Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)

Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3) Page 11

“This is a good price for—”

Her mother’s voice cut into Susannah’s musings. “It is,” she agreed automatically, although she didn’t have a clue what Vivian was talking about. Suddenly—impulsively—she faced her mother. Jake’s name hadn’t been mentioned in over thirty years and it was time for answers.

“Mom,” Susannah said. “Do you know whatever happened to Jake Presley?”

“Who?”

“Jake Presley, my boyfriend in high school.”

“He wasn’t that singer, was he?”

“No, Mom,” Susannah said. “That was Elvis.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “I’m asking about Jake Presley. He used to live in Colville, remember?”

Her mother considered the question. “What did his father do?”

“He worked at the mill.” Susannah strained her memory, but she couldn’t recall his first name. Jake had been an only child. His mother had run off when he was four or five and he lived with his father.

After a moment, Vivian shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t remember any Jake Presley.”

“That’s all right,” Susannah said and struggled to hide her disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother seemed genuinely apologetic.

“It’s all right, Mom,” she said again.

Only it wasn’t.

CHAPTER 7

Vivian had turned on the Food Channel, pen and pad on her lap as she wrote down recipe after recipe. Puzzled, Susannah watched her mother. As best as she could figure, Vivian hadn’t cooked a meal in months.

Susannah hadn’t brought up the subject of assisted living since this morning, but she was biding her time. Getting her mother to be reasonable would require some inventiveness.

“Mom, I’m going to call Joe and the kids,” she said, getting up from the sofa.

“Okay.” Her mother’s eyes didn’t waver from the television screen.

Susannah walked into the kitchen and picked up her cell phone, which she’d left on the table. She sat down and hit the first button on her speed-dial. Pressing the phone to her ear she waited. Three rings passed before Chrissie answered.

“Hi,” her daughter said, sounding more cheerful than she had in their last conversation.

“It’s Mom.”

“Oh.” Her voice flattened. “How’s Grandma?”

“Okay. What about you?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Don’t act so enthusiastic.”

“Dad’s making me cook dinner again,” Chrissie muttered. “He said I couldn’t make anything that came from a box.”

“Your father and I are trying to avoid processed foods as much as possible.”

“He wants me to create a menu for his approval. Can you believe it? I spent two hours in the kitchen this afternoon. This is my vacation, too, and now I’m stuck at home and bored out of my mind.”

Susannah didn’t remind Chrissie that if she had a job, none of this would be happening; she knew her words wouldn’t be appreciated any more than her advice would.

“I haven’t heard from Jason.” Her daughter’s depression and frustration were evident even over the phone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“No wonder he was so eager for me to go home. It’s just that—oh, never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure you’ve read the situation correctly? Why not just wait and see?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she fumed. Her daughter made a scoffing sound. “I knew something was wrong the minute he came to take me to the airport. A woman knows, Mom. Something happened between him and Katie, and I think it’s been going on for a while. I didn’t pick up on it until that day, and now I’m furious with him and Katie.”

Susannah had no idea what to say, so she added another lame, “Wait and see. It might not be as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yes, it is.” Chrissie groaned in derision. “The situation here isn’t helping, either.”

“What do you mean?” Susannah asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Chrissie repeated. “You’re with Grandma and I’m stuck here. Thanks a lot, Mom. Thanks a lot.” Having said that, she slammed down the phone and screamed for Joe.

A minute later her husband picked up the receiver. “Hi, Suze,” he said. “How’s Colville?”

“Growing. There are so many changes I can hardly keep track. I took Mom shopping and she practically bought out the shoe department at Wal-Mart.”

She heard his gentle amusement. “I wondered where you got your penchant for shoes.” Shoes had always been Susannah’s weakness.

“How’s it going with your mother?” he asked.

“Not good.” She described how her mother had embarrassed her in front of Sandy.

“She feels threatened,” Joe said. “You would, too, in similar circumstances.”

“Maybe, but…”

After spending an entire day with her mother and witnessing how easily she tired, Susannah was more concerned than ever. They’d had to stop frequently for breaks; once Vivian had even taken a brief nap on a pull-out sofa in the furniture department, with Susannah standing anxiously by.

“I don’t know how to handle this. The minute I bring up the subject of assisted living, she gets defensive and angry.”

“Did you mention the phone call from her neighbor?”

Susannah straightened. “No. But maybe if Mrs. Henderson and I both talked to her, Mom might listen.”

