confided on my last visit. "She doesn't treat the staff like servants and she isn't texting or talking on the phone the whole time she's here. And even if most people had the time to come every day, they probably wouldn't."

I couldn't help feeling slightly defensive. Two visits a week was my self-imposed minimum, although I tried to make it three more often than not. I didn't always succeed, something I was usually too tired to feel guilty about. Which was what I felt guilty about instead. Meanwhile, Mom kept saying that I should think less about twice-weekly visits and more about a week or two in the Caribbean.

Tempting, but the web meant that my work could follow me and probably would. The last time I'd gone away, a five-day stay in a forest lodge had become half a day when I got a panicky text from a client whose house had burned to the ground just before he'd been called in for an audit. Well, I've since heard mosquitoes in the Maine woods grow to the size of eagles and sometimes carry off small children.

Of course, a mosquito with a seven-foot wing span might pale next to work that had been piling up for two weeks. Or not. There was only one way to find out.

Funny how I'd started thinking about taking time off again now that Gloria was here. So she didn't have a job and probably wouldn't get one except at gunpoint-she had lightened my load from the start. If she kept it up, I might even be able to revive my all-but-dormant social life-call friends, go shopping. Eat out. See a new movie in a theater. Just thinking about it gave me a lift.

Gloria was still out at five, so I spent another hour at my desk finishing work I'd have otherwise left for the next morning. When she hadn't come back by six, however, I started getting nervous. For all her faults, my sister was an excellent driver, but that didn't make her immune to bad drivers or, worse, bad intentions. Was there a fee to trace a LoJack, I wondered, or did the car have to be reported stolen first? Or could I do it myself? I vaguely remembered registering the navigation software; was there a Find My Car app, like Find My iPad?

Fortunately, I heard her pull into the driveway before I tried something stupid. "Anybody home?" Gloria called, coming in through the kitchen. "If you're a burglar, clear out."

"No burglars, just me," I called back.

She bustled in, curls bouncing with happy excitement, and held up a bag from Wok On the Wild Side. "You'll never guess what I did."

"You're right," I said, making room on the coffee table. "So you'd better just tell me."

"I got a job."

My jaw dropped; all hope of taking even a long weekend out of town evaporated as my social life rolled over and went back to sleep. "You ... got ... a job?"

She was busy taking little white cartons out of the bag and putting them on the table. "What, you didn't think that was possible?"

"No, it's just-I didn't know you were looking for a job."

"Relax, big sister," she laughed. "It's not a real job."

I blinked at her. "You got an imaginary job?"

"What? No, of course not. I am now an official volunteer aide at Mom's home!"

"Official-seriously?" I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. "Are you qualified?"

"As a matter of fact, big sister, I am."

This was probably the most startling thing she'd said in the last two minutes. Or maybe ever-qualified was not a word I a.s.sociated with my sister. "How?" I asked weakly.

"Did you actually forget that I was a lifeguard almost every summer when I was in high school?" she said with a superior smile. I'd already been living away from home then, so I hadn't forgotten as much as I'd barely known in the first place. Mostly what I remembered was how Gloria practically lived in a swimsuit from May till September. And how even when I'd still looked good in one myself, I'd never looked that good. "After graduation, I taught swimming at the Y and for the Red Cross," she was saying, "and I've been lifeguarding and teaching swim cla.s.ses on and off for years."

I still didn't get it. "The people at the care home go swimming a lot?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know CPR, you idiot."

Heat rushed into my face; I felt like two idiots.

Gloria laughed again. "Guess you won't faint after all. For a minute there, I wasn't too sure." She went into the kitchen for some plates while I sat on the couch feeling like a bad person as well as an idiot.

"I can also teach water aerobics," she said chattily, plopping a dish on my lap. "Well, actually, I'd have to update my aqua-aerobics certificate, but I've kept my CPR current. It's such a pain in the a.s.s if a pool needs someone but can't hire you because your CPR's out-of-date." She served me from three different cartons and then held up a pair of chopsticks. "Want me to break these apart for you? Or would you like a fork?"

