Chapter 44
Nan
Brianna, Emily, and I were sitting at the patio table, splitting a bottle of wine and eating bruschetta made from the first of the summer tomatoes and basil. James and Dan were ferrying back and forth from the kitchen to the deck, carrying platters, plates, pitchers, and bowls to the table. Matt and Kyle were standing by the barbeque, conferring about the doneness of the steaks and burgers, which I reminded them mustn’t touch my veggie burgers. Barefoot grandkids and barking dogs were galloping all over the yard, hooting and whooping and sometimes somersaulting across the wet grass, having the time of their lives.
So was I.
The second weekend of July has always been our Homecoming Week, when all my kids and grandkids—well, almost all—come to Portland for eight days of food, fun, and family time. It’s my favorite week of the entire year, now doubly so because, during last year’s Homecoming Saturday barbeque, Malcolm and I were married.
The ceremony was casual and perfectly lovely. I wore a simple white sheath overlaid with crocheted lace and carried pink roses from the garden, Malcolm wore a khaki summer suit with a white shirt and pink tie, Blixen wore a pink silk bow around her neck, and Nelson and Stuart had baths.
Later, after the champagne had been poured and the pictures taken, Malcolm changed out of his suit and joined in the grandkids’ annual game of tag. When he suggested the addition of sprinklers and dogs to the game, the kids started calling him Grampy.
They just love Malcolm. So do I.
Our life together is incredibly rich and full. But, unlike before, when I filled my days with activity as a means of staving off loneliness, now my life is filled with activities I truly enjoy, including “vegging out” as Malcolm calls it. Yes, with Malcolm’s help, I have actually learned the value of sitting still and doing absolutely nothing. But that’s not all we do. We travel quite a bit, Malcolm has a little teardrop trailer that we’ve taken on camping trips to the beach, the mountains, and Glacier National Park in Montana. For our honeymoon, we took it down to Ashland and spent a whole week at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. That was fantastic. I can’t wait to go back. In the fall, we’re planning a trip to Scotland to visit Malcolm’s relatives. It will be my first overseas trip. I’ll probably need a prescription for some antianxiety medicine, but with Malcolm’s help, I know I can do it. I’m very excited.
We do a lot here in Portland too. Stuart and Nelson are both certified therapy dogs now, so we visit local hospitals and nursing homes and are on call in crisis situations. And, of course, we’re both still involved with Rainbow Gate.
The third annual Dogmother’s Ball raised close to ten thousand dollars. We moved it to an outdoor event venue in Oregon City for the second year. That way we can accommodate more people, and we have a whole staff of professionals to handle the actual event—meaning Malcolm doesn’t have to climb ladders to deal with dicey electrical wiring anymore and we have more time to do other things we enjoy. I bought Malcolm a little eighteen-foot sailboat as a wedding present and we both took lessons. Sailing with your husband, I have learned, is a real test of a marriage. But, in spite of that incident with the jib sheet, and the yelling, and the boom, we’re still together. And, in spite of the results of Malcolm’s recent prostate biopsy, results that we aren’t ready to share with the kids just yet, we’re incredibly happy and fortunate. If someone had told me three years ago that I would be happily married to the most wonderful man on earth, I’d have said they were dreaming. Now, I’m living that dream. Whatever we have to face, we’ll face together. Life is good.
Malcolm waved his arm over his head, beckoning me to leave my comfortable seat on the patio and join in the game. “Come on in, honey! The water’s fine!” And immediately, the grandkids started chorusing, “Come on, Grammy! Come play!”
“After lunch,” I promised, looking down at the pink bundle in my lap. “I’m having a pretty good time right here at the moment.”
When we married, I had eight grandchildren and Malcolm had three. This new addition, Ellie, gives us an even dozen. Yes, life is very good.
Chrissy, who was in the kitchen making a salad, poked her head out the door. “Mom? Are you getting tired of holding her?”
