The Limit Read online

  “No you wouldn’t,” I said. No one really knew, of course, besides the families who’d been directly affected—and I didn’t think it was a subject they loved to brag about. I could sure imagine what went on inside the workhouses.

  “Did you say the girl went to Lakeview? That would explain it, then.” Mom dug into her stew. “Those people who live in the Lakeview boundaries haven’t got the sense of a donkey. We can’t expect them to be able to manage their accounts. I suppose the government had no choice but to step in. Honey, will you please pass me the pepper?”

  “I SWEAR SOMEDAY SHE’S GOING to . . . where is that key?” Mom dug deep into her duffel-bag-size lime-green purse while my sisters and I waited on the porch in front of our grandmother’s house. Mom ended up dumping the contents of her purse onto the padded seat of a wicker chair before she spied the elusive key to let us in. “Mother? Where are you?”

  “Rebecca, is that you? I’m in the living room.”

  “I’m here too, Nana.”

  “Me too!”

  “Matt and Abigail came too! What did I do to deserve such a plethora of visitors?”

  Mom paused in the wide opening to the living room, slamming one high-heeled shoe into the hardwood floor as she jammed her hands against her waist. “You tripped over that mutt of yours and nearly killed yourself, Mother. That’s what you did.”

  “Phsssh,” said Nana, waving her off. “Oh, Lauren came along as well. How nice.”

  “Hi, Nana,” said Lauren, not bothering to glance up from her phone. “I hope your ankle doesn’t hurt too much.”

  “It will be fine. Eventually.” Nana lay lengthwise on the sofa. When she tried to push herself up, a sharp grimace twisted her face.

  “You are not all right,” said Mom, hustling across the room. “Let me get a look at that leg.”

  An insistent yipping came from farther back in the house. The guilty mutt.

  “Poor Buffy. Matt, would you mind taking her out to the backyard? It’s so hard for me with this”—Nana flicked her hand toward her ankle—“inconvenience.”

  “Inconvenience?” Mom’s voice quickly reached the high, shrill level saved especially for times of stress. “You haven’t even begun to think this through, have you?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Nana.” I hustled into the kitchen. The little ball of white fluff that was Buffy bounced around in front of the wide glass door like a rubber ball while emitting high-pitched barks that sounded like a hinge in desperate need of a good oiling. As soon as I slid the door open a couple of inches, she squeezed through and raced circles around the backyard. I followed with much less enthusiasm.

  Hunching under my jacket against a sharp breeze, I waited while Buffy did her thing. I’d just picked up a stick for her to chase when Lauren and Abbie joined me.

  “They’re fighting,” said Abbie.

  “Annoying,” said Lauren with an eye roll and slight twitch of her head. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her hoodie—resting her thumbs for once.

  Abbie’s eyes sparkled as she skipped across the back porch. “Where’s Buffy?”

  We played with the dog for a few minutes—until a biting wind forced us back inside.

  Insistent voices carried loud and strong into the kitchen. Lauren stuck in her earbuds, pulled out her phone, and plopped into a chair at the table. Abbie let herself get absorbed with Buffy. I decided Nana needed a glass of milk, so I poured one and took it in to her.

  “I’m not backing down, Mother. You’re going to the hospital.”

  Nana smiled as she reached for the glass. “Thank you, Matt. You’re so thoughtful.”

  “Matt, go find a pair of Nana’s shoes. We’re taking her to the emergency room right now.”

  “Sit down, Matt.”

  I plopped next to Mom on the big ottoman in front of the sofa. “Rebecca, you and your children are free to go wherever you want, but I’m staying right here—in my home.”

  “Your ankle could very well be broken.” Mom slapped the back of her hand against my shoulder. “Tell her, Matt.”

  I made my voice come out high and animated. “It very well could be broken.” I flipped long imaginary hair over my shoulder.

  “You’ve got her down!” Nana pounded her good leg as she chortled.

