My phone chimes at seven thirty the next morning, waking me out of a REM cycle. I grope for my phone and squint at the readout. LuAnn is the last person I want to talk to. But in the interest of job security, I click the phone on. “It’s my day off,” I say.
“I know. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Of course you woke me up. If you’d looked at the logs you’d know that I worked until midnight last night trying to make up for the money I lost driving that lady around all day.”
“That’s why I’m calling. She called this morning and asked me to get in touch with you again.”
“No!” I yell. “No way. Tell her I’m not coming.”
“She said she owes you money and wants to pay you.”
I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. “She said that? Did she sound lucid?”
“Yes, she seemed very nice. She called you ‘that sweet boy.’ I knew right away who she meant.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously, I can call her back and tell her you’d rather not.”
“No, that’s okay. I need the money.”
“I thought so.”
“All right, I’ll go by there.”
I hang up and try to go back to sleep, but it doesn’t happen. Finally, I surrender to the day.
An hour later, Callie is back in my car. How does this keep happening? I told her that I was off today, that I’d just come to pick up the money. She gave me a hundred dollars cash—which I suppose Sydney got for her—but before I know it, she’s grabbing her purse and declaring that she feels so much better that she hopes to get a lot done today.
She won’t take no for an answer. Strong-willed doesn’t even begin to cover it. I can’t be mean to her—though I wish I could—so I dutifully get her into my back seat.
I radio in to LuAnn and tell her I’m on the clock.
“I thought you were off. You were up till midnight making up for—”
“You’re not funny, Lu. I gotta go.”
“Well, at least you’ll be able to pay your rent.”
“‘Bye.” I hang up and look at Callie in the rearview mirror. She looks brighter today, more awake, and she sounds lucid except for her selective hearing about my day off. “Miss Callie, do you have your key to get back in?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you sure? Because yesterday you forgot it.”
She chuckles in a coy way. “I hate to admit it, but my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“No kidding. Hey, have you ever thought of hiring a driver to just drive you around, Miss Callie? Someone who looks after just you?”
She gives me a beautiful smile. “Well, I did that, didn’t I?”
“Not me. No, ma’am, I’m a cab driver. I don’t work just for you.”
“Well, I don’t need you all the time.”
“Still . . . it’s expensive to hire me for a whole day. If you had someone just for you, maybe someone who could also do other things for you, it might be cheaper.”
“Oh, I’m just fine.”
She can’t be reasoned with. I give in to the Stockholm syndrome beginning to take hold. “So where do you want to go today?”
She pulls out her list and refers to it. “The mechanic’s first.”
“Mechanic? You don’t have a car.”
She laughs then, and I have to admit that her joy is contagious. “No, I just need to talk to the owner. He’s a nice young man, and he’s not married.”
“Not more men.”
Callie’s smile fades. “I just don’t want her to be alone for Christmas.”
I know she’s talking about Sydney. “Well, can’t she spend it with you?”
“Yes, but I’m not that exciting.” She offers a faint smile. “I want her to have a good Christmas. She’s been sad since her father died. I wasn’t that big a fan of his, you know. He never liked me. After my daughter died, he never brought Sydney to see me. It wasn’t until she grew up that I had any relationship with her at all.”
“How old was she when she lost her mother?”
“Eight.”
“And her mother was your daughter?”
“Yes.”
My heart jolts. What a sad thing. In a softer voice, I ask, “What happened to her?”
Her face transitions slowly into sorrow, as if she’s living through it again, and her eyes mist over. I wish I’d never brought it up.
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry. That’s awful.”
“Sydney was such a precious child. I was close to her until then. After that, hardly anything.” Her sorrow gives way to a joyful smile. “But God is good. I prayed for her every day, and look what he did with her! And eventually he got us back together.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As I drive, I think of Sydney as an eight-year-old child, losing her mother and being kept from a doting grandmother. Even if her father was the greatest man on earth, which he couldn’t have been if he ejected Callie from his life and Sydney’s, the loss of those two women would leave a huge void in Sydney’s life.
