Cottage by the Sea

by Robin Jones Gunn

  Pulling the rearview mirror toward her, Erin was surprised to see the robust color in her cheeks and how the color made her eyes look bluer. It had been weeks since she had worn makeup. Her hair was dearly in need of attention. Her natural auburn roots weren’t too far off from the color her stylist used on her hair, but Erin could tell where her natural color ended and the assisted shade began. She could also see the gray much more clearly. It appeared that her hair had not only been speckled with sand during her walk but also sprinkled with flecks of silver.

  She decided she looked more natural and earthy than she had in a long time. At home she kept her regular hair appointments and never left the house without makeup. She would never, not even around the house, be caught wearing a fleece jacket advertising Paddy’s Crab Shack. Yet here she was, wearing the green jacket once again. She was zipped up to her chin in her coastal “career” apparel.

  She noticed how short her nails were. A month ago she’d had them done perfectly for Jordan’s wedding. A week ago she had purchased a bottle of polish remover at the Wayside Market along with a pair of clippers and a file and had gone to work trying to salvage the jagged mess they had become.

  She tried to picture what Sharlene was wearing today. Probably a skirt, another one of her business decisions made earlier in the year. She had found a designer who made straight skirts with darling matching jackets that featured classy details on the collar and cuffs. The line was designed especially for petite women. When Sharlene tried on the first suit, she declared that all her business calls would be made in that outfit because it “rocks my tush.”

  Erin could envision Sharlene’s nails. They would be shaped perfectly, polished with her new signature shade of pink, and on the little finger of her right hand she would have a gem design of some sort. Usually she went with a flower, but for Jordan’s wedding she had gone with a heart and commented that the heart was a good subliminal message for brides to see when she made a presentation to them.

  Erin looked down at her crumpled sweatpants, green fleece, and chewed-up fingernails. She was about as far away as she could get from looking like a CEO of The Happiest Day.

  This all happened so fast. I lost everything, didn’t I? Should I try to start a new company when I do go back home eventually?

  The thought depressed her. She turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the parking lot.

  One hour at a time. Don’t wear yourself out. It’s a marathon.

  When Erin returned to the Hidden Cottage, Marge had her dad out on the deck in his wheelchair all bundled up against the wind. Erin sat quietly beside him looking out at the ocean. The wind still was creating mischief with the waves. The white spray from the water dashed against the rocks to the far right and rose high enough up the cliff that the fountain shot a fan of silver droplets for them to see.

  “Oooo.”

  Erin smiled at her dad. “It’s like having your own private fireworks show in the middle of the day, isn’t it?”

  “Yaaaaa.”

  Marge had gone back inside, leaving Erin to watch her dad. He seemed alert as he breathed in the salt air. Erin took a risk and asked him a pointed question. “Dad, why did you marry Delores?”

  His eyebrow went up and stayed up.

  “I know. It’s none of my business. I just don’t understand.”

  Jack calmly placed his hand on his chest and patted it.

  “Did you love her?”

  He didn’t reply right away. Then a slow “Yaaaa” came from his lips along with a string of drool. Erin used the washcloth in his lap to dry his mouth. He still was looking at her intently, his deep blue eyes seemingly eager to communicate with her.

  With his chin pressed forward, he expressed himself to her with a string of unintelligible sounds. Vowel groupings came tumbling from his crooked lips. His eyebrow rose and fell. Instead of getting frustrated as he did whenever he was trying to communicate but the words wouldn’t form, this time he kept going.

  The meter and the rhythm of the continuing stream of sounds made it clear what he was doing. Erin realized that her father was telling her a story—his story—distilled in his wounded heart and pressed through his lips in the only way it could come out. Just sounds and facial expressions from half of his face.

  She fixed her gaze on him and listened as if she were six and never had heard such a wonderful story in her life. His eyes told her he was telling a love story. The story of his second love, Delores. Nothing about their marriage was conventional, but he had found contentment with her for those few short years.

  Then, with a lowering of his eyebrow, he raised his finger and pointed at her the same way he did when she was young and was receiving a scolding. The guttural sounds were from no written language. But the expression made the message clear.

  Erin reached for her father’s wagging finger and enclosed his hand with hers. “I understand, Daddy. I do. And you’re right. It’s not my place to judge. Not you or Delores or the choice either of you made to be together and to move here.”

