Free Mountain Song by Ruby Laska Page A

to interest her in
the cookies that the volunteer brought, or even a cup of tea or glass of water.
    Resolving to change
the subject, Claudia swiped at her damp eyelashes and then swung around,
leaning on the counter and surveying Andy.
    “What about you?” she
asked. “What did you call your grandparents?”
    Andy frowned slightly,
then dropped his glance to the table. “I never knew them. Dad and Mom were in
their forties when they had me and...”
    And all his other
relatives were dead, or else just so far away as to be nameless, faceless
mysteries to him. His father never finished school, could barely read. He had
come West with his wife looking for work in the once-active mines, work that
slowly petered out, leaving him no choice other than taking any job he could
get. He bused tables and washed dishes in the winter, and took on the most
back-breaking work outdoors in he summer while his wife cleaned houses. When
their miracle child came, the one doctors told them they would never have,
Henry Woods worked all the harder to make sure his son would have the
advantages he never had.
    No, there’d been no
grandparents. No aunts, uncles, or cousins, either. Andy had a dim, soft,
heart-tugging image of his mother, but she’d been taken before his fifth
birthday.
    “I’m so sorry,”
Claudia said quickly, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I wasn’t thinking. My
mind was on Bea and—please, just ignore me.”
    “Forget it.” A little
too quick, his voice a little too hard. So he had no relatives—what of
it? Lots of people never saw their families. Others couldn’t stand them, and
wouldn’t that be worse?
    It was just like
Claudia, though, to be so wrapped up in her own life that she forgot all about
those around her. He’d told her about his parents and his upbringing—he
didn’t talk about it often, of course. But that made her lapse all the more
egregious. It wasn’t something that came easily, and when he’d trusted her
enough to share his history with her, so long ago, he’d counted on her to
understand. Losing their mothers early was something they had in common, a
shared pain that brought them together despite all their differences.
    But she’d forgotten,
tossed his secrets aside like she discarded everything else. He had to face it:
very little mattered to Claudia besides her own immediate concerns.
    Still, he had to
admit, it wasn’t the Claudia he thought he knew who’d worn herself out cleaning
the house today. He was surprised that she even knew what to do with a rag or a
mop, that she was willing to scrub toilets and floors and windows. But she had,
and without a word of complaint.
    “Look,” he said. “You’ve
done a lot today. It was probably inconsiderate of me to bring all of this over
tonight. Why don’t I just leave all this and you can read over it when you have
a chance.”
    Claudia shrugged, a
distant look in her eyes, and Andy wondered if his words had registered.
    “You think we should
put Bea in a nursing home,” she said finally.”
    “That’s not what I
said. I’m trying to bring your attention to her condition so you and your
father and the rest of your family can start to think about alternatives—”
    “Which is another way
of saying she belongs in a home. Do me a favor,” she added, walking past him
into the living room, where she wearily settled into the couch, pulling a
neatly folded afghan off the back and settling against it like a pillow. “Don’t
patronize me.”
    “I’m not.” Impatience
rose in Andy’s gut. Damn it, she wasn’t paying attention. “If you’d just read
through this, we could have a conversation—an informed conversation—about the alternatives here. A nursing
home is just one of several solutions.”
    “Read,” Claudia
murmured. “Study. That’s the way you always operate, isn’t it? If it’s on
paper, great. If it has facts and figures, so much the better. Did you ever
once in your life rely on your intuition, Andy? Ever