I go through the motions again as she hits up the owner of the mechanic’s shop. She strikes out again.
Her upbeat mood is waning as I get her into the car again.
“Miss Callie, I know you’re trying to help Sydney, but why don’t you just enjoy Christmas Day with her and stop all this matchmaking?”
“I need to get her a grand present.”
“I think you did that yesterday. We went to Macy’s, remember?”
“No, I want to get her something she really wants. Not just some old grandmother gift.”
“Well, okay. Where do you want to go?”
“That orange place. Where they sell those computers and whatnot.”
“Orange place?” I try to think of someplace with an orange sign. “Best Buy?” I ask, even though it’s yellow.
“No, no. They have those pod things.”
“The Apple store?”
“Yes, that’s it. Take me there.”
I chuckle and turn toward the mall.
In the Apple showroom, Callie asks me, “Which one would she like?” Her question makes me feel inadequate. She’s looking at the iPads. I don’t have the cash for one of these puppies, so I have no idea what they cost. There are at least six variations.
“Honestly, you got me.”
“Well, which one would you want?”
“Just get her the one you like. I’m sure she’ll like whatever you pick.”
Callie laughs way too loud. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about these things. I just know they’re very popular.”
The Apple salesperson approaches, wearing his trademark black T-shirt and holding his digitized cash register in the palm of his hand. “She wants to buy an iPad,” I tell him. “Could you show her a few of the models?”
Of course he starts with the most expensive model. “This one comes in two sizes, and you can get a keyboard case and a pen to go with it.”
“My granddaughter is a lawyer,” Callie says, smiling up at him. “She’s very pretty. Are you married?”
“Um . . . yes, ma’am. But if she’s a lawyer, she might really like this one, and the bigger version might be really handy for her with the pen.”
Callie looks at me. “What do you think?”
I wonder if she remembers my name. “Me? Oh, yeah, I think she would like that a lot. It’s kind of pricey, though.”
“You can pay for it right here,” the guy says. “All I need is a credit card.”
I don’t want to get involved, so I clear my throat. “I’m going to step outside for a minute, get some air. Let me know when she’s ready.”
I go outside to an iron bench on the sidewalk and drop onto it. I hope Callie isn’t frantically looking through her purse for her credit card. I don’t want her to be embarrassed.
He hasn’t wheeled her out to me yet, so maybe she’s actually making the transaction. She’s been much more lucid today. How does that work? She could hardly hold a thought the first day I met her, but now she’s purchasing the latest tech gadget.
What could be wrong with her? Is it Alzheimer’s that comes and goes, or some other kind of dementia that gives her good days and bad days? Or was she just feeling so awful a couple of days ago that it affected her memory?
The tech guy leans out the door. “Sir? She’s ready.”
I get to my feet. “Already? Really? That was way too easy.”
I step back into the store and see the white Apple bag sitting on her lap. Callie is smiling like a contest winner.
“Did you get what you wanted?”
“Yes. We can go now, sweet boy.”
I roll her out to the car, get her into the back seat, and hook her in. She holds tightly to her bag the whole time.
“She’ll like this,” she says as we drive away. “It’s the first time I’ve bought her anything she’d really like.”
“I’m sure everything you’ve given her is nice.”
“No. Sweaters and perfume, mostly. Nothing that makes her face light up.”
“Well, I can promise you she’ll like this one.”
I glance into my rearview mirror. She’s smiling as I drive. I find myself smiling, too. “Home now?”
“Not yet,” she says. “One more place.”
“Where to?”
“I need a tree.”
“A tree? What kind of tree?”
“A Christmas tree!”
I groan and shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Callie. I’m not set up to carry trees. No can do.”
An hour later, I’m driving away from the Christmas tree lot with a six-foot tree netted on my roof.