Susannah's Garden

“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….

Tears welled in her eyes and she rested her head against the back of the garden chair and swallowed a wail of grief. Susannah would do it. She’d seen that glint in her daughter’s eye. She’d seen the determined set of Susannah’s mouth. Even as a child, Susannah had been stubborn, often to the extent of foolishness, defying George at every turn. Her only living child would haul her off to an asylum, all the while declaring that it was for Vivian’s own good.

Exhausted, she finally closed her eyes and slowly rocked, letting the gentle movement lull her into a state of relaxation.

“Vivian.”

Someone was calling her. A quiet voice far off in the distance. Was it in her mind? Or was it real? Vivian strained to hear. It was her George; she knew that much. George struggling to come to her, struggling to cross the great divide.

Vivian’s heart rate accelerated as she opened her eyes. “Yes, George, I’m here—I need your help.” She hurried to tell him everything. “Susannah wants to move me into an assisted-living facility. What should I do…Tell me, what should I do?” She waited but no one answered.

“George, please! I need you to tell me what to do.”

Her cry was met with silence. She peered into the shadowed corners of the garden but saw no sign of him.

Sobbing openly now, Vivian began to rock back and forth but found little solace. She closed her eyes again, and it was then that she heard a single word float past her, soft as a whisper.

One word that would change her world. One word that told her what she had to do. One word from George. She’d asked and he’d answered.

George told her to go.