Nutty As a Fruitcake by Mary Daheim Page B

himself.”
    Glenda seemed near tears. “But what about us ? Do we have to spend the rest of our lives visiting him every Sunday in some loony bin? My God, after all these years of waiting on Mama hand and foot!”
    â€œNow just a minute, sis!” Art gave Glenda a sharp shake. “It wasn’t you who called every morning and went over there almost every day. I’ve done more than my share of looking after them!”
    Anger held Glenda’s tears in check. “That’s because you’re out of work! You don’t have anything better to do! I’ve still got a job!”
    The nurse at the desk was looking alarmed. She rose and called to Glenda. “Ms. Goodrich, you may see your father now.” A smile for Art followed. “You can go in next, Mr. Goodrich.”
    With obvious reluctance, Glenda quit the field. She squared her shoulders before following the nurse into the ICU. Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances as Art paced the floor and muttered to himself.
    â€œWhy don’t we get a cup of coffee?” Judith finally suggested to break the awkward silence.
    Art didn’t respond at first. Judith started to repeat the question, but Art gave an impatient shake of his head.
    â€œGlenda and I just had coffee. In fact, I’ve had so much coffee today, I’ll never sleep tonight. I should take the rest of those sleeping pills home with me.”
    The reference to “home” made Judith think of JoAnne and the boys. “Where’s the rest of the family?” she asked, trying to steer Art to a chair.
    Wearily, Art sat down. The cousins settled in on each sideof him. “They were here for a while and then they left. There wasn’t anything they could do. Greg and Dave don’t like hospitals.”
    â€œAnd Leigh?” Judith tried to keep her voice casual, hoping to calm Art.
    The attempt failed badly. Art’s pudgy face reddened; his ears actually looked hot. “Leigh! Do you think Glenda’d let her anywhere near this place? For all I know, Leigh’s high-tailed it back to New York!”
    Judith was mystified. “Why? I thought she was staying over until New Year’s.”
    Rubbing at his high forehead, Art shot Judith a look that was half embarrassed, half pitying. “Not after last night, she isn’t.”
    Judith remembered the screams and Jeanne Ericson’s report of a row at the Goodrich house. “What happened last night?”
    But Art shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. In fact,” he went on, raising his head and resting it against the wall behind the chair, “it’s small potatoes by comparison. I guess.”
    Judith decided not to press Art about his niece. Instead, she asked who had found his parents. She was almost certain it had been Art, and the sudden drain of color from his face proved the point before he spoke a single word.
    â€œEvery morning, even when I was working”—he paused to glare at the door where his sister had so recently passed—“I call my folks around eight o’clock. They always go to bed by nine-thirty, so they wake up early. If they don’t answer, I’m right over there. Or JoAnne is. But that hasn’t happened more than twice—until this morning.” Again, Art hung his head. “I called first about eight-fifteen. No answer. I called a couple more times, thinking maybe the phone was out of order, like it was before. Around quarter to nine, I decided to check on them. It’s only ten minutes from our house above the railroad yard.”
    Judith knew the neighborhood well. It was on the west slope of Heraldsgate Hill, which commanded a view of the round-house, the train tracks, grain elevators, and a large docking area that was usually filled with new cars awaiting transport. While there were glimpses of the bay and the mountains, the environs’ more commercial nature made the price of real estate