Be My Neat-Heart (15 page)

“H
i, this is Jared. I'm unable to take your call right now. Please leave your number and I'll return your call as soon as I can.”

I hung up my phone without leaving a message.

“Still not picking up?” Wendy asked. She was snapping fresh beans into a big colander for tonight's dinner.

“He can't have it on when he's in the hospital.”

“And he's always at the hospital.”

I didn't respond. Anything I'd say would only sound selfish. I don't begrudge a minute of the time Jared spends with Molly, but I am getting a little frightened. He's not been himself. Even Ethan says so.

“What is it, Sammi? What are you
not
saying?”

I considered saying nothing, but Wendy knows me too well. I might as well spill it now as have her nagging me until she gets it out of me, anyway. “He's withdrawing from me. I can feel him shrinking away, not just from me but from everyone. He works twelve hours a day, sits at the hospital for seven and sleeps for five. If Ethan and I didn't go to the hospital, we'd never see him.”

“There's more to it than that,” Wendy said astutely.

I nodded unhappily. “He's blaming himself for everything but the high price of oil and the fact that mosquitoes bite. He and Molly have a bond that he thinks he broke by losing his cool with her. And—” I couldn't suppress the crackle of emotion in my voice “—the longer she remains unconscious, the more he's afraid…”

“That she won't wake up?” Leave it to Wendy to tell it like it is.

“It's been five days since the accident.” I grabbed a handful of beans and started snapping them. If felt good, a way to vent my frustration on something productive. Snap, snap, snap.

“Hey! I thought this was my job. You're supposed to be peeling potatoes.”

Wendy has been a trouper, coming to my place every evening with a bag of groceries and a new recipe to try for dinner. It's a helpful distraction and I like to cook, but if this routine goes on much longer, I'm going to look like a very tall, very round pumpkin.

“The other thing,” I said hesitantly, not quite sure how to put it in to words, “he's become very silent about God.”

Wendy peeked at the water on the stove to see if it was boiling.

“I…I have a feeling Jared isn't putting his full trust onto God right now.”

“Seems like this would be a
great
time to be talking to the Big Guy.” Wendy plopped the potatoes I'd peeled into the roiling water.

“Jared's still withdrawing.”

Wendy put dishes on the eating counter and shooed Zelda off one of the stools. “Scram. Go flash your rhinestones somewhere else.”

Zelda, as if she'd understood, stood up, gave Wendy a dirty look and moved herself to the window seat, where the light hit her just right and her collar sent prisms of color all over the room.

“Drama queen,” Wendy muttered under her breath.

“You're just jealous because you don't have jewelry as nice as Zelda's.” I checked the roast in the oven. It would be done at the same time as the potatoes. At least was one small victory. I clock my meals to the minute so that everything is done at exactly the same time. Ben says he likes me because I'm even more reliable than The Timer. He's coming to dinner, too, so I wanted to have things progressing like clockwork.

“Why don't you buy
me
some nice jewelry?” Wendy groused. “You buy all hers.”

“Okay, next time I go to Norah's Ark, come with me. We'll pick out something pretty.”

“I didn't mean at the pet shop.”

I smiled sweetly at her. “I did.”

The banter didn't dissuade me from our more serious conversation. “Do you remember Mike Simmons?” I asked. Mike was a fellow Wendy had dated in college.

“Of course I do. He made the best fried green tomatoes and deep fried French toast I've ever had. Of course, if he didn't have a vat of grease to cook his food in he was helpless. Why do you ask?”

“Remember talking with Mike about God, Jesus, forgiveness and salvation?”

“Like talking to a brick wall,” Wendy recalled. “A head hard as stone.”

“But that wasn't it, was it?”

Wendy paused as she was running cold water over the beans to wash them.

“No. It really wasn't. But it took a long time for me to figure out what was going on with him.”

She turned off the water, set the beans in the sink to drip, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and sat down on the stool Zelda had vacated. “Mike was the first person I'd ever run into
who admitted to me that he thought he wasn't ‘good enough' for God. He thought he'd done too much, been too ‘bad' to face God with it.

