Troubled waters, p.20
Troubled Waters, page 20
Ms. Cunningham’s eyebrows raised in surprised satisfaction, and she invited Macey into her spacious office, nearly twice as big as Kimmy’s. “Please, sit down.” They both sat, and Ms. Cunningham arranged a few pieces of paper on her desk before giving Macey her full attention. “So, your mother needs a job.”
“Desperately, I’m afraid,” Macey said. “I live in Dallas and I’m unable to take care of her. I could help pay the bills for a couple of months or so, but then . . . Unfortunately, my father has left her with little resources, so my mom is going to have to find herself a job. I read your ad in the newspaper and thought you might have something for her here.”
The woman smiled as she put on her glasses for no apparent reason. “I see. Am I to assume your mother has been out of the work force for quite some time?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Well, we do have a plethora of job opportunities here. What kinds of things can your mother do?”
“I think she’d be terrific as a receptionist. She’s very friendly and warm. I’m sure she’s also capable of secretarial duties. She can definitely organize and file, things like that.” Macey was relieved to see Ms. Cunningham jotting down some notes. “She’s a quick learner,” Macey added, though she might as well have said she’d been a corporate executive. It was about as truthful.
Ms. Cunningham continued to write, then peered at Macey over her glasses. “Fine. Let me ask you this—is your mother capable of handling a fax machine?”
“Yes.”
“Can she use a word processor?”
“Yes.”
“Is she savvy on the Internet?”
“Yes.”
“What about spreadsheets? Or perhaps Web design?”
Macey had to draw the line somewhere. She answered lightheartedly, “Well, that might be a stretch.”
Ms. Cunningham smiled and took off her glasses. “Ms. Steigel, I can certainly appreciate your circumstance. My mother was in almost the same position several years ago before she died. I think it’s wonderful that you’re here helping her try to find a job.”
“Thanks.”
“But I am curious. Do you really think a place like AST is suitable for your mother?”
Macey swallowed. Of course it wasn’t. “As I said, we’re desperate.”
“I understand, but this is a corporate environment. Your mom is elderly, right? Obviously grieving. Out of the work force for years. Perhaps there’s a better option. An in-home caregiver maybe, or nanny? Things of that nature, you understand.”
“There’s nothing available. I’ve combed the want ads.”
“Sure, but must you find a solution today?”
“It’s just that I need to return to Dallas tomorrow, and I won’t be returning to Kansas anytime soon.”
Ms. Cunningham’s face expressed surprise. “Oh?”
“Yes, and I’ve got a job opportunity in New York. If I take it, it’ll be hard to come home and help my mother with this. But if I knew she had a steady, dependable job, I would feel much better about it.”
Ms. Cunningham resumed writing notes. “How long a drive would it be for your mother?”
“Twenty-five minutes.”
“That’s a long way for an elderly person.”
“I know.” Macey leaned forward and looked Ms. Cunningham in the eyes. “I know this isn’t our best option. It’s just that right now it’s our only one.”
“Okay. I can’t promise you anything, but I’d be more than happy to give her an interview.”
Macey breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Ms. Cunningham opened a calendar on her desk, then called for Kimmy to come in. “Kimberly, what’s Friday look like?”
Kimmy emerged with a calendar in her hand. “You’ve got a twelve-thirty, a two o’clock, and a three.”
Ms. Cunningham thumbed through her calendar as she said, “Our appointments have been booking up quickly. I must be frank with you—a lot of people are interested in positions here.”
“I understand,” Macey said, but her mind was plagued with anxiety again. Friday? She was leaving tomorrow! How was she going to get her mother ready by tomorrow for an interview on Friday?
“Yes, Friday will have to do. Next week is filled with meetings, and then I’ll be in Japan starting Wednesday, right, Kimberly?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your flight leaves at one.”
Ms. Cunningham looked at Macey. “How about Friday, then, at one o’clock? What’s your mother’s name?”
Macey could hardly speak yet did manage to agree to the time and say her mother’s name. The two women shook hands, and Macey said good-bye to Kimmy, promising to keep in touch, which they both knew was a lie. She took the elevator down and walked through the impressive lobby again. As the doors slid open, Macey Steigel thought that if she smoked, this would be a very good time for a cigarette.
———
“Goodness’ sakes. Here, take this,” Patricia said, and Evelyn took a tissue from her and dabbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been here for you. Old Man Norton has been in terrible shape and takin’ up all my time.” She wrapped a strong arm around Evelyn’s shoulder. They’d started the morning canning peaches, but Evelyn’s emotions had gotten the best of her.
“Macey’s being here has been so wonderful,” Evelyn said as she tried to control her sobbing. “I can’t tell you what it’s like to have her home again.” Tears welled up in her eyes when she said, “But she’ll be leaving again.”
Patricia moved a few inches away from Evelyn on the couch and patted her knee. “She’ll be back. She seems like a sweet girl. Sensitive.”
Evelyn nodded. “Oh, she is, she is. She turned out to be just delightful.” Evelyn clasped her hands together between her knees. “No thanks to me.”
