An American Tune: A Novel

23 “She’s Not There”

227 “She’s Not There” “I was thinking we should decorate Jo’s room for Christmas,” Nora said to Charlie. “It might ground her a bit. Or just be something pretty for her to look at.” He shrugged but agreed to drive into Traverse City to the Walmart with her, where they bought a table-top tree with tiny, twinkling lights. They picked up, then put down, a box of miniature glass balls–too dangerous–and bought a bag of candy canes to use as decorations instead. At home, Nora made a batch of the Mexican wedding-cake cookies Jo loved. She packed up the ceramic nativity figures Charlie had made in Sunday School when he was a little boy, the paint chipped from years of use, along with a few other things she thought might feel familiar to her: a nutcracker, a Santa wearing skis, a paper snowflake–brown at the edges now–that Claire had made in grade school. Charlie carried the box with the tree in it into the nursing home; Nora followed with the decorations and the cookies she’d arranged on a snowman plate. They passed through the lounge, where some of the residents had gathered to listen to a group of kids from the high school, decked out in Santa hats, singing Christmas carols. “Jo’s feeling a little under the weather today,” one of the nurses said. “Catching a cold, I think. She’ll be glad to see you.” 23 228 An American Tune But she greeted them with a blank stare. Her eyes were redrimmed , her nose rubbed raw. She sat in her recliner, facing the dark window–as if waiting for the birds to come back into her view. The TV was on–the 6:30 news. “Despite Iraq’s claim that there are no banned weapons in the country, despite UN inspectors’ failure to turn up any evidence of such weapons, 89 percent of Americans believe that Iraq possesses weapons of mass destruction,” Dan Rather said. But Jo wasn’t listening. Nora switched it off, bent and kissed Jo’s cheek. “We brought you Christmas,” she said. “Look. Charlie’s brought you a pretty little tree. And I made some Mexican wedding cakes. You’ve always loved those.” She took the plastic wrap from the cookie plate, but Jo looked past it to her bed, a weary expression on her face that spoke volumes: please. “You set up the tree,” Nora said to Charlie. “I’ll get her ready for bed.” Gently, she helped Jo to the bathroom and closed the door, knowing that it distressed Charlie to see his mother in such a private way. ShepulleddownJo’ssweatpants,tookofftheDepends sheworenow, and guided her to the toilet. When she’d finished, Nora wiped her cleanwithawarmcloth.ShetookoffJo’stopandpulledafresh,clean nightgown over her head, talking quietly to her all the while–about Christmas and snow in the forecast and how good the cookies had smelled baking in the house. “Tomorrow you’ll have some,” she said. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.” When they came out of the bathroom, Charlie was sitting in exactly the same place. “Charlie,” Nora said. “I thought you were going to–” “Oh.” He looked at the unopened box beside him. “Nevermind,”Norasaid.ShesettledJointoherbed,thentookthe tree from the box, set it on the little dining table and plugged in the lights. She arranged the nativity figures beneath it, set the nutcracker and the Santa on the windowsill, and looped the thread on Claire’s paper snowflake around the window latch–taking care not to block 229 “She’s Not There” the view of the birdfeeder, working quietly so as not to disturb Jo, who had fallen fast asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. “Leave the candy canes till later?” she whispered to Charlie. “I’m afraid crackling the wrappers to open them will wake her.” He didn’t answer. He looked at his mother, and for an instant his expression was completely unguarded, bereft. Then he put his head in his hands and began to sob quietly, his bony shoulders heaving. “Charlie!” Nora said. He waved her away, and when she went to him anyway, threw off her touch, knocking her off balance, so that she was still reeling when he stood, suddenly, and bolted from the room. All this time, he’d refused to see what was happening to his mother, Nora thought–and how...