Eddie and I both nodded.
“I’m afraid that’s no longer going to be possible. You’ll need to make other arrangements.”
“She’s very independent,” I said. “Can’t we wait and see how her recovery goes?”
The doctor shook his head. “The fact she fell indicates that living alone is no longer a safe option. When you add in the effects of severe brain trauma, well, it’s just not advisable.”
“What if she won’t agree?” Eddie asked.
“You’ll need to convince her.”
“What if we can’t?” I asked.
A tense pause stretched in the air. “If a person is deemed to bea danger to herself or others, Social Services will step in. It’s preferable, of course, for the family to reach a resolution.” He looked at Eddie, then at me, his eyes full of that apologetic-sympathetic-uncomfortableness again. “Does she have any family in town?”
Eddie shook his head.
“Well, then, I suggest you contact Pine Manor.”
“Gran hates Pine Manor,” I protested. I’d gone with her to visit some of her friends who lived there last Christmas.
On the way out the door, she’d grabbed my hand. “Promise you’ll give me cyanide before you let Eddie put me in this place,” she’d begged.
I can’t say that I blamed her; the place smelled like old carpet, canned peas, and pissed Depends.
“Well, it’s the only elder care facility in Wedding Tree,” Dr. Warren said. “But there are some fine nursing homes and assisted living facilities in Hammond and Covington.”
Eddie shook his head. “There’s no point in moving her someplace where she doesn’t know anybody. If she has to move, she’ll come with me to San Francisco.”
“That’s your call, of course.” He closed the chart and pushed his wire-rim glasses up on his nose. “In any event, she’ll be here for several more days, so you’ll have a little time to reach a decision. If need be, we can temporarily put her in Pine Manor or a similar facility until you complete your arrangements.” He slid the chart into the plastic holder on the back of the hospital room door. “I’ll check back on her in the morning.”
Eddie rubbed his jaw as the doctor’s loafers thudded down the hall. “Ralph and I have tried to talk her into moving to California for years. She can live with us, or move into an assisted living center.”
I’d sat in on many of those conversations—the last one being during the past holiday season. “As I recall, she wasn’t really opposed to moving.”
“No. The problem is, she insists on sorting through everything in her house here first. She keeps saying she’ll do it, but the truth is, I don’t think she even knows where to start.”
Ralph’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Well, itisa daunting task.”
“Beyond daunting,” Eddie sighed.
They weren’t kidding. Gran had grown up during the Depression, and her mantra seemed to be “Never know when this will come in handy.” She’d mended socks and underwear, saved bread bags and twist ties, and reused sheets of aluminum foil long before recycling was trendy. Her home was clean and orderly—she was by no means a candidate forHoarders—but every drawer, every closet, every shelf was stuffed.
“We should hire one of those estate liquidation companies,” Ralph suggested.
“I tried to talk her into that a couple of years ago,” Eddie said.
I remembered it all too clearly. “It was the Thanksgiving you were in London, Ralph.”
Eddie nodded. “She threw a fit. I’ve never seen her like that.”
I’d never seen Gran so agitated, either. She’d thrown her napkin on the table, her face flushed, the cords standing out on her neck. “I won’t have some stranger pawing through my things!” she’d hissed. “I’ll do it myself, and that’s all there is to it.” She’d left the table in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and refused to sit back down until we promised to drop the topic.
“Well, she doesn’t have a choice now,” Ralph said.
“Maybe she does.” I was thinking aloud, and was a little surprised to find the words coming out of my mouth. “Maybe I can stay in Wedding Tree and help her.”
Eddie put his arm around me. “Hope, honey, that’s a sweet thought, but it’s just not practical.”
