Susan Floyd - Mr. Elliott Finds A Family

“When there’s poop in the potty,” Beth Ann said firmly.

“No poop,” Bernie insisted in a plaintive whine.

“I think you do. You always have poop after breakfast. Can you make a poop for Mommy?” she cajoled, willing Bernie’s bowels to move in the potty rather than the diaper.

“Poop, poop, poop, poop, poop,” Bernie chanted.

Beth Ann could hear Glenn hold back a laugh. The sound of a bedroom door creaking made Beth Ann turn quickly. The bright ruffle of a pink petticoat caught the corner of her eye as it whizzed past the open entryway to the kitchen and down the hall. The front door opened and then banged shut.

“Oh, jeez! Grans! Stop!” Beth Ann called futilely and then spoke hurriedly to Glenn, “Iris just took off. Be careful when you get on this side of Pacheco Pass. We’re socked in.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Glenn assured her, his voice patient. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Beth Ann wished she could believe him. She poked her head out the front door and craned her neck to see if she could spot Iris but the only thing she saw was opaque fog. For a woman a year from ninety, Iris could travel alarmingly fast, even in a pink petticoat with ruffles. It was no small consolation that their bungalow was surrounded on three sides by vast parcels of farmland belonging to the family dairy behind her. There were a thousand places for Iris to hide. The fog only created more of a problem.

“Come on, Bernie. Let’s go get Nana,” she said hurriedly. She peeked into the potty, relieved to find a small tinkle if no poop. “Good girl, Bernie. You tinkled in the potty.”

Beth Ann grabbed a wipe and attended to Bernie, refastening the disposable diaper around the toddler’s chubby legs, pulling up her pj’s, stuffing her arms into her winter coat with practiced speed. Setting the toddler on a hip, Beth Ann raced out of the house desperate to find some sign of Iris. She could be lost for hours in this fog, wearing only a petticoat. It was insane. Not insane, Beth Ann corrected herself, feeling a muscle strain in her right shoulder from Bernie’s weight. Touched.

Beth Ann took a deep breath willing herself not to panic. Iris had good days and bad days. On good days, she was an older version of the same woman who had single-handedly raised two unruly, prepubescent girls during a time when her peers were enjoying their retirement. On Iris’s bad days, Beth Ann could only mourn the woman Iris had been, a small part of Beth Ann dying with every subsequent episode Iris experienced. At those times, Beth Ann was partly grateful Carrie wasn’t present to see Iris’s decline and partly resentful that she now bore the burden alone. She bore many of Carrie’s burdens, the least of which wriggled impatiently on her hip.

After having surveyed the boundaries of the acre parcel, looking up in all the fruit trees, checking the storage sheds—all of Iris’s favorite hiding places—Beth Ann realized with a sinking heart that Iris must have left the property to hit the high road. The isolated country road was a long one, nearly three miles, but at the end was a major east-west freeway that connected Highway 5 with 99. With a rapid walk, she hauled Bernie to the street at a half trot, hoping to get a glimpse of the direction Iris would take. With a leaping heart, Beth Ann thought she saw a flash of pink, but wondered if it were simply the play of light off the fog.

Trying not to become disoriented, Beth Ann gingerly made her way in the direction of the truck and breathed a sigh of relief when it came into focus. With practiced hands, she stuffed Bernie into the car seat, digging the car keys out of her jeans pocket and willing her heart to stop beating so fast so her throat could open up. Beth Ann held her breath as she turned on the low beams and carefully backed out onto the road. She couldn’t see more than ten feet in front or behind her and the last thing she wanted to do was unwittingly knock Iris over. It was ludicrous to drive in this stuff. But it was even more ludicrous to try to chase Iris down on foot.

She cranked the steering wheel left and had no visibility as she shifted from reverse to drive. She slowly, slowly pulled onto the road, driving as far right as she could, creeping at five miles an hour, praying Iris would come into sight. The muted screech of tires and a blunted scream sent shivers down Beth Ann’s back and she resisted the urge to accelerate, her heart pounding in her ears and dread shooting up her neck. She didn’t want to become a victim or, worse, add to any injuries.

Bernie sat unusually silent as if she knew something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

“Nana?” she whispered.

“We’re going to get Nana,” Beth Ann said reassuringly, hoping it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded.

“Nana, okay?”

“I hope so.”

“Nana, careful?”

“Maybe not so careful this time.”

“Careful, careful,” Bernie told her, her large blue eyes solemn.

“I know, Bernie-Bern-Bern, careful, careful.”

It seemed to take forever to get to the accident, the headlight beams of a car were angled awkwardly off the side of the road. Miraculously, Iris was still standing when they arrived at the scene, the right side of a chrome bumper just inches from her bony legs. Beth Ann pulled over, unhooked Bernie, her back and shoulders feeling the strain of Bernie’s weight. She shifted the toddler onto her hip, snagged an old zip-front housecoat that she’d learned to keep in the truck for just these episodes and hurried to Iris.

“I wet myself,” Iris said, looking down at her soaked bunny slippers.

Beth Ann nodded sympathetically. “If I were almost hit by a car, I’d wet myself, too. Here, sweetie, put this on. It’s freezing out here.”

“I want to wear my pearls.”

“You can wear your pearls when we get home. But put this on now,” Beth Ann repeated, deliberately keeping her voice low and soothing.

“Nana, put on,” Bernie echoed insistently, as Beth Ann pulled the housecoat over the frail woman with one hand and then shifted Bernie further up her hip. Thank goodness, Iris was being cooperative today. She obediently put one arm in the blue sleeve and then the other, then looked down to find the zipper. With shocked horror, suddenly aware of her state of undress, she pulled the zipper all the way up to her chin. Her thin, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Beth Ann, what am I doing out here?” she asked, anxiety crowding her voice. She looked around, searching for something familiar in the landscape but the fog obliterated any view at all.

“Going for a walk, I imagine,” Beth Ann said equably, her heart rate finally slowing. At this point, she couldn’t even look at the driver who had reversed and straightened the car, a Jaguar no less, and had gotten out. Now that the crisis was over, Beth Ann felt absolutely drained, not inclined to explain anything to anyone, her mind only focused on holding down the fort until Glenn got there.

“Is she okay?” the tall stranger called, the deep timbre unfamiliar, the annoyed tinge in his voice belying how shaken he was.

Beth Ann nodded with a casual wave and a quick glance over her shoulder, and said with a dismissive nod, forcing her voice to be cheerful, “She’s fine, thanks. Sorry about that.”

“She shouldn’t be wandering about by herself.”

Beth Ann could hear his condemnation mixed with agitation but said nothing as she led Iris to the passenger side of the truck.

He continued walking closer, his voice now with a sharp edge of authority to it. Beth Ann took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of words. “I could’ve killed her. Are you sure she’s all right? Maybe you should get her checked out by a doctor.”