Small Havens

When they reached the entrance, Maxine slowed to make the tight turn, impressed with how the Chevy Tahoe held the curve. The driveway of the nursing home was so quaintly miniature, it was as though horses and carriages were still expected to arrive at what used to be an antebellum manor. The families that had farmed here for generations were gone now, replaced by a Vietnam veteran, recently deceased, and his Filipino wife, who had capitalized on the scenic property in the remains of the Northern Virginia countryside.

Mark got out of the vehicle first and came around to help his mother-in-law. She wouldn’t budge, not until Maxine took one arm, and he the other. Once on her feet, Mum pushed back hard. At seventy-five, she remained athletic and strong after years of hiking. It was her dementia that had begun to progress at a certain clip. Two big orderlies came out to the parking lot then and tied her into a wheelchair. Maxine and Mark watched with a sense of surrender themselves as Mum succumbed to all that manhandling and allowed herself to be wheeled forward, slumped and silent, toward the entrance to her new home.

In the brightly lit vestibule, Catarina Hunt was there to greet them. Tall and slim, her hair was as long and glossy as a young girl’s. The Japanese cast to her features must have made her pretty once, Maxine thought. Now a widow and the sole proprietor, Mrs. Hunt was said to run the facility with a “mother’s touch.” The staff came mostly from the Philippines, too, and were said to be attentive, which was why Maxine and Mark had chosen this long-term care facility for her mother, despite the distance.

Something there in the threshold set Mum off, probably the situation itself. She began to curse a blue streak. My God, she’s acting like she’s possessed. Maxine felt