“‘I've done too much bad stuff,' he told me. ‘God won't have anything to do with me. There's no way He'd forgive me for the things I've done.'” Wendy sat back and crossed her arms. “Wow. I'd forgotten about that. Poor Mike really suffered over that notion. It took a long time to convince him otherwise.” She turned to me. “You remember, you were there.”

I did remember, vividly. That's why I'd brought up his name. Mike had come from a dysfunctional home. He'd practically raised himself and had made some bad choices—drugs, a gang, even criminal activity. He was an angry young man. So angry that when his father died, he refused to attend the funeral.

“God's not going to forgive me for that,” he once told me. “No way, no how. And nothing you can tell me is going to make me believe that He is.”

We'd sat with that, stuck in the mud, for weeks, months. Mike, sure that God wasn't big enough to forgive him, didn't realize that the real problem was that Mike refused to forgive himself.

“Are you saying that you think Jared is in the same place Mike was?”

“Maybe I am.” And I told Wendy the entire story of Molly's mistakes, Jared's anger with her, Molly's plea for him to fire her. Then I told her about Jared's research on ADD. Knowing that ADD might be partly responsible for Molly's trouble had made everything happening now seem, if possible, even worse.

“And what does he think he could have done about it?”

“I'm not sure. He says he should have given her more structure and direction, that he should have been more compassionate and recognized what was going on with her.”

“Before or after he walked on water?” Wendy asked,
rolling her eyes. “The guy's not omnipotent. Why is he giving himself such a hard time?”

Before I could say more, the doorbell rang and Imelda leaped off the couch where she'd been camping, woofing wildly. She ran for the door, skidded on the hardwood floor until her nails—brilliant orange, the polish bottle said “sun-kissed”—hooked on a throw rug and sent her sliding sideways to the door, barking liken a banshee. Just as Ben threw open the door, Imelda's body hit him in the shins and sent him sailing back out into the hall.

I closed my eyes at the sound of the crash and ensuing silence. Then Ben roared, “Get off my chest and quit licking my face!”

He staggered into the kitchen carrying a small sack and looking like he'd just tangled with an octopus. “Here. For you. Later. When you need it.”

I peered into the bag. Godiva chocolate ice cream. For medicinal purposes only. And the heel of a man's shoe for Imelda.

“Are you all right?” I asked. Wendy was too busy grinning to be a decent hostess.

“Other than my pride, my tibia, fibula and sacrum, yes. Why don't you let someone besides Imelda answer the door? Like Wendy?”

“Because I can't bark as loud or slide as well,” Wendy said cheerfully, and held out a plate of cheese, crackers and sliced veggies. “Appetizer?”

After dinner, we retreated to my living room with hot coffee and a plate of, what else? Chocolates.

“That was great, you guys,” Ben said appreciatively as he patted his concave stomach. “Now I won't have to cook for three more days.”

“What? Is The Timer nonoperational?”

“It is, but I've been working on something really cool. Magic tricks.”

“Tricks?” I said. Imelda looked up from her place on the hearth rug.

“Yeah. Want to see one?” Ben stood up and with a flourish, pulled a white hankie out of his pocket, then a blue one tied on the tail of the white, then a red, an orange, a purple, a green…until there was a bolt of hankie fabric strewn across the floor. Then, as Ben's flourishes and showmanship gained speed, he pulled his pocket inside out and loose change skittered across the floor, too.

“Oops. That wasn't supposed to happen.”

“Aren't you supposed to pull that stuff out of a hat or something?”

“You probably wouldn't have let me in the house if I'd come wearing a top hat,” Ben pointed out sensibly.

“Imelda might have. She isn't all that discerning in areas other than shoes.”

“Besides, I'm just practicing. Want to see a quarter come out of your ear?”

“How can I see it if it's coming out of
my
ear?”

