She cradled the phone.
"Actually, I thought she would live longer than I would. She's younger, and nothing bothered her half as much as it bothers me."
"Maybe you just never saw how much things bothered her. You hardly visited her up there," I attacked.
"Don't use that tone of voice with me. I won't be blamed for trying to protect her and take care of her. One day you'll realize all that, especially when you see how most people look after their sick relatives. The country is full of discarded people," she continued. "At least I made sure she died with some dignity and in some comfort with professionals looking after her day and night."
"She didn't belong there. She belonged at home," I wailed. "She wasn't crazy. She was just confused. Grandpa Samuel doesn't belong there either. You have enough money to keep him taken care of right here in his own home, in his own surroundings."
"To do what? Sit around and dribble down his chin, be carried out and left in a chair on the lawn for everyone to see? None of his so-called cronies would come see him. Most of them are worse off or dead. It would just be another family embarrassment, prolonged; and even if I spent a fortune and got him round the clock assistance, I couldn't change his condition. At least he has good medical care, good dietary care and some companionship where he is.
"Don't be so quick to make judgments about things you know very little about," she advised sharply. "You've come late to this family. You have no real idea about the twists and the turns, the ridges and the valleys that were crossed, the storms I've weathered. Belinda was always difficult and always a problem in one way or another, and Samuel was no prize, but I did the best for everyone," she concluded firmly. "I bear no guilt. Her daughter, that's who bears all the guilt."
She took a deep breath and for a moment looked very pale herself. Then she gathered her resolve and stood up.
"There's much more to do, even though I tried to have everything in order." She paused in the doorway and turned to me. "Were you there when it actually happened?" she asked almost in a soft, concerned tone of voice.
"No. She was already gone by the time I found her in the garden. She ... was smiling," I said.
Grandma Olivia nodded.
"She probably thought of the Grim Reaper as just another gentleman caller asking her for a date," she said wistfully. "She was a pretty little girl. Everyone always remarked about her perfect features. It won't be long before I'll be taking care of her again. You don't lose your burdens just because you leave this world," she muttered and left the office.
I stood there for a while looking around, thinking, feeling such a smorgasbord of emotions: sadness and grief, confusion and sympathy. I went behind the desk and sat.
Mommy should know, I thought. She should be told her own mother had just died. I stared at the phone. I hadn't attempted to contact her once since my return and she hadn't contacted me, yet I hadn't forgotten the phone number. I sucked in my breath, lifted the receiver and dialed. It rang once and then there was an automated voice.
"I'm sorry, but this number is no longer in service," I was told.
"What?"
I dialed again and again received the same automated message. Where was she? I wondered. She always emphasized how important the telephone was to someone trying to get auditions and parts and
assignments. I called information and asked the operator if there was a forwarding number. She told me she had nothing listed.
Frustrated, I thought about calling Mel Jensen, but wondered how I would explain not knowing what had happened to the woman who was supposedly my sister. Nevertheless, I finally called and spoke to his roommate because Mel was at an audition.
"Gina Simon?" he said. "I haven't seen her for a while, months. I don't know where she went. Matter of fact, I think Mel said something about her running out on her lease and the landlord being after her," he added.
"Oh. Well thanks, anyway."
"Do you want me to have Mel call you? Where are you?"
"No, it's all right," I said even more
embarrassed. "Just say I wish him luck."
Sure."
I hung up and sat there a while thinking about Mommy. She hadn't been much interested in her mother all these years that her mother was alive as far as I knew. As sad as it was, I didn't think she would be that upset not finding out when her mother had died.
Maybe Grandma Olivia was right: maybe Grandma Belinda was far better off at the home. At least there, no one pretended to be more than he or she was. They took care of you because they were paid to take care of you, and if they liked you and did something extra, it was honest and simple.
Grandma Belinda's funeral was well attended, but not because so many people remembered her. In fact, some people thought she had died long ago. People came because it was Grandma Olivia's sister and Grandma Olivia still commanded great respect in the community. Government officials attended, as did most of the influential businesspeople and
professionals. I saw my father and his wife there, but I avoided looking at him as much as possible and he said nothing to me.
Grandma Olivia did not greet the mourners afterward.