Cracks in the Sidewalk(27)

“That’s not possible,” the volunteer answered. “Our pick-up schedule is set weeks in advance.”

“It has to be tomorrow,” Claire stated firmly. “If you don’t want it, just say so and I’ll give it to the Salvation Army.”

It took several minutes of negotiation before the volunteer finally agreed to have their truck there the following morning. Still determined to have the last word, he added, “In the future, call earlier.”

Next Claire called a medical supply house and made arrangements for rental of a hospital bed, a walker, and a wheelchair.

“Make certain,” she added, “it’s one of those portable wheelchairs that will fit in the trunk of a car.”

Her third call was to George Gardener, a handyman skilled at everything imaginable.

“I need the living room painted and some bedroom furniture moved down from upstairs,” she said. “Can you do it tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow,” he answered.

“It has to be tomorrow.”

“Can’t. You gotta get somebody else.”

“I don’t have anybody else. Please, George,” she begged. “Liz can’t climb the stairs, and we’re bringing her home from the hospital on Friday. We’re turning the living room into a downstairs bedroom, and it’s got to be ready.”

“I still can’t do it tomorrow.” He paused a moment. “It’s for Liz, huh?”

George had known Liz for almost twenty years—ever since, as a freckled-faced kid, she’d knocked on people’s doors asking if they’d buy a box of Girl Scout cookies.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll start tomorrow evening and finish up the morning after.”

When Elizabeth awoke, Claire sat in the recliner smiling with satisfaction.

“I’ve got a number of things to take care of at home,” she said. “I probably won’t be here tomorrow and most of Thursday, but I’ll get Loretta to spend both days with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t need a nurse looking after me every minute of the day.”

“Maybe not,” Claire answered. “But Loretta has two kids going to summer camp, and she needs the money.”

Loretta arrived bright and early Wednesday morning. “Be sure to take good care of my little girl,” Claire said, happily dashing out and disappearing down the hospital corridor.



By the time Elizabeth arrived home on Friday afternoon, the McDermott living room had been transformed into a larger version of her bedroom. The walls blushed with a rosy hue, and a gossamer cascade of curtains replaced the damask draperies. Gone also were the sofa and overstuffed chairs, the bookcase, and a clutter of end tables. In their place was an arrangement of familiar furniture—gracefully carved oak nightstands, a dresser with an oval mirror, a tall chest with stacking shelves, and drawers enough for everything.

Elizabeth had grown up with this furniture, and it held memories of happier times. In the center of the room sat the hospital bed, its practicality disguised by the peony-covered comforter and a cluster of throw pillows. Discretely pushed against the far wall was the small day bed for Claire.

Leaning into the rented walker, Elizabeth looked around the room from one thing to another—Girl Scout awards hanging on the wall, the giant-sized television, the bouquet of flowers on the night stand, pictures of her children on the dresser. “Oh, Mom,” she sniffed tearfully, “it’s beautiful!”

Because his daughter was returning home, Charles telephoned the bank and said he wouldn’t be coming to work. It had been a long while since he’d spent time with Liz, since he’d sat beside her and talked without awkwardness. In hospitals there seemed so little to say, shallow little courtesies, the kind that left an aftertaste in his mouth. After hello and how-are-you, all he ever did was fumble with his keys.

He waited until Liz slipped into her brand new cotton nightgown, then helped her into the bed. “How about I read to you? Would you like that?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Catcher in the Rye? How’s that sound?”

She nodded again and allowed a happy but tired smile to settle on her face. Her father could have read anything—an encyclopedia, a dictionary, the telephone book. She just wanted the loving sound of his voice.

Before Charles turned the third page Elizabeth was sound asleep. He closed the book and tiptoed from the room.

~

Claire had to do something she didn’t want. Charlie would staunchly oppose it, but she had to do it nonetheless.

“Can you stay here and keep an eye on Elizabeth?” she asked as Charlie settled into reading the latest copy of Business Week.

He looked up and smiled.

Claire shrugged on a brown sweater, dug the car keys from her purse, and descended the steps leading to the basement and garage. She made her way toward the back of the basement and the furthermost area to Charlie’s workshop. For several minutes Claire looked around; then she picked up a large sledgehammer, stashed it in the back seat of the car, and slid behind the wheel.

As Claire drove she thought about the last words she’d heard from Jeffrey. “I want out,” he’d said. “You take care of her!” Claire had tried any number of times to speak to him since, but he refused to answer the telephone and the doorbell. She’d seen cars in the garage and people moving behind the drawn shades, but not once had he acknowledged her. Today he would have to.