House I Go
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Raymond arrived at the house promptly at ten
A.M. I was very nervous and babbled a bit, asking him a million questions, but, just as he was when he picked me up to go to the luncheon, Raymond was not talkative. He actually seemed frightened of questions. I assumed he was afraid of Grandma Olivia and of losing his job, but most of the New Englanders I had met had their lips glued most of the time, especially around people they considered outsiders. Sometimes, the way some of them talked about people who didn't come from here made me think I was walking around with a third eye in my forehead.
Cary tried to explain it by telling me that people who lived off the sea tended to distrust landlubbers, thinking of them as softer, spoiled, unappreciative, taking the fish on the plate for granted.
"How far is the rest home, Raymond?" I asked when we started off.
"Not far."
"Have you been there before?" I asked, and he turned and looked at me as if to see if I were asking a serious question.
"Aye," he replied.
"To take my grandmother to see Belinda?" I asked. Maybe Grandma Olivia had lied to me.
"No."
"Do you have a relative there?" I persisted.
"No," he said, but he didn't continue.
No wonder they all loved clams so much here on the Cape, I thought. This family and all the people associated with them couldn't be within a tighter shell.
It had rained earlier and I thought it was going to be a dark, dreary day, one of those days when the sea breeze was so chilly you wanted to wear a sweater, even in the summer. But just before Raymond arrived, the blanket of charcoal gray clouds developed a seam of blue that widened and widened until the clouds began to melt away like snow in spring sunshine. The warm rays made me squint when I gazed at the scenery, but at least I felt a little better.
I had woken this particular morning with a stomach so tight I could barely swallow water. I floundered about the bedroom, sifting through the clothes in my closet, trying to decide what would be appropriate to wear, not only to a rest home, but to meet my real grandmother for the first time ever. I didn't want to get too dressed up and look formal, but I didn't want to look underdressed, as if I didn't place great importance on this visit.
Because of the gloomy looking day I found when I first looked out the window in the morning, I chose a light blue cotton cardigan with a matching tank top and a silky rayon posy print skirt. The hem rested a little less than an inch above my knees. It was another one of Laura's outfits I had tried on but not worn. I brushed out my hair and put on some lipstick, even though Uncle Jacob had told me on more than one occasion that a young woman shouldn't be wearing lipstick during the day. I didn't know from what well of information he drew these rules, but I began to feel more pity for my dead cousin Laura, imagining what she had gone through, although Uncle Jacob never missed an opportunity to tell me how obedient and respectful she was. Intimidated and terrified was more like it, I thought.
He gave me a disapproving look when I went down to breakfast.
"How do you eat with lipstick painted on your mouth?" he asked.
"It's not a problem," I said softly. Aunt Sara looked away and busied herself with something to avoid the discussion.
"Disgusting habits some young women have these days," Uncle Jacob muttered. I felt the blood rush into my face.
"Men are more disgusting when they puff on pipes, cigars, and cigarettes, filling their mouths with nicotine and tar and turning their teeth yellow and giving themselves breath like a dragon," I countered. Cary laughed. Uncle Jacob turned purple with anger, but swallowed his words and went back to his food instead.
Naturally, May was full of questions about why I was dressed up and where I was going. I did my best to explain, but she couldn't understand why I kept referring to Belinda as Grandma Belinda. Cary promised her he would spend the morning with her and help her understand.
I expected to be back before lunch and Cary had proposed that he, May, and I go to town. I agreed, even though it was hard to think past my meeting with my grandmother. I hoped it would go well and I would return feeling I had someone I could really call family, but the trepidation that had seeped into my body all night was now making my legs tremble and my heart kept thumping harder and faster than normal all the way to the rest home.
We rode for nearly a half an hour before Raymond turned up a si
de road into more wooded country. It was heavy with pine, wild apple, and scrub oak. At a clearing on our right, I saw a flock of song sparrows circle and then soar to the right over the tops of the trees before they parted. It was another ten minutes before the rest home came into view. Whoever had planned its location obviously wanted it away from the more populated areas. I wondered if the owners were thinking how much people like to keep their sick and elderly out of sight and out of mind.
As we drove on in silence, I couldn't keep from wondering who came to visit Grandma Belinda if Grandma Olivia didn't? There was no one else in her family that I knew. What was it like to be housed, institutionalized, in a world without friends and relatives, dependent entirely on the kindness of strangers? Did she feel helpless, forgotten and discarded? Did this keep her from ever trying to get well?
Knowing this family, I thought, she might be better off where she is.
The rest home wasn't in an unpleasant setting. The ocean was behind it with the sun now glimmering on its silvery-gray surface. The front of the building faced a long, rolling lawn with benches, a rock garden, and some fountains. It looked peaceful, clean, and well maintained. It was obviously a rest home for the wealthier sick and elderly.
The building itself had three stories, with a steeply pitched gabled roof. It had a front porch the width of the building with a short set of cement steps. The wooden wall cladding was done in a Wedgwood blue and the shutters on the windows were bone white. As we pulled up the drive, I saw there were two elderly gentlemen sitting on the porch, rocking and gazing at us with some interest. The driveway pitched to the right and the parking area was just adjacent to the building. I could see that behind the large house there was a more elaborate garden, more benches and seating areas, and a gazebo twice the size of Grandma Olivia's. There were some full red maple trees, more scrub oak and pine, and the pathways were lined with trimmed bushes.