Page 3 of Too Old for This

I wake up with a bit of regret. And I don’t use that term lightly, because regret is one of the most insidious things out there. Arthritis is a close second.

You can’t live and not have regrets. Some call them life lessons and try to figure out what they’ve learned from each experience. That’s well and good, but you’ll always wish you hadn’t done it in the first place.

Maybe Plum didn’t need to die. There is a chance, albeit a tiny one, that I would have talked her out of that docuseries. I could have explained more thoroughly that I’ve lived a quiet life for many years and I don’t want to be in the spotlight. Crying might’ve helped.

I pick up my phone and call voicemail. Plum’s messages are still saved, and I listen to the last one she left. It was a few hours before she knocked on my door.

“Hello, Mrs.Jones. This is Plum Dixon again. I’m calling about the docuseries I’m making, and I want you to understand that this isn’t a hit piece.

I don’t think you’re guilty or anything!

This is a completely different kind of series.

I’ll be in your area today and would love to explain it more in depth.

I think you’ll see this will be beneficial to both of us.

Please give me a call at your earliest convenience. ”

Until this moment, I’d never listened to the whole message. I had stopped as soon as Plum said her name. Now that I hear the confidence in her voice, how she really believed her series would be beneficial for me …my regret vanishes. Plum was never going to stop.

I throw off the covers, feeling the chill of the morning air. Despite how stiff and sore I am, my body won’t slow me down today. A hot shower, a hot cup of coffee, and I’ll be ready to tackle my very long to-do list.

The floor in the kitchen sparkles.

It’s never good to be too confident. As the coffee brews, I drip more peroxide on the tile. One more cleaning won’t hurt.

Breakfast is an egg-white omelet with tomatoes and one dry slice of whole-grain toast. Not the most flavorful meal. I miss bacon and whole eggs and lots of butter and jam. Then again, big picture. There are so many things I miss that breakfast doesn’t crack the top ten.

I head out to the garage. Plum is frozen. Even her blood is hard. I put on gloves and protective goggles and get to work.

—

A chain saw is not a toy. I wish it was, because it would be a lot lighter. That’s the worst part, I think. The weight of it all.

After an hour or so, I take a break and go into the house. One missed call on my phone, and it’s from my son. Archie didn’t leave a message, but I call him back anyway. I always do.

He picks up on the first ring.

“I’ve got great news.”

“Yes? What’s that?”

“Morgan is pregnant.”

Pause.

“Wow.” A genuine response. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. “That’s…That’s incredible.”

“Thank you. I really hoped you would be happy about this.”

“I am happy.”

“Good, because there’s more.” Archie sounds like a little kid, and I do not consider this a good thing. “Morgan and I are getting married.”

A longer pause.

“Hello?” he says.

“I’m here.”

“You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

How dare he ask me that. “I am not judging you. I’m just surprised by all of this news.”

“Mom, I know we’ve had a lot of discussions about Morgan, and I know you don’t agree with all my decisions, but I hope you’re happy for us.”

“Of course I am.”

I don’t mention his first wife. Nor do I bring up the two kids he already has. Or the fact that Morgan is twenty-three years old and he is twice her age.

“Thank you,” he says. “Because we’re coming up there to get married.”

“To Baycliff?”

“Probably Portland. That will make it easier to fly in, and cut down the travel time.”

“Yes, right. Very thoughtful,” I say. “How big of a wedding are you going to have?”

He chuckles. In the background, I hear another man say something. Archie tells me to hold on and mutes the phone. It’s the middle of the day. He must be at work.

I love my son. He became a lawyer because of what happened to me, though he eventually switched from criminal to corporate law. But his intentions were good. His real problem is with women. He makes terrible decisions about them.

While on hold, I step into the garage and survey how much of Plum is left. Another hour, two at the most. At least I’ve tackled the hardest parts first.

“I’m back,” Archie says. “What was I talking about?”

“Your wedding.”

“Right. Morgan thinks about a hundred people. She’s working on the list.”

“That’s rather large.”

“She’s always wanted a big wedding. And probably soon, because of the baby. Most likely May.”

I almost ask if Stephanie and the kids will be there. Olive and Noah are teenagers now, old enough to realize their father has traded in their mother for a younger model. I haven’t seen them much since it happened. Everybody’s schedule changed after Archie and Stephanie broke up.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” I say. “But I’ve got to get going. I’m working in the garden today.”

“Mom, you know I can hire someone to do that.”

“I like to do it myself, thank you.”

“Okay, be careful.”

He says that a lot these days. Archie means well, but I do not like being treated like I’m too old to do things by myself. Every household chore is not a life-or-death event.

I end the call feeling the same way I always feel about Archie. His life is at least half my fault. I chose his father. That’s on me.