“Never,” I said, looking down at this perfect little person, placing my finger in her palm and smiling as the five tiny fingers curled around mine.
“We should be ready to eat in about fifteen minutes. What time do you think Monica and Bob will show up? Should I hold off serving until they get here?”
“Well, Monica said they were coming, but they only got home last night. I’m sure they’re so jetlagged they’ll probably sleep right through the barbeque—but hopefully not Grace’s opening.”
For a moment, I considered getting up, calling Monica’s house, and leaving a message reminding them about the opening, but decided I’d wait a few more hours before disturbing the honeymooners. The opening started at five. There was still plenty of time.
Baby Ellie stirred in her sleep, yawned and stretched, clenching her tiny fists as she lifted her arms over her head, then opened her eyes and blinked, gazing at me with a solemn expression.
“You’re awfully serious for someone who’s only six weeks old,” I said, lowering my face closer to hers. “You don’t look as if you approve of me one bit.”
Ellie blinked again, as if confirming my observation. I looked at my daughters. “Honestly, have you ever seen a baby so serious? I think she’s sitting here right now, judging every one of us, and wondering when her real family is coming to claim her.”
Emily laughed, then got up from her chair and looked over my shoulder at her newest niece. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s not a bad dream. We really are your family.”
Brianna grinned “Jake was like that. Don’t you remember, Mom? He always used to—”
My cell phone, which was sitting on the table, rang. Brianna stopped in the middle of her sentence. Emily held out her arms. “Here, Mom. I’ll take her.”
In the two years I’d had my phone, it had rung less than a dozen times, but I continued to carry it with me everywhere I went, making sure it was always charged and within arm’s reach, the ringer turned up as high as it would go. Everyone in the family knows why. Of those dozen calls from Dani, probably half were requests for food or clothing, and once for a ride to the doctor when she caught bronchitis. The others, in spite of the conditions I’d laid out to Dani, were stoned, panicked, often incoherent conversations in which she either demanded or pleaded for me to give her money. Those calls were hard to take, painful to listen to, but I was grateful for every call because at least I knew that Dani was still alive.
I was sure this call would be the same as all the others, brief and largely uneventful, but my heart was hammering just the same. It always does when Dani calls. Hope dies hard in a mother’s heart.
I handed the baby to Emily and picked up the phone, walking quickly toward one of Malcolm’s hosta beds before answering the call, turning my back so the girls wouldn’t be able to overhear my conversation.
“Dani?”
“Hi, Mom.”
She sounded nervous, subdued, and anxious, but coherent.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you? Do you need something?”
“No, I . . . I just . . . Mom, I overdosed yesterday.”
“Oh, Dani. Oh, my God,” I said, my words a prayer, tears springing to my eyes.
“It’s okay, Mom. Really, I’m okay. That’s not why I’m calling. The policeman who found me, the one who called the ambulance, came around today and said there was a rehab spot open for me if I wanted to take it. I decided I do. I want to stop, to get my life back.”
“Oh, honey . . . Dani, that’s wonderful. . . .”
“Mom, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”
“It’s all right,” I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. “It’s happy crying.”
“Well . . . don’t start dancing a jig just yet,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice, the first time I’d heard that in years. “It’s going to be hard. A lot of people who go into rehab still don’t make it.”
“I know. But you will, Dani. You’re strong. And you’re ready.”
“I am,” she said quietly. “I really think I am.”
“Honey, do you want me to come get you? I could drive you there, bring you some clothes.”
“No, Mom. Not right now. You can visit in a few weeks, but . . . I need to do this on my own, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, bobbing my head and blinking back tears. “I’ll be praying for you, sweetheart. So will Malcolm.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll need it.”
“Can I tell your brothers and sisters? Everybody’s here.”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Homecoming,” she said, the sound of her smile making my heart sing. “Yeah, you can tell them. Tell them that I said hello and that next year I’ll be at the barbeque.”
“I will, Dani. I’ll tell them.”