“Wendy will watch and vouch for it.” Ben picked a quarter off the floor, fumbled a bit behind my ear and announced, “Ta-dah!”

“Yep, that was her ear, all right,” Wendy said. “What'd you do, order a kit from the back of a comic book?”

Ben sat down heavily, as if the tricks had exhausted him. “I decided I need a hobby, and everything else is too messy or takes too much time. I'm already messy enough and have too little time. I can practice this whenever I want. When I get better, I think I'll add some pyrotechnics….”

One more thing to add to my prayer list.

It was after ten o'clock when Wendy said, “I'd better get going. How does salmon and dilled potatoes sound for tomorrow?”

“Great. Want me to get the groceries?”

“Sure, if you're going out,” Wendy said as she disappeared in the direction of her car.

“What's that about?” Ben asked, always interested when food is concerned.

“She's made me her mission. She comes over every night and we cook dinner together. It's really nice, if I do say so myself. It keeps me busy and leaves less time on my hands in the evening.”

“Your friend isn't any better, then?”

“No. And the rest of the family seems to be getting worse.” I filled him in on what Wendy and I had been discussing.

“And Jared doesn't think his sister should be left alone?”

“He's hoping that if he keeps talking to her, he'll somehow pull her back, out of this unconscious state. He doesn't want anyone to speak harshly around her or say anything that might upset her on the off chance that…”

“I get it. Maybe I could come to the hospital someday and visit with Molly so you could talk to Jared.”

“Ben, that is so sweet, but you don't even know Molly….” Suddenly I felt very silly. “Of course, she
is
unconscious.”

“I'm told I have a pleasant voice. I'll tell her about my research. It will be a thrill a minute for her.” He grinned and planted a kiss on my forehead.

“You are a friend in need and a friend indeed. Thanks. I might take you up on it. I would like to spend some time with Jared.”

“Great, let me know when we're going. Oh, and by the way,” he said, giving me a big grin, “I
really
like salmon and dilled potatoes.”

I
f I invent plastic produce bags that comes off a roll in the grocery store and open on the first try, I'll save shoppers hours of time and frustration. And, if I ever figure out how dead bugs get into enclosed light fixtures, I'll revolutionize the lighting industry.

These are the profound thoughts I have while working with clients. I rarely voice them for fear that they will have me (a) evaluated by a trained therapist or (b) locked away.

Of course, sometimes clients contribute to the insanity-making, too.

Enter the Julia Child of household bedlam and anarchy, my client Bonnie and her three sons, who can cook up calamity like others cook up pasta.

“Little Roy has been studying the concept of volume in school. You know, like how many gallons of water there are in the ocean. Whoever would have thought that he'd try to figure out the volume of water in his waterbed?” Bonnie looked at me with a mix of delight, pride and dismay. “Do you think it will ever dry out down here?”

I took out the notebook I carry, looked up a phone number,
jotted it down on a slip of paper and handed it to Bonnie, whose real last name is Cochran. “This is the name and number of a fabulous carpet cleaner. He will come in and do whatever is necessary. I'd recommend you call him. It's going to get musty in here very soon.”

“Oh, thank you!” She tucked the paper into the pocket of her Hilfigers. “Little Roy has allergies. We can't let that happen.”

I considered pointing out that the moldy birds' nests, decaying fauna, decomposing skeleton of something that may once have been a reptile and the stale food rotting in plates around Little Roy's room were probably having an equally grave effect on the child. Of course, they were no doubt science projects of one sort or another and hence, cute and clever, like the queen-sized water bed, its contents now spread across a good portion of the lower level of their house.

“Maybe we should go upstairs,” Bonnie suggested. “I have some other things to consult you about.”

Oh, yeah. Uh-huh. I'll bet you do.

I'd seen her three hoodlum sons grinding Cheetos into her ivory carpet when I came in.

Dutifully I followed her into “Big Ronnie's” room. Ronnie, it appeared, was the oldest of the boys, but named more for his size than his rank in the family pecking order.