  Mom slapped me again. “Stop it. This is serious.” Her laughter weakened her words. “No, listen. Mother, what if something is seriously wrong with your ankle?”

  “What if it isn’t?” Nana thrust her chin into the air. “Then I will have given up everything for nothing.” She shook her finger in Mom’s face. “You know exactly what will happen if I let you take me to the hospital. They’ll stamp my charts with a big, red ‘Unfit to Care for Self’ label and cart me off to the home for the dead and dying.”

  What? No. They wouldn’t take Nana away. People were supposed to be sucking in their last breaths before they had to go there. At least that’s what I’d always thought.

  “They’re called residences for the advanced in years, Mother. They’re very nice institutions.”

  The home for the dead and dying is what I’ve always heard it called—unofficially of course.

  “Hrmph!” Nana turned her face to the wall.

  Mom leaned forward to stroke her arm. “You don’t know for sure that they will classify you as unfit. This is just a temporary injury.”

  “Are you living with a sack over your head?” Nana shot back, jerking her arm away from Mom’s touch. “They jump on any little excuse they can find. Those government people can’t wait to haul off one more aging person and tuck us away in some little rat hole so they can claim our homes and all our property. Well, I’m not ready to give in. Not yet. Not without a fight.”

  Yeah, you go, Nana!

  Mom let out a long sigh. “You know they don’t claim all your property. You get to take your sentimental items with you. Then they sell what’s left to pay your expenses at the residence. It’s a fine, fair program that works well for the aging in our society.”

  Nana’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve bought into all that PR they bombard us with, haven’t you? I haven’t. Besides, they don’t allow pets.”

  “Well, you can’t stay here alone.”

  “Why don’t you come to our house?” I asked. “Abbie would love to camp out on Lauren’s floor, and you can have her room.”

  “I’d love to, Matt. That’s very kind of you to sacrifice your sister’s room for me.” She gave me a wink. “I just couldn’t, though. I have to think of Buffy.”

  No brainer. “Bring her.”

  “Dad’s allergies,” Mom said, poking my arm.

  “Oh, yeah.” Okay then, here’s the plan. I’ll smuggle Buffy out of here when we go to the hospital and hide her at either Brennan or Lester’s house. As soon as Nana is settled in the home for the dead and dying, I’ll sneak the little fur ball into her room. Nana will either keep hiding the dog with her or blow her cover and get herself kicked out of the home. Either way works.

  Mom squared her shoulders as she sat up tall on the ottoman. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but move myself in with you for a while. They can’t force you to move if I’m here to care for you.”

  I guess that could work too.

  “Would you really, Rebecca? That would be wonderful.”

  “I’ll do it as long as you agree to let me take you in to get that ankle treated first. You shouldn’t need my help here for more than a week, I’d think.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “What about us?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Matt. You kids are old enough to look after yourselves for a few hours after school until your father gets home from work. Any of you are capable of ordering takeout. You won’t be missing out on any great home-cooked meals anyway, since I can’t cook any until the new stove is delivered.”

  Hmm. A few days without Mom making sure I ate my whole grains and limiting my computer time. That could work out just fine, but shoot, I really had wanted to try the Buffy smugglin
g plan—just to see if I could pull it off. Putting my brains up against a government agency would’ve been an awesome challenge. I bet I would have won.

  “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THESE LINES?” Mom grumbled. “I really don’t have the patience for this today.”

  “This is nothing. Just think how much longer you’re going to have to wait when you take Nana to the hospital.” I could joke about it because I knew Mom was going to drop us kids off at home after this trip to the store. We’d get to zone out with the TV or computer while she packed some clothes and some of the food we were buying and headed back to Nana’s and then to the emergency room. “I’m going to the magazine rack.”

  “Fine.” Mom nodded to me as she swiveled her overflowing cart into a line she found acceptable. A box with three big scented candles in glass jars slipped off the top. She grabbed it. Leave it to Mom to find a store full of things she thought she’d die without—a digital meat thermometer, throw pillows for the family-room sofa, a foot massager. All we’d come in for were crutches, a few groceries for Nana, and some frozen meals for the rest of us.

