NO PLACE LIKE HOME
Loretta Cisco, founder and CEO of Cisco Candies, opened the screen door
leading to the back porch, Freddie, her golden retriever, at her side. The door
squeaked and groaned just the way an old screen door is supposed to creak and
groan. Just the way her old bones creaked and groaned, she thought. A smile
tugged at the corners of her mouth.
It was autumn, her favorite time of the year. Even though she couldn't see
the gold-and-bronze leaves because of the milky white cataracts covering her
eyes, she could smell the air in the foothills of the Allegheny
Mountains. To her, autumn had its own distinctive smell, just as the other
seasons did.
She knew where every tree, every bush, every flower, every twig was. After
all, she'd lived her entire life here in the rich foothills of the mountains.
Oh, she had a fancy apartment in New York, where Cisco Candies had its corporate
offices, and yes, she visited it twice a year. But it had never been home. Home
was this winterized cottage she'd expanded and improved upon. She even had a
big, old barn where she kept her car, her grandchildren's three red jet skis on
their trailer, their mountain bikes, snowmobiles, sleds, winter skis, water
skis, Sam's canoe and all his mountain-climbing equipment, and all the gear a
set of triplets needed to get through their young lives. She knew where
everything was in the barn, too, because when she got lonely, she'd walk out
there with Freddie, touch the various things, and her memories would surface.
More often than not, she cried.
Loretta walked across the porch, past the four Adirondack chairs with the
heavy padding, past the round table with the hurricane lamp in the middle, until
she was at the top of the steps. Freddie inched her closer to the railing. She
smiled as she carefully descended the four steps to the garden path. Her hands
reached out to touch the holly bushes. She had four. Most people didn't know you
needed a male and a female bush to get the lush red berries that were so
precious at Christmastime. Her hands worked at the prickly leaves until she felt
the different sprays of berries. The berries were probably still green and would
not turn red till around November. They felt full and lush this year. She wished
she could see them, for she loved holly, especially the variegated kind. For
sure they would have fresh holly in the house for the holidays.
She bent down at the end of the holly row to let her fingers touch the
velvety petals of the chrysanthemums, which were as big and round as bushel
baskets. She hoped they looked vibrant this year. There were four that were a
deep purple in color, two lemon yellow, and nine bronze with gold tips. They
were almost as old as she was. She wondered how many people knew you had to
pinch the suckers off the plants to make them grow round and fat. Just like you
had to pinch them off tomato plants. She hadn't known it either until a neighbor
told her.
She continued her walk to the little garden she'd planted when the triplets
were born. Freddie nudged her leg again, signaling her that she was slightly off
course. Three birch trees. Her son had carved all their initials in the spindly
trunks, which had expanded over the years. Her hands could no longer encompass
them and the initials were still there. Jonathan had said he wanted their names
to withstand time and the elements, Sara, Hannah, and Sam. Then hers, and
Jonathan's, and, of course, Margie's. She'd always felt a little guilty over
those three trees, wondering why she'd never planted one when her son was born.
The best answer she could come up with was, it had been a different time, and
people had thought differently back then. Her touch was reverent as her fingers
traced the carvings. So many years ago.
"Let's check out the pumpkin patch, Freddie. The temperature is starting to
drop, and I can feel the sun starting to fade." She walked slowly, savoring the
warmth of the late-afternoon sun. "Ah, we're here. Show me where they are,
Freddie. Oh, I wish I could see them. I guess I have to get down on my knees and
feel around." She'd planted six pumpkin plants in the early spring, the way she
did every year. Her eyes hadn't been so bad back then. On her knees, her arms
stretched out, she counted them. Nineteen pumpkins, each as big as a beach ball.
When the triplets were little, they'd carved them all and lined them up along
the driveway, the candles in the center glowing brightly in the dark night. The
triplets were in college now and didn't come home for Halloween. She still
planted the pumpkins, though; she thought of it as a tradition rather than a
habit.
It was Sam who loved to toast the seeds. Sometimes he put sugar on them,
sometimes salt. Then, when he was all finished, Sara and Hannah would snatch
them away. Sam was so good-natured, he'd just shake his head and make another
batch.
Loretta dusted off her hands and knees. The wind picked up, ruffling her
snow-white hair. She looked up, knowing she was standing under the old sycamore
where they picnicked every year. Her voice cracked slightly when her hand
reached down to pat her loyal companion. "I love this place, Freddie. I think I
would die if I ever had to leave here. My whole life is here, along with all my
memories. I wouldn't know what to do someplace else." Freddie barked to show she
understood as she guided her mistress back up the garden path to the back porch.
When she reached the top of the steps and walked past the four Adirondack
chairs, she stopped to smell the air. Someone over the hill, probably the new
neighbor she'd heard about, was burning leaves. She dearly loved the smell.
