Getting Old is a Disaster Part 16

I hurry to the hallway. There he is, holding a small bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. He has on new clothes-tan windbreaker, tan khakis, and a navy blue sports s.h.i.+rt that goes wonderfully with his eyes. He grins at me. "Hi, honey, I'm home."

I laugh. I play back. "Hard day at the office, dear?"

He puts his gifts down on the small hallway table and grabs me and hugs me. "I couldn't find a florist with any flowers, so I picked these in the park. As for the wine, I grabbed the first bottle I could find. I hope you like cheap sangria."

We stand there looking at each other. "So, what do we do next?" I ask.

Jack emotes from the movie Marty Marty: "I don't know, Marty, wadda you want to do?"

He walks me into the kitchen and peeks into the pot to see what's cooking. "News flash," he says, "I have a job." He picks up a spoon and dips into my pot of chicken soup. "I'm no longer retired."

"Tell me," I say. We each grab a bowl and fill it with soup. He carries the bowls to the dining room table. I bring the salad, napkins, and salt and pepper. For a touch of festivity I light the two candles that are on my table.

"I've been recruited. Along with a lot of other retired cops. To help keep law and order. And how was your day?"

As he digs into my hearty soup, I begin to tell Jack all the gossip going round.

It's like we've been together for years. And it feels wonderful.

I sigh happily. Here we are enveloped in one another's arms on the couch, finis.h.i.+ng off the really bad sangria. Soft music plays. We have been talking nonstop since dinner. It's nearly midnight and my eyes are closing, but I never want this evening to end. What is wondrous to me is that Jack and I are already close friends, before we've even gotten to the s.e.x. Though not for want of trying. I smile, thinking of the irony.I look at him. He looks at me.

"Dare we?" he asks.

I know he's referring to heading for the bedroom.

"We're covered," I tell him. The girls won't call-they know I'll kill them if they do. Our relatives know we're safe. "Unless we have a sudden new hurricane, or the building burns down, all systems are go."

Jack is funny. I love his humor. He begins to tiptoe to the bedroom, stopping each moment to see if it's all right to take the next step. He takes another, still smiling and looking back at me. I can't help laughing. He's so cute. Can one call a man in his seventies cute? But he is-playful, upbeat, a happy man at heart. He makes my spirits fly. I begin to follow in his footsteps.

The doorbell rings, piercingly. Again and again.

The phone rings at the same time.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Jack says.

"Maybe it's Halloween and we forgot the candy" is my exasperated response.

"You grab the phone," he tells me, "and I'll get the door."

Since I can see the door from the kitchen phone, all at once I know the news. My girls are standing there, faces pinched. Joe is with them. Evvie says, terrified, "Millie escaped from the hospital."

And on the phone it is Mary, informing me of the same thing. "Irving is hysterical. We're going out to look for her. We need every car that's working."

I tell her, "Yes, we'll be right down."

Jack and I grab our jackets and follow the girls to the stairs. As we run, Jack asks, "How could she get out of an Alzheimer's facility?"

Ida informs us, "When the electricity went off, the locked doors opened. They a.s.sume she just walked out."

"Did anyone call the police?"

"The nursing home did," Evvie says. "They've only just called us. We don't know how long Millie's been gone."

Downstairs Tessie and Sol and Mary are already in Irving's car. Ida, Evvie, Joe, Bella, Sophie, and I squeeze into my car and Jack's. Denny's truck holds him, Yolie, Hy, and Lola. The battered vehicles squeal as dents sc.r.a.pe against tires, but at least we are still able to drive.

With relief I think-thank G.o.d Jack and I still had our clothes on.

23.

A New Worry

The gated nursing home in Margate is located on a half acre of grounds with wooded areas. The local police grimly tell us they've covered every inch of the facility, every room inside, every outbuilding. And are still at it. They suggest we surround the area outside the gate.

Though the nursing home itself is very quiet, a small group of staff greet our scruffy, anxious gang of fifteen. The home personnel are beside themselves. A Mrs. Stapleford, who seems to be in charge, reports to the shaking Irving, "We thought everyone was secure. It wasn't until eleven o'clock bed check that one of our staff realized that Millie had stuffed pillows under her blanket and was gone."

Another nurse says, "Nothing like this has ever happened here before."

A third says, "It's unbelievable. Those doors are heavy. How could she have had the strength to open them? We only just got our electricity back an hour ago." She cannot look at Irving and turns away.

Evvie asks, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"When we distributed meds at seven p.m. We left her lying in her room. Since the hurricane, our patients seem more comfortable staying in their rooms."

Jack comments, "So she could have gone out anytime since seven, but before the electricity came back on."

The nurses nod. What we are all thinking is she's been out there on her own for maybe five hours. G.o.d help her.

Practical Mary asks, "What would she be wearing?"

The night nurse says, "Just her nightgown, I'm afraid. Her slippers are still under the bed. Her robe is still in the closet."

Irving sobs at that.

Mrs. Stapleton suddenly remembers. "Oh, we left each patient with a flashlight. She must have taken it with her."

For some reason, that fact gives me hope. I don't know why.

"Then what are we waiting for?" asks Tessie.

Once outside the gates, the hardier ones of us spread out on foot, the rest pile in the back of Denny's truck. Denny drives very slowly, for his pa.s.sengers' safety and for them to be able to search. I'm glad Evvie remembered to bring the flashlights we used so much just a few days earlier. Our "on foot" group agrees to stay close, two or more, never alone. The plan-to meet back at the gate every half hour on the hour.

