Dear Cary - Dyan Cannon [59]
Lunch was a nervous succession of random remarks that Cary had hoped would spark Elsie’s interest, but nothing really did. Whenever she fell back into silence, which was for most of the hour, I would rush in to fill the void, echoing and expanding on whatever Cary had said. It was like trying to push a boulder uphill.
Before we’d gone to pick her up at the Chesterfield, the comfortable elder home where Cary had situated her (it was what today we refer to as “assisted living”), I tried to think of something I could give Elsie to break the ice, not just between the two of us, but between her and Cary, too. Browsing in a drugstore, I thought I’d hit on the perfect thing: a manicure kit. It had a nail file, clippers, scissors, some moisturizing cream, and two small bottles of nail polish, along with polish remover. I thought it might be nice to do her nails. With all the tension, though, I’d forgotten the nail kit in my purse when Cary walked her inside. I didn’t worry, though, because I knew I’d be seeing her again.
The next morning, we had breakfast with Maggie and Eric. The weather was mild and sunny and Cary thought it might be nice if we took Elsie for a drive. But he came out of the home without her and came to open my door.
“She doesn’t feel like going for a drive, but she’d like to see you for a bit.”
“Me? You mean, just me and her?”
“Yes,” Cary said. “Don’t look so frightened. She doesn’t bite. Not hard, anyway. Really, it’s a good sign.” I hoped so. He seemed very pleased.
“What should I do with her? Should I take her for a walk?”
“I don’t think so. Elsie’s not much for walks. But ask her.”
I remembered the nail polish. Okay, I’d give her a manicure.
“I’m going into town for a bit to place a call,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
She was in her room sitting bolt upright, as rigid as a post in a straight-backed wooden chair. She nodded to the only other chair in the room and asked me to bring it closer. We sat face-to-face, our knees almost touching.
“You’re very pretty, but you’re too young for Cary,” she said. Oh, we were off to a great start.
“I brought you a little present,” I said, reaching into my purse for the nail kit. “How would you like a manicure?”
“If you like,” she said.
Whew. That was better. I got to work. I took her hands and filed her nails, which were a bit ragged. Then I rubbed some moisturizing lotion over both her hands and massaged them. I glanced up and noticed that her mouth had relaxed. Well, that was halfway to a smile! She seemed to be enjoying it. When that was finished, I wiped the excess lotion from her fingertips and then painted her nails. The polish was red—bright red. I liked the idea of bringing color back to Elsie, even if only on her nails. She watched placidly, or maybe just with detachment. When I finished, I pulled her arm gently out and flexed her hands back so she could see how pretty they looked.
“Get it off!” she screamed suddenly, yanking her hand away. “I hate it! Get it off!” Now she seized the bottle of polish and flung it across the room. It bounced against the white wall, splashing blood-red polish everywhere. The wall looked like someone had been shot standing in front of it.
“It’s all right, Elsie. I have the polish remover right here. Just give me your hand.” I took three breaths and tried to keep from crying.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I’d finished. “I thought you’d like it.”
She glared at me in stony silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, Cary came back for me. “I gather the two of you have had quite a nice visit together,” he said. Obviously he hadn’t noticed the red splatters against the wall. He squeezed Elsie’s hand and gave her a peck on the cheek. “We’ll be getting back now,” he told her.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Elsie declared.
Elsie and I walked side by side through the hallway, with Cary following. The corridor was narrow, and a portly doctor was coming from the opposite direction. I gently tugged on Elsie’s arm to pull her to my side of the hall. But to my surprise, she seized my arm and