Another memory.
Her kitchen wasn't modern like the ones she saw in the glossy magazines
because she didn't want a shiny state-of-the-art kitchen. It wasn't that she
didn't like new things, she did, but this kitchen was hers and she simply liked
it the way it was. She'd laughed there, cried there, comforted her son and
grandchildren there. It was where they'd congregated after her daughter-in-law's
funeral. It was where they sat holding hands, wondering how they were going to
go on without Margie. They did go on because they had no other choice.
Loretta poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the old scarred
table that could sit eight comfortably.
It was a large, old-fashioned kitchen. Maybe that's why she loved it so. The
stove was old, with six burners and pilot lights that miraculously never went
out. The oven was just warm enough to dry the orange peels and cinnamon sticks
she replenished from time to time. The scent carried through the old house, even
to the second floor. The triplets said they loved coming into the house because
they loved the smell. The refrigerator was an old-timer, too, big enough to hold
enough food for an army. The triplets, her son, Freddie, and herself were her
army. The heavy-duty dishwasher was her only concession to what she called
modern wizardry. She only used it when the triplets were home. The cabinets were
painted white, with beveled glass insets. The windows, and there were six of
them, were diamond-paned and adorned with red-and-white-checkered curtains. They
probably needed to be washed by now because she hadn't touched them since she
did her spring cleaning. The floor was old, craggy, and ridged, heart of pine.
It was beautiful because she'd cared for it lovingly. She knew every crack,
every ridge, every knothole. Rag rugs she'd braided herself were by the sink and
stove. When it was time to clean them, she hung them over the banister on the
back porch, hosed them off with soapy water, and let them dry in the sun. They
were old, too, at least thirty years or more.
She walked around the big, old kitchen, touching the bright ceramic apple
that held Freddie's chews instead of cookies. The triplets had made the apple at
summer camp one year. Her hands reached out to touch the raised hearth that was
arm level with her rocker. In the winter she planted seedlings and kept the
little clay pots in the corner where it was nice and warm and got just the right
amount of sun from the nearby window.
There probably wouldn't be any seedlings this year. There probably wouldn't
be a garden either.
What she loved most about her kitchen was the cavernous fireplace that took
up one whole wall of the room. In the winter months, she spent most of her time
right there in the kitchen, rocking in her mother's old rocker, knitting scarves
no one ever wore. When her vision had turned bad, she'd stopped knitting and
started to listen to books on tape. She had tons of them, thanks to the
triplets. One of Freddie's five beds was next to Loretta's rocker, along with a
pile of her toys. Sometimes they both slept in the kitchen -- she in her rocker,
Freddie in her bed.
Loretta finished her coffee. It was time to start dinner. First she removed
the tray with the orange peels and cinnamon sticks from the oven. She leaned
over to listen to the click of the oven switch. It was one click for 325 degrees
and two clicks for 350. When she heard the second click, she lowered the oven
door and turned to the refrigerator. She withdrew two trays. Meat loaf, mashed
potatoes, peas and carrots, and cauliflower. She added two biscuits from a
Ziploc bag and placed the trays in the oven.
It was time to wash up for dinner, and time to listen to the six o'clock news
on the television.
It was after eight o'clock when Loretta put away the last dish, let Freddie
out, and then changed into her nightgown and robe, and let Freddie back in. She
was going to sit on the rocker and listen to a new book on tape her grandson Sam
had sent her.
Another day was coming to a close.
Before Loretta settled herself in the rocker, she reached into the cookie jar
for one of Freddie's rawhide chews. Now they were ready to settle down for the
night. No, not quite. She needed the portable phone her son had given her last
year. He'd programmed it, too. She didn't have to dial a number, just press 1,
2, or 3. The number 1 on the dial was Jonathan himself, the triplets were number
2, and Harry Nathan, her doctor, was number 3. It was unlikely anyone would call
her. Jonathan was too busy, or so he said, and the triplets called every day at
noon, so they wouldn't be calling again at night. Harry Nathan never called.
Secretly she suspected he couldn't remember she was his patient. She really
needed to think about getting a new doctor, a young, savvy one who didn't creak
and moan and groan. All the rest of her friends were either gone or living in
retirement villages, hoping relatives would visit or call. At least once in a
while.
If she kept this up, she was going to start feeling sorry for herself, then
she would end up crying herself to sleep.
Maybe if she'd listened to her own advice, she wouldn't have cried and
wouldn't have slipped on the braided rug by the sink when she went to get the
portable phone. One second she was standing upright, the phone in her hand, the
next she was on the floor, her arm pinned under her chest. Pain ricocheted up
her arm.