  Scooting sideways, I squeezed past the lady at the front of the checkout line. Her backside bumped into me as she leaned forward for the laser eye scan that would access her account to pay the store.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I hustled away to snatch up the latest issue of COMP—a pretty decent computer and technology magazine.

  Mom stood third in line. She opened a bottle of bubbles she’d picked up in the toy department and blew a few for Abbie to pop. Lauren, shaking her head, pretended not to be associated with either of them as her thumbs worked her phone.

  I flipped through the magazine. “Today’s New Digital Animation.” Nothing new there. “How to Change Your Cursor.” How could these people possibly think they were cutting edge? Wait. Here was something interesting. “A Techie’s Dream Room Makeover.”

  Halfway through the article, I glanced over the top of the magazine rack that stretched along the end of the checkout counter. Mom looked down the conveyor belt, where dozens of items were creeping toward me like an endless invasion of army ants. She caught my eye and winked. I went back to the article.

  Oh, yeah. This high-fidelity canopy bed had just turned into a must-have. Imagine surfing the web and watching movies while lying flat in the comfort of my own bed. No one else at school had anything like it. Note to self—hit Dad up for one later tonight. Once I showed it to him, he’d want one for himself as well. We’d have to get two.

  I’d moved on to the description of high-tech bathroom windows when I heard a sharp gasp from Mom’s checkout worker. My eyes shot up. Checkout Lady had her hand over her mouth. Mom seemed unflustered. Checkout Lady must have made a mistake. I kept reading. Hmm, electrical impulses in the glass and a liquid crystal layer to cloud up for privacy. Cool.

  The usual noise and confusion of the megastore around me dimmed. It was like it faded to almost nothing, leaving only the voices of my mom and Checkout Lady. Even Abbie put a lid on her usual nonstop chatter and stuck her thumb in her mouth. I thought she’d stopped sucking her thumb a long time ago.

  “I’m sure it’s a mistake,” Mom said. “A computer glitch somewhere.”

  Checkout Lady punched a few buttons on her computer while her front teeth gnawed her lower lip like a beaver working a tree. “I’m so sorry. It’s not a mistake. You’re over your limit.”

  An electric current zapped through me. No. Wait. Stuff like this didn’t happen to our family.

  “It can’t be,” said Mom. She flipped back her dark hair in that way that made her appear confident and in control, but she couldn’t hold her eyes still. Her voice dropped a couple of notches. “How is that possible?”

  Abbie sucked harder on her thumb, a ring of drool building up around the edge. Lowering her phone, Lauren slunk backward, away from Mom. I still held the issue of COMP, but the words and pictures blurred.

  “Take it back.” Mom’s words came out in a rush. She pulled a white plastic shopping bag out of her cart and turned it upside down, spewing the contents onto the conveyor belt. “Take it all off my account right now.”

  Lauren appeared by my side. She grabbed my elbow and hung on as tight as if it were a life preserver.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Checkout Lady. “Once you go over your limit, I’m locked out of the system until we receive clearance from the government.” She pushed a few buttons on her console and raised her hands in defeat.

  “Is this going to take long?” the next man in line asked.

  “A few more minutes, at least,” said Checkout Lady.

  The man let out a grunt. “You’d think grown people would be able to manage their accounts.” He snatched up the gallon of milk he’d set on the conveyor belt and walked away to find another line.

  The next lady banged into the display rack as she tried to maneuver her cart backward. “Stay home and stop shopping if you think you’re getting close to your limit,” she snapped at Mom. “It doesn’t take a college degree to figure that out.”

  Mom stared straight ahead. Her lips trembled. Part of me wanted to follow those people and yell at them that they couldn’t talk to my mother that way. A bigger part needed to stay right where I was and find out what would happen next.