“She might think you’re ganging up on her, too.”

Her husband had a good point. “You’re right, she probably will. I’ll tell her about the phone call first and if I have to, I’ll bring in Mrs. Henderson.”

“Did you take her to tour any of the facilities?”

Susannah sighed in discouragement. She hadn’t even gotten close. “I drove past one, and Mom made some sarcastic remark about not knowing the way home.”

Joe chuckled. “She’s got quite a stubborn streak.”

“I don’t remember her being like this. My mother was the soul of tact and graciousness, and all of a sudden she’s—” Susannah didn’t finish. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look. To her horror, she found her mother in the hallway, listening in on her conversation. Lowering the phone, she whirled around. “Mom?”

With a sheepish look, her mother walked into the kitchen. Susannah didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, but suspected it had been quite a while.

“Joe,” Susannah breathed, shocked that her mother would stoop to eavesdropping. “My mother was standing in the hallway, listening to our conversation.”

“I’m not leaving my home,” Vivian said loudly, “and you can’t make me.”

“Susannah?” Joe’s voice rang in her ear.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She heard the drone of the disconnected line from her cell phone before she clicked it off.

“Mom, I think we should talk,” Susannah said, gesturing for Vivian to join her.

“Not if you’re going to say what I think you are.” Her mother started to back out of the kitchen.

“Aren’t you curious about why I drove over here earlier than I’d originally planned?”

Her mother hesitated. “A little.”

“Sit down, Mom.” Again Susannah motioned toward the other end of the table.

“I’ll miss my show.”

“The Food Channel runs the same episode in the morning, and before you say anything, it’s perfectly all right to watch television in the middle of the day.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and her expression seemed to say she wasn’t sure she should trust her daughter. This wasn’t the way Susannah wanted to begin such a crucial conversation. Instead of arguing further, she leaped into it. “Martha phoned me in Seattle, and I talked to Mrs. Henderson, too.”

Her mother sat down on the chair, her posture straight, her eyes filled with defiance. “All right, tell me what Rachel’s saying behind my back. As for that Martha, she’s not to be trusted.”

“Mother, Mrs. Henderson is your friend.” She’d intercede for Martha later.

“She’s jealous of my garden. She always has been.” Her mother crossed her arms defensively. “Her gladioli and irises never do as well as mine. Her roses, either.”

Susannah intended to avoid that issue, in case it turned into another War of the Roses. “Mrs. Henderson called because she was worried about you. So is Martha. Your friends are concerned.”

A sheepish look came over Vivian. “You’d be lost and confused, too, if you lost your husband of fifty-nine years.”

Susannah said nothing.

“I will die in this house, Susannah. It’s my home. It’s where I belong. I am not moving.”

The situation was impossible. “Mother, please listen because I need you to hear me.”

“I am listening. I just don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“I talked to Dr. Bethel a few days ago, and he agrees it’s time for you to make the transition to a facility.” Susannah had called him the morning of her departure, wanting not only his assessment but any ammunition he could provide.

Her mother gasped, as if her longtime physician had betrayed her. “I don’t believe it!”

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it already is. I’ve made appointments to tour Altamira and Whispering Willows tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll go by yourself, because I refuse to be part of it.”

A crescent-shaped moon was tucked in a corner of the sky as Vivian sat in her garden, a wad of tissue in her hand. She couldn’t sleep. The wind-up clock George had used for years had ticked relentlessly at her bedside as she counted off the hours. Soon it would be daylight and she had yet to fall asleep. It felt as if everyone she knew and trusted had turned against her, including her own daughter. She’d once considered Rachel Henderson a friend, but no longer. Even Dr. Bethel and Martha. She wished she could talk to George; he’d know what was best. But he’d only come to her that one time.

So Vivian had decided to sit outside. Whenever she shut her eyes, all she could think about was the fact that she was going to lose her home. Susannah wanted to move her in with strangers. She couldn’t leave Chestnut Avenue.

She was old and had lost so much already. She’d buried her husband and her only son. All she had left was her daughter, her house, her things. A lifetime of everything that was most important surrounded her in this home. All her pictures. Her furniture. The crystal vase that had belonged to her grandmother, whose mother had brought it from Poland. Vivian treasured it. Her flowers had never looked more beautiful than in that vase….

Perhaps worst of all, Susannah was asking her to give up her garden. This was almost more than she could bear. There was comfort in her garden, in its beautiful colors, its scents….