She knew her arm was probably broken. In the time it took her heart to beat
twice, she knew her life was never going to be the same. Freddie licked
Loretta's face and whimpered at her side. God in heaven, what will happen to
my beloved dog? She did her best to slide backward so that her back rested
against the cabinet under the sink. With her good hand she placed the portable
phone in her lap, her finger tracing the numbers. She pressed the number 3 and
waited until she heard Harry Nathan's reedy voice. "It's Loretta, Harry. I think
I broke my arm. I'm going to need some medical attention. Of course I want you
to come out here. I'm blind with cataracts, Harry, or did you forget? Do you
expect me to get in a car and drive to you? Of course I'll wait for you. Where
could I possibly go?"
Loretta drew a deep breath before she pressed the number 1. She really didn't
think her son would be home, and he wasn't. She left a message. She wouldn't
call the triplets because they'd drop everything, pile into their car, and drive
there at ninety miles an hour. They would do it because they loved her. She
wondered, as she struggled with the pain, how long it would take her son to
arrive. If he arrived.
Freddie barked thirty minutes later at the sound of a car pulling up to the
house, but she didn't leave her mistress's side.
Harry Nathan was a small, stooped man, with a short beard and wire-rimmed
glasses. He looked down at his patient. "This is a fine mess, Loretta. How many
times this past year did I tell you to get yourself a live-in housekeeper?
Well?"
Long years of familiarity allowed Loretta to snap at her doctor. "Shut up,
Harry, and help me. I guess we have to go to the clinic, is that it?"
"No, we are not going to my clinic. I'm too old to be setting bones. I'm
taking you to the hospital."
"Fine, but I'm not staying there, so get that idea right out of your head.
You wait for me and bring me back here. Do we understand each other, Harry? The
reason I have to come back tonight is Freddie. Swear to me, Harry."
"All right, all right. Here, let me help you up. Now, where are your
insurance cards?"
"In my purse. Put my afghan over my shoulders. I can't put my coat on."
Three hours later Freddie whooped her pleasure when Dr. Harry Nathan ushered
his patient back into the house. "She's rocky, Freddie, so I think we'll let her
sleep it off on this rocker," he said, helping Loretta get comfortable.
"Loretta, I'm going to leave two pills on a saucer, and a glass of water on
the hearth. You won't have to get up that way. You're going to have some pain,
so be prepared. I want you to call me if things get bad. I'll check on you in
the morning. I'm thinking we can take those cataracts off in a few months."
"Go home, Harry, and let me sleep. Is Freddie all right?"
When Freddie took her place next to Loretta, Harry turned off the lights,
leaving only a night-light on in the kitchen and the light in the hall leading
to the downstairs bathroom. He patted Loretta's shoulder, and said softly, "It's
hell getting old, my friend, but it beats the alternative. Sleep well." He let
himself out quietly. Tomorrow was not going to be a good day, he could
feel it in his bones.
Jonathan Cisco arrived at noon the following day. His jaw was grim, his eyes
furious as he stalked his way into the kitchen, where his mother was sitting in
the rocker. He wasted no time. "I told you this was going to happen, didn't I,
Mom? Why didn't you listen to me? Dr. Nathan and I both urged you to get a
live-in but you wouldn't hear of it. This is what happens when you don't listen.
Now, until those cataracts come off, you're going to Laurel Hills where you can
be looked after properly. I don't want any more calls in the middle of the
night. I have a lot on my plate right now, Mom, and I don't want to have to
worry about you hurting yourself."
Loretta reared up in her chair. "It wasn't the middle of the night. It wasn't
even nine o'clock, and I am not going to that stainless steel assisted-living
facility. Get that idea right out of your head. This is my house, and I'm not
leaving. Go away, Jonathan. I'm sorry I called you. You have no idea how sorry I
am."
"You're going, Mom, even if I have to carry you. I arranged everything. It
wasn't easy either. You can take Freddie with you. That took some doing, but I
managed. I'm going to pack your things, and that's my last word. Tell me what
you want to take with you."
"Jonathan, please, I don't want to go there. I saw that place once, and it's
awful. Freddie will hate it. I don't belong in a place like that. Please, son,
listen to me."
"Mom, you're going, and that's final. It's for your own good."
Loretta Cisco shriveled into herself. She was beaten, and she knew it. She
was blind, she had a broken arm, and she had a dog who needed to be cared for.
What chance did she have against her son? None.
I'll die there, she thought. I'll never see this place again.
An hour later, she was in her son's car. They were almost to the top of the
little rise above the cottage. She rolled down the window and stuck her head
out. The scent of burning leaves wafted through the window. She couldn't see her
beloved little cottage in the valley, but she could smell it. Loretta waved
good-bye. Freddie threw back her head and howled. And then she barked her own
good-bye.
If this is all God is going to give me, so be it.
NO PLACE LIKE HOME 
