Read Online Deeper Water by Robert Whitlow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Whitlow
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job. Mama had a slightly sad look on her face that I took to mean she was missing me. I missed her too.
I washed the dishes in the tiny sink. Compared to cleanup following a meal at home, kitchen duty in my apartment couldn't be called work. After a few minutes, I returned to the computer and placed the call. Mrs. Bartlett answered on the third ring. She had the smooth accent of the coast.
"Is this a good time to talk?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, Ken and I are relaxing with a glass of wine on the veranda at our place on the marsh. Let me put you on the speakerphone so he can hear as well."
I heard a click and some background noise.
"We're both here," Mrs. Bartlett said. "Gerry tells me you'll be moving to Savannah in a few weeks to work for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter."
"Yes ma'am."
"You'll love Samuel Braddock. He's one of the sweetest men in Savannah. He was Daddy's lawyer. He could have retired years ago but still works like a junior associate."
A male voice spoke. "He lets Joe Carpenter run the firm. Joe is a good lawyer, but I can't say he's one of the sweetest men in Savannah."
Mrs. Bartlett spoke. "Nonsense, I'm sure you'll love working there. Gerry told me all about you, and I took the liberty of calling Betty Lou Frady. We had the best talk."
"I enjoyed caring for her mother; however, she was in a nursing
"And she went on and on about you. Says you're tall and carry yourself like a New York model. So many young women these days slouch around and don't stand up straight enough to carry off a decent debut. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No ma'am."
"I've got several young men I want to introduce you to while you're here this summer. My boys are grown and married, and we have two grandchildren, although I try not to look too much like an old granny. Stay out of the sun. I used to think a tan was a sign of good health. Now, I'm fighting the wrinkles."
"How is your mother's health?" I asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
"She was doing great until the first of the year. Living alone and walking to her volunteer job every day. Then they diagnosed her with, what is it, Ken? It's not Alzheimer's."
"Multi-infarct dementia."
"It sounds horrible, but she just has moments when things don't click right. My brother and I think it would be nice if someone stayed with her at night. The cleaning lady is at the house three or four times a week, and her gardener checks on her every time he comes by to water the flowers and take care of the bushes, but that doesn't cover the evening hours. She keeps one of those things around her neck at night in case she falls and can't get to the phone, but her problems are mental, not physical."
"Does she remember to check in with the monitoring service in the morning?"
"Half the time, I don't think she calls them. She's so fixated on getting that first cup of coffee that nothing and no one can stand in her way. We both drink it black and strong and love Jamaican blue. That's probably one reason her heart is acting up."
"What's wrong with her heart?"
"It races away every so often, but she's never had a heart attack. The biggest problem is her high blood pressure. That's the cause of the multiproblem thing."
"What medications is she taking?"
"Goodness, I don't know what they're all for. Of course, she takes something for high blood pressure, a pill to regulate her heart rate, and a blood thinner, but the doctors are always switching things around so much that I can't keep up with them. All that information is written on the door of the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Gracie, the woman who cleans the house, fills up Mother's pillbox on Monday."
"How often do you see her?"
"I pick her up for lunch every week or so. For years she was so wrapped up in her own social circle that she didn't have time for mine. Recently, her friends have been dying off left and right. I've taken her to two funerals in the last six weeks. It's sad when the fabric of life begins to unravel. I never
I washed the dishes in the tiny sink. Compared to cleanup following a meal at home, kitchen duty in my apartment couldn't be called work. After a few minutes, I returned to the computer and placed the call. Mrs. Bartlett answered on the third ring. She had the smooth accent of the coast.
"Is this a good time to talk?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, Ken and I are relaxing with a glass of wine on the veranda at our place on the marsh. Let me put you on the speakerphone so he can hear as well."
I heard a click and some background noise.
"We're both here," Mrs. Bartlett said. "Gerry tells me you'll be moving to Savannah in a few weeks to work for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter."
"Yes ma'am."
"You'll love Samuel Braddock. He's one of the sweetest men in Savannah. He was Daddy's lawyer. He could have retired years ago but still works like a junior associate."
A male voice spoke. "He lets Joe Carpenter run the firm. Joe is a good lawyer, but I can't say he's one of the sweetest men in Savannah."
Mrs. Bartlett spoke. "Nonsense, I'm sure you'll love working there. Gerry told me all about you, and I took the liberty of calling Betty Lou Frady. We had the best talk."
"I enjoyed caring for her mother; however, she was in a nursing
"And she went on and on about you. Says you're tall and carry yourself like a New York model. So many young women these days slouch around and don't stand up straight enough to carry off a decent debut. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No ma'am."
"I've got several young men I want to introduce you to while you're here this summer. My boys are grown and married, and we have two grandchildren, although I try not to look too much like an old granny. Stay out of the sun. I used to think a tan was a sign of good health. Now, I'm fighting the wrinkles."
"How is your mother's health?" I asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
"She was doing great until the first of the year. Living alone and walking to her volunteer job every day. Then they diagnosed her with, what is it, Ken? It's not Alzheimer's."
"Multi-infarct dementia."
"It sounds horrible, but she just has moments when things don't click right. My brother and I think it would be nice if someone stayed with her at night. The cleaning lady is at the house three or four times a week, and her gardener checks on her every time he comes by to water the flowers and take care of the bushes, but that doesn't cover the evening hours. She keeps one of those things around her neck at night in case she falls and can't get to the phone, but her problems are mental, not physical."
"Does she remember to check in with the monitoring service in the morning?"
"Half the time, I don't think she calls them. She's so fixated on getting that first cup of coffee that nothing and no one can stand in her way. We both drink it black and strong and love Jamaican blue. That's probably one reason her heart is acting up."
"What's wrong with her heart?"
"It races away every so often, but she's never had a heart attack. The biggest problem is her high blood pressure. That's the cause of the multiproblem thing."
"What medications is she taking?"
"Goodness, I don't know what they're all for. Of course, she takes something for high blood pressure, a pill to regulate her heart rate, and a blood thinner, but the doctors are always switching things around so much that I can't keep up with them. All that information is written on the door of the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Gracie, the woman who cleans the house, fills up Mother's pillbox on Monday."
"How often do you see her?"
"I pick her up for lunch every week or so. For years she was so wrapped up in her own social circle that she didn't have time for mine. Recently, her friends have been dying off left and right. I've taken her to two funerals in the last six weeks. It's sad when the fabric of life begins to unravel. I never
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