“He was experimenting with some household products. He wants to be an inventor when he grows up.” She stared at the ragged hole in the carpet, the polka dotted white patches in the bedspread and then up at the smoke stain on the ceiling. “I guess I shouldn't have let him use the bleach. I had no idea it could be combustible.”

Then she looked up hopefully. “Someday I know we'll be so proud of our boys and what they accomplish.”

If they don't blow up the house first.

I wrote down a few more numbers—interior painters,
reliable one-day carpet installers and places I know that sell high-quality bedspreads…cheap.

“And, of course, there's Middy's room.”

“‘Middy'? As in ‘middle'?”
Say it isn't so!

She looked at me, shocked. “Whatever made you think that? Middy is short for Roy Middleton Cochran junior. He's named after his father.”

Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

It also explained “Little Roy.”

“What's been going on in Middy's room?” I asked

“Frankly I'd be more upset if I he'd done it on a whim, but he really does want to be a physicist when he grows up.”

“Yes, and…”
Didn't physicists put together the atom bomb?

“I'm not sure if this was supposed to be an experiment in centrifugal force or gravitational pull, but…”

A small darting missile in a red T-shirt and a baseball cap bolted by and Bonnie, with a swiftness that impressed me, reached out and stopped its trajectory. “Middy, will you explain to Ms. Smith what you were doing in your bedroom when…you know.”

Middy looked at me with an expression that said he would die from terminal boredom if he had to have an entire conversation with me, but he did open his mouth, and gobbledygook spewed out.

“Centrifugal force doesn't really exist, but an object traveling in a circle will behave as if it is experiencing some outward force. This is the force we call centrifugal force. This ‘force' depends on the mass of the object, the speed of the rotation and how far the object is from the center. The bigger the object, the greater the speed in which it is traveling and the more distance the object is from the center, the greater the force.

“It's like being on a merry-go-round. It's harder for Mom or Dad to stay on it without exerting some inward force because their masses are greater.” Middy got an evil look in his eye. “Dad's fat.”

“Now, Middy,” Bonnie said placidly. “He's big-boned.”

“Whatever.” And he bolted off.

“He's explained it to me before, but the boys are so
bright
I barely understand them sometimes.”

I took a breath, opened the door to Middy's room and entered what felt like a Jackson Pollock abstract splatter painting. Red paint was splashed on every white wall in a rather intriguing-looking asymmetrical pattern of loops and splatters. There was also a huge red splash mark in the center of the beige carpet and above, a ceiling fan hanging by its wires and a bit of Sheetrock.

“Middy likes it this way and wants me to leave it, but I just don't know,” Bonnie said. “It will be very hard to decorate around.”

“What is ‘it'?” I was in total awe of the disarray. This made my short list of all-time worst messes. It was as amazing as one of the wonders of the world—the Taj Mahal of paint damage.

“Middy had been to the doctor for his checkup. They did a blood test and he, of course, demanded to know what they were going to do with it. The technician explained how it's spun out and tested. Middy was fascinated by the concept of centrifugal force so he decided to see how spinning a can of paint might work. Naturally, he thought of using his ceiling fan to do the spinning.”

Oh, naturally
.

“Bonnie, I've given you the names of the people you need to contact, the painter, carpet people and oh, yes, I'll give you the name of an electrician in this area who is very good. But I don't think you need
me.
I'm a personal organizer and clutter coach. This…your boys…are out of my area of expertise.”

I was trying to recall a good child therapist I could recommend when Bonnie said, “Maybe you're right. It didn't occur to me until just now that all the boys really need is a little direction in their areas of interest. An art tutor, perhaps, or someone in the sciences….” She clapped her hands together delightedly. “Thank you, Sammi. You have helped me a lot whether you know it or not.”

“Delighted to be of service.”

I hot-footed it down the steps and to my car as Mrs. Cochran stood in the door waving. I didn't want to be around when she turned to go into the house and saw what was going on behind her back.

I think Middy was preparing to test a theory of how fast Little Roy would slide down a banister with rocks in his pockets.