  “Don’t you worry, ma’am,” said Checkout Lady. “People always act like they’ve been robbed when they have to wait five minutes longer than they thought. Don’t take it personally.”

  A sharp, metallic tune made Mom jump. She dug into her purse and pulled out her phone.

  “Hello?” Her eyes got big. “Yes, it is. Listen to me. There must be some mistake. My husband said a deposit . . .” Mom’s voice trailed off, and her cheeks flushed red. “It’s an automated message,” she said in an unsettled voice to Checkout Lady.

  Mom listened silently for a few minutes, taking in quick, shallow breaths. All the color drained from her face. “I need to talk to someone,” she said into the phone. Frantically, she pounded some of the buttons. “Let me talk to a real person!”

  The pages of COMP wrinkled in my grip.

  Lauren clamped down tighter on my arm.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. I’m such a liar.

  Mom’s head jerked back an inch, and she lowered the phone. She’d been disconnected.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Checkout Lady. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Mom sniffed and shook her head. She glanced at me. Checkout Lady, gnawing on her lip again, turned to follow her gaze. When they saw me looking back, they quickly turned away. What? I didn’t have anything more to do with this than the girls. Why single me out? The crackers I’d eaten in the car on the way to the store turned to rocks in my stomach.

  Grabbing Abbie around the wrist, Mom scurried around her shopping cart. “We’re getting out of here.” She snatched up Lauren’s arm as well and dragged her along behind her. Mom couldn’t have walked any faster without breaking into a run.

  “What about my bubbles?” asked Abbie, reaching backward.

  I took a look at the cart, which bulged with shopping bags. Just a few seconds ago we’d thought we desperately needed every single item in there. Now all I could think was how those unnecessary purchases had put us over the limit.

  LAUREN WRENCHED HER ARM FREE before we left the store. Mom walked through the parking lot so fast Abbie couldn’t keep up. Mom didn’t even notice when Abbie’s arm slipped out of her fingers. I scooped up my little sister and slung her around to ride piggyback on me.

  “Who called you?” I asked Mom. She stood by our car urging us forward with frantic waves of her hand. “What did they say?”

  “Get in,” she said, pressing the keyless entry button. “Quickly.”

  What? Were we bank robbers now, making our getaway?

  I slid Abbie into the backseat and climbed in the front. Mom didn’t wait for us to fasten our seat belts before she ripped out of the parking space. I hadn’t even closed my door.

  Mom
reached inside her purse with one hand, steering with the other as she zoomed through the parking lot. She yanked out her cell phone at the same moment she pulled onto the road. A car screeched and swerved to avoid hitting us. A loud horn blast bawled us out. Mom didn’t even blink.

  “Slow down,” I said, looking over my shoulder to make sure Lauren and Abbie had buckled their seat belts.

  “Where are we going?” asked Lauren, noticing—as I did—that we were headed in the opposite direction from our house. We weren’t driving toward Nana’s house either.

  Mom’s trembling fingers struggled to dial her phone.

  “Here, I’ll do it,” I said, taking it from her. “Who called you earlier?”

  Mom opened her mouth, as if to say something, then closed it again, shaking her head.

  “It was about the limit, wasn’t it? Someone called because we went over. There are lots of options for people who go over, right?” I couldn’t control my voice, and it got high and a little squeaky. “Supervised spending can’t be as bad as everyone says.”

  She couldn’t even look at me. “Call your father.” Her voice shook as much as her fingers.

  I tried Dad’s office and got a busy signal. He didn’t answer his cell phone.

  “That probably means he’s golfing,” I said to Mom. “He always turns off his phone when he golfs.”

  “I need him,” she said.

  “Maybe he’s golfing with Mr. Dupree right now,” I said, trying to make myself feel better. “Maybe he’ll land that project today. He’ll get so much money we’ll laugh about going over the limit. By tomorrow it won’t even matter.”

  Mom looked at me. As she tried to smile, she choked on a sob.