T is for Trespass

“I do what I can. Ms. Oberlin tells me you and Mr. Pitts did a cleaning before she arrived.”

“It didn’t amount to much. A lick and a promise, as my aunt used to say. Is this it?” I paused and glanced at the list. Carrots, onions, mushroom broth, turnips, a rutabaga, and new potatoes. Nutritious, wholesome.

“I promised Mr. Vronsky some fresh vegetable soup. His appetite’s been off and it’s the only thing he’ll eat. Meat of any kind makes him nauseous.”

I could feel my cheeks tint. “I guess I should have asked first. The soup’s chicken with rice.”

“Maybe when he’s feeling better.”

She moved closer, essentially walking me toward the door. She might as well have put a hand on my arm and marched me out.

I took my time at the grocery store, pretending I was shopping for myself as well as Gus. I didn’t know what a rutabaga looked like, so after a frustrating search, I had to consult with the clerk in produce. He handed me a big gnarly vegetable like a bloated potato with a waxy skin and a few green leaves growing out one end. “Are you serious?”

He smiled. “You’ve heard of neeps and tatties? That’s a neep; also called a swede. The Germans survived on those in the winter of 1916 to 1917.”

“Who’da thunk?”

I returned to my car and headed for home. As I rounded the corner from Bay onto Albanil, I saw the waste-management company had picked up the Dumpster and was hauling it away. I parked in the empty stretch of curb and went up Gus’s porch steps with Solana’s groceries. To thwart me, she accepted the plastic sack and change from the twenty, then thanked me without inviting me inside. How exasperating! Now I’d have to come up with a fresh excuse to get in.

20

Wednesday, when I came home for lunch, I found Mrs. Dell standing on my porch in her full-length mink coat, holding the brown paper bag containing her Meals on Wheels delivery. “Hi, Mrs. Dell. How are you?”

“Not well. I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Mr. Vronsky’s back door is locked and there’s a note taped to the glass saying he won’t be needing our services. Did he say anything to you?”

“I haven’t talked to him, but it does seem odd. The man has to eat.”

“If the food wasn’t to his liking, I wish he’d mentioned it. We’re happy to make adjustments if he has a problem.”

“You didn’t talk to him?”

“I tried. I knocked on the door as loudly as I could. I know he has trouble hearing and I didn’t want to leave if he was already hobbling down the hall. Instead, that nurse of his appeared. I could tell she didn’t want to talk, but she finally opened the door. She told me he’s refusing to eat and she doesn’t want the food to go to waste. Her attitude was very close to rude.”

“She canceled Meals on Wheels?”

“She said Mr. Vronsky was losing weight. She took him to the doctor to have his shoulder checked and sure enough, he’s down six pounds. The doctor was alarmed. She acted like it was my fault.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

“Please. This has never happened to me. I feel terrible thinking it was something I did.”

As soon as she’d left, I put a call through to Melanie in New York. As usual, I didn’t speak to a live human being. I left a message and she returned the call at 3:00 California time when she got home from work. I was in the office by then, but I set aside the report I was typing and told her about my conversation with Mrs. Dell. I thought she’d be startled about Meals on Wheels. Instead, she was irritated.

“And that’s why you called? I know all this stuff. Uncle Gus has been griping about the food for weeks. At first Solana didn’t pay much attention because she thought he was just being ornery. You know how much he loves to complain.”

Having observed the trait myself, I couldn’t argue the point. “What’s he going to do about meals?”

“She says she can handle them. She offered to cook for him when she first came to work, but I thought it was too much to ask when she was already taking on his medical care. Now, I don’t know. I’m leaning in that direction, at least until his appetite returns. Really, I can’t see a downside, can you?”

“Melanie, don’t you see what’s going on here? She’s building a wall around the guy, cutting off access.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, her tone skeptical.

“Well, I do. All he does is sleep and that can’t be good for him. Henry and I go over there, but he’s quote-unquote ‘indisposed’ or ‘he doesn’t feel like company.’ There’s always some excuse. When Henry did manage a visit, she claimed Gus was so debilitated afterward, he had to take to his bed.”