 

Ben arrived at my house carrying a plastic grocery sack. He was dressed in high-water jeans, a shirt buttoned to the top button on the collar and festooned with pen protectors, and tennis shoes—Keds.

“Do you have a Geeks Anonymous meeting today?” I asked when I opened the door.

He looked down at himself as if just registering what he was wearing. Then he shrugged. Fortunately for Ben, he would have been handsome dressed in a diaper and masquerading as Baby New Year.

“This will do. I was wondering if I could come to the hospital with you today. I'd like to see Molly.”

“Absolutely. I appreciate it.” Jared grows more and more morose each day that Molly doesn't respond. Frankly, Geneva is almost as worried about him as she is about Molly.

“He was this way as a child,” she'd told me. “Tough as nails except where it came to Molly. The only times I ever saw him cry was when Molly got hurt. He'd stoically let me wash his
cuts and scraps, but let Molly fall off her bike….” Geneva had shaken her head. “Then they'd both be worked up.”

She'd paused and gotten a faraway look in her eyes. “I know why he was so protective, but I could never figure out how to temper it in him.”

My face must have shown my confusion because she had smiled.

“My father was still living when Molly was born. He was ill, but hanging on by sheer willpower to see his new granddaughter. It meant so much to him.” Geneva had sighed then. “Anyway, I caught them together one day—my father and Jared in Molly's bedroom. She was sound asleep in her crib. Jared was looking through the bars of the crib and Father was watching both of them.”

She was silent for a long time before she had continued. “I'll never forget what my father said to Jared. I wish I'd spoken up back then, but I had no idea of the impact on him at the time or how he took it to heart. He said, ‘Jared, from now on, Molly is your responsibility. Take care of her for me, will you?'

“It reminded me of what Jesus said to John from the cross. It's in John 19, verses 26 and 27. ‘
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.'

“It was only weeks later that my father died. I recalled it later and realized that it felt in that moment that my father, Jared's grandfather, had commissioned Jared to care for Molly, that he was specially made for the job and no one else could do it better. He took his grandfather's death very hard. He was only eight years old, after all, and the relationship between him and Molly was set.”
Commissioned
. That's significant in the Bible. In Numbers, the Lord said to Moses,
“Take Joshua…and lay your hand on him, have him stand before Eleazar the priest and all the congregation, and commission him in their sight.” In Deuteronomy when the Lord commissioned Joshua, He said, “Be strong and bold, for you shall bring the Israelites into the land that I promised them. I will be with you.” Being appointed by God is a huge deal, no matter how one looks at it.

Gradually I was beginning to understand Jared's dedication to Molly. What would I have thought at eight years old if I'd been given such a responsibility by someone I loved deeply? I remembered my own grandfather's booming voice and large stature. Sometimes I childishly assumed he was God's spokesperson. Since he was a pastor and an imposing presence, it only made sense. Why wouldn't a young Jared see his own grandfather in much the same way?

And then, after appointing him Molly's guardian, Jared's grandfather died and the commission was sealed.

“I'm sure by now Jared would dismiss that episode as a mere childhood incident, but I know how deeply it affected him at the time…and has ever since. Consciously or unconsciously, Molly has been ‘his' ever since she was born.”

Geneva had smiled wanly and my heart went out to her. “Until recently, neither my husband nor I have thought it a bad thing. Molly's been a handful sometimes, and we've needed Jared in the mix.”

“What was she like as a child in school?”

“Oh, my, she was a note a week from the teacher! ‘Smart,' they'd say, but a ‘discipline problem' or ‘has a poor attention span' or ‘cannot quit talking in class.' Every teacher loved her sunny personality and loving disposition and yet they all tore their hair out over her.” Geneva had paused before adding, “Not much different than the present day.”

Tears had welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “Sammi, I'm so worried about both of them.”

Both Molly and Jared were slipping away. Not only was Molly's well-being in grave jeopardy, but so was any “happily ever after” Jared and I had been anticipating.