A Mother's Reflection. Elissa Ambrose
coming down harder now, and even though he’d switched the wipers to max, the windshield remained foggy and he couldn’t see clearly.
Rachel followed the landlord up the two flights of stairs. “This house is over a hundred years old,” he said. “It was split into six apartments and remodeled about ten years ago by Logan Construction.”
“The firm that built the community center,” Rachel said.
The small landing featured an octagonal etched-glass window high in the wall. The landlord nodded toward one of two white doors. “Your neighbor is in Alaska for the summer, so it’ll be plenty quiet.” He opened the other door and reached inside to flick on a light switch, then stood back for Rachel to enter.
Simply furnished with a daybed, bureau, dinette set and bookcase, the apartment was tiny, but the exposed roof beams that soared overhead created an illusion of spaciousness. The ceiling, walls and wide wooden floorboards were painted creamy white, and light from the track fixtures spilled across the satiny surfaces. Rachel walked across the room toward a pair of French doors leading out to a small balcony.
“Lots of light during the day,” the landlord said. “Pretty garden in the yard.” He opened two doors near the entrance. “Closet and bathroom here, and over there—” he motioned across the counter “—the Pullman kitchen.”
Everything was small in scale, yet efficiently planned. A range and half-size fridge were set into the wall, tucked next to the cabinetry. The closet was fitted with wire baskets, racks and shelves. Rachel walked into the small blue-and-white-tiled bathroom, where there was even a claw-footed tub. A stacked washer and dryer were next to the sink.
She rejoined the landlord. “I’ll take it.”
On the short drive to Adam’s house she marveled at her luck. The apartment was welcoming and airy, and it was furnished. Although the rent was higher than she’d planned on, it was within her budget. But most important, even though the apartment was three miles from the community center, it was just a hop and a skip from Adam’s house. A hop and a skip from Megan.
Rachel was smiling as she rang the bell. She heard a dog barking inside the house, over the din of a TV. “Will someone turn off that idiot machine?” Adam shouted. “And someone get the door!”
“I’ll get the door!” Megan called back. “And you’d better be talking about the TV, not Cinny. She’s not an idiot!” She swung the door open and beamed at Rachel. Behind her, a chestnut-brown cocker spaniel was running back and forth, yapping noisily.
Adam came into the foyer. “Rachel, hi. Sorry about the mayhem. Come on in. How did you like the apartment?”
“It’s wonderful! In fact—”
“I’ll get my scrapbook,” Megan said, and ran down the hallway toward the narrow staircase, which in traditional Colonial style divided the house in two.
“Who turned off the TV? Did I tell anyone to turn off the TV?” A woman about Doreen’s age appeared in the foyer, wearing an old bathrobe and floppy slippers. “Where’s that old bat?” she grumbled. “I have a good mind to fire her. Paula!”
Adam took the woman’s hands in his. “Mom, this is Rachel Hartwell. She’s going to be teaching at the center. Rachel, this is my mother, Evelyn Wessler.”
Evelyn Wessler bore a strong resemblance to her son. Her eyes were the same piercing blue, her cheekbones high and angled. She carried herself with the same pride, but Rachel was convinced that this was more the result of environment than heredity. Megan held that same pride.
Another older woman was just a step behind Evelyn. Her eyes were gentle and understanding, her smile warm. “It’s time for your medication,” she said to Evelyn, “and then it’s off to bed.”
“Paula, this is Rachel Hartwell,” Adam said. “Rachel, Paula Hutchison. Paula helps take care of us.”
“You mean me, don’t you?” Evelyn corrected. “Paula helps take care of me. For some reason my son seems to think I need looking after. I tell you, it’s humiliating.”
“It’s difficult being a single parent,” Rachel said tactfully. “He’s lucky to have both you and Paula to help out.”
Evelyn peered at her closely. “Are you saying I can’t take care of Megan?”
“Not at all. I just know how much of a handful a girl Megan’s age can be. You’re still the one in charge, I can tell.”
“You got that right. Smart girl, this one. What’s her name, Adam?”
He frowned. “It’s Rachel, Mom. I already told you. Rachel Hartwell.”
“Well, it’s true I can always use the extra help,” Evelyn said. “Maybe it’s a good thing Paula lives here, even if she is a nuisance. For one thing, I need to replace the curtains. Did you ever see anything so ugly? Maybe we shouldn’t fire the old bat, after all. Who else is going to watch Megan while I’m fixing up the house? Who else is going to bathe her and feed her?”
“I told you, Mom, the curtains are fine. Now why don’t you let Paula help you upstairs? You have to take your pills.”
“I don’t need any pills, for pity’s sake. I’m not sick, I’m just old.”
Rachel felt a stitch in her heart. Evelyn Wessler wasn’t old. She appeared to be in her early sixties, around the same age as Doreen and Paula.
“It’s just a mild painkiller. You know you won’t be able to sleep without it.” Adam gently steered her toward the staircase. “Two months ago she fractured her wrist,” he explained to Rachel. “It hasn’t been the same since.”
Evelyn whirled around. “Don’t do that! Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that soon enough, after that hussy who’s been chasing after you sends me away. Oh, I know she can’t wait. She’s counting the days.”
“Now, Evelyn, you don’t mean that,” Paula said, taking her arm. “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed. Say good-night to the company.”
“Do you hear the way they talk to me? Like I’m a child. I can get into bed by myself, thank you very much.” She shrugged away Paula’s arm. “It was nice to see you again, Beth. Maybe next week we can have lunch.”
Beth. Rachel felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Her mother’s name was Beth. Had Evelyn known her? In her confusion, was she mistaking Rachel for Beth?
“Her name is Rachel, Mom.” Adam gave his mother a warm hug and waited for her to disappear with Paula up the staircase before he spoke again. “Sooner or later she’ll get it straight,” he said, smiling at Rachel apologetically. “Let’s have that coffee.”
In the kitchen he poured them each a cup, his hand shaking visibly. How long had Evelyn been like this? Rachel wondered. She wanted to reach out and cover his hand with hers, but she held back, afraid of embarrassing him with such a display of empathy. But it wasn’t her reticence that stopped her. Still disturbed by what Evelyn had called her, she felt her hands shaking as much as his.
“It’s been especially hard on Megan, watching her grandmother deteriorate,” he said. “The disease is taking its toll on everyone.”
Rachel had known about his mother’s condition from the P.I.’s report, but she wasn’t about to blurt out something she couldn’t otherwise have known. That was a mistake she didn’t want to repeat. “Are you talking about Alzheimer’s? Isn’t she too young?”
“Early-onset Alzheimer’s can manifest symptoms in the late forties and early fifties,” he explained grimly.
She looked at his sad, defeated face. Once again, she wanted to reach for him. From the way he had talked to his mother, from the way he had taken his mother’s hands and hugged her, she could see he was a kind man, a compassionate man.
Maybe