Through the dark neighborhoods, we call out Millie's name. We look in every yard, every empty doorway, ever mindful of hostile neighbors and dogs. Dogs do bark and neighbors come out, but no one has seen anything. We travel from street to street, Denny's truck and our waving flashlights the only movement in the night.

Joe and Evvie are with us. I notice Joe reach out to take her hand. She hesitates, then lets him.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of days," I say, making small talk, even though my eyes are darting every which way. "How's it going?"

"Things are fine, just fine," says Joe.

Evvie grunts. "Why can't he learn after fifty years to put the toilet seat down?"

Joe huffs, "Where is it written it has to be that way? You women make all the rules. What difference does it make? Up. Down. Up. Down."

"The difference is," she says tightly, "at night, half-asleep, in the dark, when it's up, I fall into the toilet, you idiot!"

"Over here," Hy shouts excitedly. We race to the sound of his voice. But when we get there, sadly it is a homeless person sleeping in a large brown carton in an alley.

We regularly trudge back to the gate. Hour after hour, we forge on, but with no luck. No Millie anywhere.

We are exhausted and cold. The police suggest we go home. They will continue on. They'll call when they find her, they tell us optimistically. But Irving shrivels up into himself. He has lost hope.

We gather in front of our two buildings. Even though it is near dawn, no one seems to want to go to bed. Yolie, bless her heart, has made pots of coffee for us. Irving sits at the picnic table and we surround him with our love-each of us taking turns insisting that Millie is an amazing woman. A survivor. Courageous and beautiful. But in our hearts we are talking about the Millie we knew years ago. Before that plague came upon us older people.

Abe, wakened by hearing us, has come down to join us. He leads us in a prayer for Millie. I watch the sky, about to turn into day. It will be a beautiful one. Mother Nature has trampled us, done her dirty work, and now she teases us with suns.h.i.+ne. Until she has another mood swing-as Hy calls it, Mother Nature with PMS-and gives us another blast of misery.

We swivel at the sight of a vehicle turning into our Phase. A taxicab pulls up and the driver gets out.

"I got a pa.s.senger in back," he says, not even showing surprise that this group of people is sitting outside at this odd hour. "Picked her up when she flagged me. Hey, I got an old mom, too. Felt sorry for her. I was going to drop her off at the police station, but she insisted she knew where she lived."

He opens the car door and Millie graciously steps out, one hand holding up the hem of her white cotton nightgown, the other holding her flashlight, still on. Her face lights up in a smile at the sight of us.

The cabbie asks, "Somebody gonna pay the tab?"

24.

The Earth Moves

W hat a night! But all's well. Irving informed hat a night! But all's well. Irving informed the police and the nursing home that Millie is with him. She doesn't recognize Irving or anyone else, but her bed is familiar to her and all she wants is to sleep. Last night's Gang of Fifteen, as we are calling one another, will take turns watching Millie as the others rest. Jack and I bow out.

Well, here we are. Six a.m. In my bedroom at last. We throw ourselves on top of the bedspread, still in our clothes, kicking off our shoes. Jack mumbles before he drops deeply into sleep, "How do I not not make love to you? Let me count the ways. Pago Pago. New York. Key West. My bedroom. Your bedroom . . ." make love to you? Let me count the ways. Pago Pago. New York. Key West. My bedroom. Your bedroom . . ."

The last thing I remember before I pa.s.s out, too-Jack is snoring and I'm laughing.

I think I'm dreaming. But I'm not. My eyes peel open and I see the clock. It's eight something. We are moving in slow motion. He helps me off with my clothes. I help him with his. Clothes are tossed. We kiss. I suggest a shower to get rid of last night's grunge. He doesn't care. He suggests later. Together. Arms and legs entwine. I don't know where one of us leaves off and the other begins. We are still tired, so our movements are unhurried. We are whispering nonsense as our bodies respond, ignoring our words. I say, "It's been such a long time." He says, "It's like riding a bike." I say, "I never rode a bike in the Bronx. My mother wouldn't let me." He says, "I have a bad back, it could go out any second." I tell him about the arthritis in my knees. "I might cry out in pain." We name all our old-age ailments. He tells me, "I have battle scars." I say, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." I giggle. He says, "We'll work around them." What we are doing to each other has us sizzling. We moan in pleasure. He says, "I think I hear the phone." I say, "No d.a.m.n way." He says, "Kidding." We are no longer talking. We are in the moment, in the second, enveloped in bliss, peaking to rapture.

"The earth finally moved," I say afterward.

He says, "It's about b.l.o.o.d.y time."

25.

Stanley Asks a Favor

It's our first morning of living together. Getting up was hard to do. Coffee was an incentive but lovemaking was the more intense craving. Will I ever again think of the shower as just a place to wash? Our bodies might be aging, but our spirits are young. And willing. And capable. Forget the gymnastics of our youth; this is a whole new experience of experimenting with what we still can do.

Breakfast is at ten-thirty. And I silently thank my girls for giving up their early-morning phone call ritual. I'm still in my robe. Jack is dressed in one of the two outfits he owns-the one he didn't wear yesterday. We are on our third cup of coffee when the doorbell finally rings. I wonder which one of the girls it will be. Or perhaps all of them.

To my surprise, Stanley Heyer stands on the

threshold, holding a small brown paper bag. "May I come in?" he asks.

Of course I let him in. I'm embarra.s.sed, to say the least. Our first visitor, and it turns out to be the most religious man in all of Lanai Gardens. Can he see the blush on my face? But the little man seems not to notice.

"I brought bagels." He hands the bag to me.

I thank him and we tell him to sit down and join us. As I'm about to pour him a cup of coffee, he shakes his head no. I try to offer him a bagel. He says he already ate. He is being polite. My kitchen isn't kosher.