“Well, he ain’t so nice to me,” Gary said. “And he’s an abusive selfish bully to Mom. And I say if he wants to sit in that chair and sleep his life away, that’s just fine. I love that idea. I’m one-thousand-percent a fan of that idea. But first let’s yank that chair out of a three-floor house that’s falling apart and losing value. Let’s get Mom some kind of quality of life. Just do that, and he can sit in his chair and feel sorry for himself until the cows come home.”
“She loves that house. That house is her quality of life.”
“Well, she’s in a fantasyland, too! A lot of good it does her to love the house when she’s got to keep an eye on the old man twenty-four hours a day.”
Denise crossed her eyes and blew a wisp of hair off her forehead. “You’re the one in a fantasy,” she said. “You seem to think they’re going to be happy living in a two-room apartment in a city where the only people they know are you and me. And do you know who that’s convenient for? For you.”
He threw his hands in the air. “So it’s convenient for me! I’m sick of worrying about that house in St. Jude. I’m sick of making trips out there. I’m sick of hearing how miserable Mom is. A situation that’s convenient for you and me is better than a situation that’s convenient for nobody. Mom’s living with a guy who’s a physical wreck. He’s had it, he’s through, finito, end of story, take a charge against earnings. And still she’s got this idea that if he would only try harder, everything would be fine and life would be just like it used to be. Well, I got news for everybody: it ain’t ever gonna be the way it used to be.”
“You don’t even want him to get better.”
“Denise.” Gary clutched his eyes. “They had five years before he even got sick. And what did he do? He watched the local news and waited for Mom to cook his meals. This is the real world we’re living in. And I want them out of that house—”
“Gary.”
“I want them in a retirement community out here, and I’m not afraid to say it.”
“Gary, listen to me.” Denise leaned forward with an urgent goodwill that only irritated him the more. “Dad can come and stay with me for six months. They can both come and stay, I can bring home meals, it’s not that big a deal. If he gets better, they’ll go back home. If he doesn’t get better, they’ll have had six months to decide if they like living in Philly. I mean, what is wrong with this?”
Gary didn’t know what was wrong with it. But he could already hear Enid’s invidious descants on the topic of Denise’s wonderfulness. And since it was impossible to imagine Caroline and Enid amicably sharing a house for six days (never mind six weeks, never mind six months), Gary could not, even ceremonially, offer to put his parents up himself.
He raised his eyes to the intensity of whiteness that marked the sun’s proximity to a corner of the office tower. The beds of mums and begonias and liriope all around him were like bikinied extras in a music video, planted in full blush of perfection and fated to be yanked again before they had a chance to lose petals, acquire brown spots, drop leaves. Gary had always enjoyed corporate gardens as backdrops for the pageant of privilege, as metonymies of pamperment, but it was vital not to ask too much of them. It was vital not to come to them in need.
“You know, I don’t even care,” he said. “It’s a great plan. And if you want to do the legwork, that would be great.”
“OK, I’ll do the ‘legwork,’” Denise said quickly. “Now what about Christmas? Dad really wants you guys to come.”
Gary laughed. “So he’s involved now, too.”
“He wants it for Mom’s sake. And she really, really wants it.”
“Of course she wants it. She’s Enid Lambert. What does Enid Lambert want if not Christmas in St. Jude?”
“Well, I’m going to go there,” Denise said, “and I’m going to try to get Chip to go, and I think the five of you should go. I think we should all just get together and do that for them.”
The faint tremor of virtue in her voice set Gary’s teeth on edge. A lecture about Christmas was the last thing he needed on this October afternoon, with the needle of his Factor 3 gauge bumping on the bright red E.
“Dad said a strange thing on Saturday,” Denise continued. “He said, ‘I don’t know how much time I have.’ Both of them were talking like this was their last chance for a Christmas. It was kind of intense.”
“Well, count on Mom,” Gary said a little wildly, “to phrase the thing for maximum emotional coercion!”
“Right. But I also think she means it.”
“I’m sure she means it!” Gary said. “And I will give it some thought! But, Denise, it is not so easy getting all five of us out there. It is not so easy! Not when it makes so much sense for us all to be here! Right? Right?”
“I know, I agree,” Denise persisted quietly. “But remember, this would be a strictly one-time-only thing.”
“I said I’d think about it. That’s all I can do, right? I’ll think about it! I’ll think about it! All right?”
Denise seemed puzzled by his outburst. “OK. Good. Thank you. But the thing is—”
“Yeah, what’s the thing,” Gary said, taking three steps away from her and suddenly turning back. “Tell me what the thing is.”
“Well, I was just thinking—”
“You know, I’m half an hour late already. I really need to get back to the office.”
Denise rolled her eyes up at him and let her mouth hang open in mid-sentence.
“Let’s just finish this conversation,” Gary said.
“OK, well, not to sound like Mom, but—”
“A little too late for that! Huh? Huh?” he found himself shouting with crazy joviality, his hands in the air.
“Not to sound like Mom, but — you don’t want to wait too long before you decide to buy tickets. There, I said it.”
Gary began to laugh but checked the laugh before it got away from him. “Good plan!” he said. “You’re right! Gotta decide soon! Gotta buy those tickets! Good plan!” He clapped his hands like a coach.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, you’re right. We should all go to St. Jude for one last Christmas before they sell the house or Dad falls apart or somebody dies. It’s a no-brainer. We should all be there. It is so obvious. You’re absolutely right.”
“Then I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”
“Nothing! Not upset about anything!”
“OK. Good.” Denise gazed up at him levelly. “Then let me ask you one other thing. I want to know why Mom is under the impression that I’m having an affair with a married man.”
A pulse of guilt, a shock wave, passed through Gary. “No idea,” he said.
“Did you tell her I’m involved with a married man?”
“How could I tell her that? I don’t know the first thing about your private life.”
“Well, did you suggest it to her? Did you drop a hint?”
“Denise. Really.” Gary was regaining his parental composure, his aura of big-brotherly indulgence. “You’re the most reticent person I know. On the basis of what could I say anything?”
“Did you drop a hint?” she said. “Because somebody did. Somebody put that idea in her head. And it occurs to me that I said one little thing to you, once, which you might have misinterpreted and passed on to her. And, Gary, she and I have enough problems without your giving her ideas.”
“You know, if you weren’t so mysterious—”