"I'm still qualified for sticks, thank you," I said. She handed them over, grinning; I wasn't quite there yet. "So ... what? You got up this morning and decided to be an official volunteer? Or one of the nurses heard you talking about your summers as a lifeguard and said, 'Hey, you must know CPR, want to volunteer?'"

Her grin turned faintly sly as she served me and then herself. "Actually, I did the paperwork a couple of weeks ago."

Another surprise. "You never mentioned it to me," I said.

"There was no reason to, till now. I mean, if I ended up not volunteering, there'd be nothing to talk about anyway. Besides, do you tell me every single thought that crosses your mind?" Now her bright smile was so innocent that I actually wasn't sure whether that had been a jab or not. "Of course not," she went on. "Who would?"

I ate in silence, musing on the concept of my sister the qualified volunteer with the mad CPR skillz. I had none myself, which now that I thought of it was rather shortsighted. Even if none of my clients had ever had a heart attack after seeing what they owed the government, it wasn't impossible; many of them were already in heart-attack country. Meanwhile Gloria rattled on about recognizing the signs of a stroke, the right way to perform the Heimlich maneuver, and how CPR cla.s.ses were good for meeting handsome firemen.

At last, the Gloria I knew and loved, I thought, relieved. "You know, I don't think you'll be meeting many handsome firemen at the home," I said when she paused for breath.

"Unless it burns down. Kidding!" she added, then sobered almost as quickly. "That's what I'm there to prevent."

I was baffled again. "Only you can prevent nursing home fires?"

"I'll make sure no Angel of Death tries anything."

I waited for her to laugh; she didn't. "You're serious."

"As a heart attack, sister." She impaled a shrimp that had been eluding her and popped it into her mouth.

Another reason to be glad she was qualified, I thought, feeling surreal. "I didn't realize you'd be there twenty-four hours a day."

She gave me the Eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Most Angels of Death do their thing when everyone's asleep," I said. "Remember? Or did you sleep through that part of the Killer Ladies marathon?"

"No, I remember. Obviously I can't be there 24/7, but I'll make it obvious I'm watching closely. Every day as soon as I come in, I'll make the rounds, talk to everybody, see how they're doing. Make sure they're getting the right meds in the right amounts-"

"Don't the doctors and nurses do that?" I asked.

"I'll only double-check if something doesn't seem right," Gloria replied. "Volunteers don't give meds. We're not even supposed to have our own stuff when we're on duty. Like, not even an aspirin."

I barely heard her; something else occurred to me. "Doesn't being an official volunteer mean less time to visit with Mom?"

"She'll still know that I'm around."

This was going to be interesting, I thought, and probably not in a good way.

A fat lot I knew-it already was.

In the days that followed, my mother improved visibly. She was happier and more alert for longer; even her appet.i.te was better. I was glad, but at the same time I knew from talking with her doctor that it wasn't permanent and the inevitable deterioration could be gradual or sudden. Not to mention cruel.

"Thanks to TV and movies, a lot of people think of dementia patients as daffy old folks who smile at things that aren't there and don't know what day it is," Dr. Li had told me, her normally friendly face a bit troubled. "People with dementia become frightened and angry and they lash out in unexpected and uncharacteristic ways. People who have never raised a hand in anger suddenly punch a nurse-or a relative. Or they bite-and unlike the old days, most still have enough teeth to draw blood. Or they get amorous and grabby. I treated a nun once, former professor of cla.s.sical studies who spoke six languages. Swore like a biker in all of them and had a pa.s.sion for-well, never mind."

There was a lot more that was even harder to listen to, but I came away feeling-well, not exactly prepared, because I didn't think I'd ever be truly prepared for certain behaviors no matter how realistic I tried to be, but maybe just a little less unprepared. So far, my mother was very much like herself, even when she couldn't remember why she wasn't in the old house or how old I was. And there had been fewer of those with Gloria around.