She felt Patricia’s worried eyes study her. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“I’ve practically missed her whole life. Seventeen years, Patricia, gone, never to be seen again. I’d prayed long and hard that God would reconcile Jess and Macey before he died, but He didn’t. I just wish Macey could understand everything.”
Patricia handed Evelyn another tissue. She’d torn the first one to shreds. “Evelyn, I don’t like to be pryin’ into other people’s lives, but I noticed that you and Jess never talked about Macey much, and certainly never talked about why it was she left. Or why it was she never came home.”
Evelyn glanced at Patricia and began tearing the corners off her tissue again. Her chest shook in a spasm as more sobs were released. Patricia patted her on the back like she was trying to burp a baby. “I tried once to talk to Jess about it, but he wouldn’t hear of it. And not for the reasons people might think.”
“Well, honey, no one knows what to think. You two seemed not to want to talk about it, so we just never did.” Patricia reached for Evelyn’s ratty tissue. “Dear, you’re gonna need to give this to me. You’re making a mess.”
Evelyn stared down at the tiny white pieces of tissue that lay in a pile at her feet. “I’ve made a mess outta more than just this tissue, Patricia. Now I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what to say.”
Patricia knelt down by Evelyn and began cleaning up the mess. “You know, I took care of Jess for a long time, and although he never spoke of Macey, I think she was always on his mind and that he always did love her.”
More sobs escaped, and Evelyn grabbed for another tissue from the box on the table. “He did, he did,” she said. “He loved her more than he could say. It broke his heart the day she left. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t . . . wouldn’t ever talk about it.” The tears finally subsided a little, and Evelyn stared at her tissue, willing herself not to tear at it.
Patricia finally stood and dumped the old tissues in the nearby trash can. Her hands were placed confidently on her hips as she said, “Evelyn, I think you know what it is you need to do. Now, I don’t know what that is, because I don’t know the particulars or the history of all this mess. But you do and you got God on your side, so I’m suggestin’ that you get down on those old knees of yours and receive that mighty power the Reverend’s always mentionin’ in his sermons.”
Evelyn shook her head and stared at her feet. “I tried to this morning. I tried to say something, but then she gives me this look. It’s sort of a mean look. Then I get all tongue-tied and can’t even remember my own name. I’m guessing it’s because I don’t want her getting mad and stomping out that door, never to be seen again.”
“You probably feel like you’re walkin’ on eggs. But leavin’ things undone ain’t in nobody’s best interest. I see people die all the time. It’s just a part of what I do. And once you’re gone, you can’t come back and do things over.” Patricia’s face was tense and serious. “Sure, Jess is gone now. But you’re not. You’re alive and well and still breathin’, my friend. So as I see it, you got two options. You can let your daughter leave and pretend that all is well, or you can face your fears and talk to her about it.”
A sudden surge of confidence entered Evelyn, and she sat up a little straighter and took in a deep, refreshing breath. She went back to the kitchen with the intention of finishing the canning, thinking hard about what Patricia had said. It was the truth and she knew it. For seventeen years she’d stood by her husband’s side while battling her own moral dilemma. She’d watched him grieve in his own silent way and hoped for something that would never happen. Now here she was with the ability to change some things, to make a difference. A real difference. Like never before.
Yes. She would do it, even if it meant she’d be shaking in her boots. God was calling her to be bold. How could she fail Him now?
The back door creaked open, and suddenly her daughter was standing in the kitchen, looking tired and hot. Macey glanced at Patricia, who was cleaning something on the counter. “Hi, Patricia.”
“Hi there, Macey.”
Evelyn carefully removed a sealed jar from the pan of water. “How’d it go?”
“Well, Mom, let me ask you this. Can you tell me what the e stands for in e-mail?”
Evelyn didn’t even know what an e-mail was, but she knew that whatever it was, she was going to have to know it. At that moment, though, she couldn’t imagine what the e stood for and didn’t even know enough to guess. So she simply stood at the kitchen counter, holding the tongs she used to handle the hot jars.
Her daughter ran her fingers through her hair, looked at her watch, and said, “We’ve got exactly fourteen hours to teach you about the modern world, Mother. Finish up the canning. It’s time to get serious.”
All the boldness in the world wasn’t enough now. Her daughter had an agenda, and the way her brow lay straight across her face, perfectly horizontal with her tightened lips, Evelyn knew better than to try to distract her with what she wanted to say. She glanced at Patricia, whose eyes told her it would all somehow work out.
Evelyn attempted a smile but all that happened was her chin quivered. So she did the only thing she knew to do at that moment. She went to start a fresh pot of coffee.
Eighteen
It looked like a typewriter, and Evelyn had typed a few things in her life. It had been a while, but she imagined it was like riding a bike, and that it would all come back to her. When she thought about it, this was a poor example because she’d never ridden a bike, not even when a little girl. She’d always had a poor sense of balance.
Macey pushed a green button on what she called the keyboard, and a beep sounded, followed by some colorful pictures and words flashing on the screen. Evelyn said, “I didn’t catch that. It’s all going too fast.”
Macey smiled and patted her on the back. “That isn’t important. It’s just stuff that shows up when you boot the computer.” She glanced at her mom. “That means turn the computer on.”
An image of a mountain at sunset came on and stayed for a couple of seconds. “That’s a beautiful picture,” Evelyn said.
“That’s just wallpaper, not anything you need to know about right now.”
Evelyn frowned. Was it the wallpaper in Macey’s house? It didn’t look like any wallpaper she’d ever seen before, but then no one accused Evelyn of being very modern. Maybe people were plastering pictures of mountains on their walls these days.
“Now,” Macey said, pointing to some little pictures on the left side of the screen. “These are called icons. They’re pictures that represent each program.”
Evelyn nodded but was already lost. Program like was on the tube? Like I Love Lucy? That didn’t make sense.
Macey looked at her again and said, “A program is like a function. For example, this program”—she pointed to an icon—“is a word processor. That’s one program that we’re going to need to learn about. A word processor is basically a fancy way to type letters and things like that.” She took a breath and added, “It’s like a piece of paper in a typewriter.”
“Okay,” Evelyn said. Her head hurt trying to take it all in.
“Now, this thing,” she said, pointing to a small square on the side of the keyboard, “is called a mouse. It’s a long story as to why it’s called a mouse, and we won’t get into it now, but basically it helps you move this”—Macey showed her the arrow on the screen—“around the computer and choose which item you want to click on.”
Click on? What did that mean?
“You see, you can’t just touch the screen to choose something. You have to move your finger on this pad and make the cursor move.” Macey placed her index finger on the pad, and suddenly the little arrow darted all over the screen. “See? It takes a little hand-eye coordination, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
Evelyn’s eyes were wide with wonder. How could something move that you weren’t actually touching?
Macey said, “It’s sort of like a steering wheel. You move the steering wheel on your car, right? But you can’t actually see it moving the wheels, yet there’s a reaction when you do it.”
Evelyn smiled at her daughter. “I think you just read my mind.”
“Good. Let’s keep going.”
Evelyn watched as Macey moved the little arrow around, which somehow made an almost white screen come up with little letters and pictures at the top. She called it a word processor or an electronic piece of paper.
Macey demonstrated how you typed the letters for them to appear on the piece of paper. She then pointed out a small machine next to the computer, attached to it with a cord. “This is the printer. This one is small because I carry it with me. It can also be used as a fax machine, which I’ll teach you about later on. But see, I type words on the paper, then hit Print, and it will come out through the printer.”
A few seconds accompanied by a series of beeps somehow made a piece of paper slide out of the machine with the very thing Macey had typed on it.
“That’s awfully fancy,” said Evelyn, staring at the piece of paper. “This is what everyone’s using these days, is it?”
“Yes. You’re doing yourself good by learning this, you know, Mom.”
Evelyn smiled. Whatever it took to make her daughter happy.
Macey continued to show her how to open and close the paper on the screen and then the word processor program, all by pointing the little arrow to the tiny X on the top right part of the screen. Evelyn felt like she was comprehending the general idea up to this point, until Macey began discussing how to save her work.
“Once you’ve typed a letter, instead of filing it like you would if it were a real piece of paper, you do what’s called saving it onto disk.”
Evelyn swallowed. She felt like she was in a foreign country. And the house seemed to be getting warmer by the second.
“For practical purposes, the disk is basically the inside of the computer,” Macey said as she studied Evelyn.
Evelyn stared at the screen. “So the piece of paper goes down into the computer?”
Macey chuckled. “Well, not really, though in a way it does. It remembers what you typed and then stores it away in its memory until you need it again.”
“How much paper does it hold? It looks pretty small to me.”
She could hear Macey sigh in her ear. “Mother, it doesn’t hold actual pieces of paper. It just pretends to. It stores data.” Macey rubbed her forehead. “It’s kind of like a camera. It takes pictures of what you write. You don’t actually have to understand how it works as long as you know how to work it, okay, Mom?”
Evelyn nodded. Good thing.
———
Macey tried not to pace, but it was impossible. She stopped and looked at her watch. The ticking of the second hand practically resonated off the walls. It had been an hour and a half, and her mother still hadn’t printed out the simple letter Macey had asked her to write. It had taken thirty-five minutes to show her mother how to backspace and correct an error. Then it had taken another ten minutes to explain how to use the arrow keys to move to a word without erasing it. Another five minutes was used up to explain the Insert and Delete keys, and forty-five minutes later she was still working on saving the document.
Macey peered over her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, remember? You have to click on that little folder and make it open before you can save into that folder.”
She watched as her mother’s hands formed tight balls. “This is too hard.”
“No, it’s not,” Macey said, scooting beside her mother. “It makes sense if you’ll stop and think about it. If you were filing away a piece of paper normally, you would have to open the folder first. Same thing. Open the folder, then insert the piece of paper.”
She watched her mother fumble with the mouse and then click on another set of folders accidentally. Macey once again had to back her out and start the process over.