  His surprised expression made it clear that she had indeed “heard” him as clearly as if he had used English to communicate his message. He drew the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it twice before the heaving motions that started in his chest reached his throat.

  Then Jack O’Riley let loose with a wailing moan that was beyond any cry he had yet expressed. He cried big, drippy, splashing tears, all the while holding fast to Erin’s hand.

  The feisty ocean was in his soul.

  He had just confessed to his daughter the treasure buried in that deep darkness. She had pulled the gems to the surface and admired them in his presence. Then she had honored her father by declaring that she perceived the value of his hidden treasure. He had been heard and understood.

  It was her gift to him.

  When the tumult ceased and all the tears were mopped up, Jack dipped his chin and lowered himself into a deep sleep. His chest rose and fell as precious oxygen rolled in and out of the caverns of his steady lungs.

  Snugly tucking the blanket around him, Erin drew in a deep breath and gave way to a tremor in her spirit. Being here for a moment like this was the reason she had willingly surrendered her half of the business to Sharlene. And she didn’t regret it.

  The rest of the day Erin felt weak, as if all her emotional muscles had been overused and needed to rest. She was up at midnight with an upset stomach.

  When she got up to use the bathroom, she checked on her dad and found he was awake, too. He was running a fever. The liquid medication through his G-tube and the cold compresses she administered didn’t bring down the fever. She sat beside him for more than an hour, softly singing all the old hymns she could remember. His breathing slowed. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and seemed soothed by the singing.

  The night inched along. Erin started a fire to take the chill off the room and kept the cold compresses on his forehead. She checked his temperature every half hour and prayed. Just before dawn, when his fever spiked and the thermometer registered 102.4, Erin turned up the light beside his bed. He didn’t flinch as he usually did when the light was turned on.

  “Dad, how are you doing? Can you give me a little groan or squeeze my hand? Let me know that you can hear me.”

  He was unresponsive.

  Erin called an ambulance.

  The effort to maneuver her father onto the stretcher, out the narrow door, and into the ambulance was complex but not nearly as difficult as it had been previously when Erin and Marge had loaded him into the wheelchair and then into the car to drive him to the doctor’s office.

  Marge arrived just as they were pushing Jack into the ambulance. He still hadn’t opened his eyes or tried to communicate.

  “I’ll call you from the hospital, Marge. I’m going to follow the ambulance in my car. If I end up bringing him home today, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d be glad to come with you. I might be able to answer some questions for the doctor.”
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  Erin appreciated Marge’s kind support and told her so. “You have no idea how glad I am that you were the assistant assigned to us. You are a wonderful woman.”

  Marge took all of it in stride—the compliment, the ride to the hospital, and Jack’s condition.

  Erin was much more rattled and soon understood why Delores had been so reluctant to take her father to the hospital when he first experienced his strokes. The waiting in the small curtained area was torture. Every aspect of the experience felt impersonal and smalltown inadequate. But the good part was that the attending nurse immediately put Jack on an IV with a high dose of fever-reducing medication as well as the fluids he needed.

  By noon they had seen the doctor, answered questions, and were waiting for the results of some blood work. At one o’clock Jack opened his eyes and looked around, surprised to see the surroundings.

  “Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?” Erin slipped her hand into his left hand and gave it a squeeze. His hand felt cool. That was a good sign, she thought. “You had a rough night. We brought you in because I couldn’t get your fever down.”

  His lips were chapped, and his chest seemed to rise and fall more rapidly than usual, as if he were panting.

  “You okay?”

  “Auaaehh.”

  “Does it hurt anywhere?” Marge asked, coming closer to the side of his bed.

  “Eeauuaa.”

  “Are you uncomfortable?” Erin asked. “Is that it? You’re in pain?”

  “Auuueeeu.”

  These sounds were different from any Erin had heard him make in the past. At least when he could say “Yaaaa” or “Naaaah,” Erin could go through a list of questions. Mike called it the diagnostic check. Now she couldn’t distinguish what he was saying.

  “Where does it hurt?” Marge asked again.

  He pointed at the opening between the curtains. Erin guessed he was confused. “We’re at the hospital. A doctor came and had a look at you. They’re checking the results of the tests they ran on you. We can’t leave yet.”

  “Aaaaaaugg.” He seemed exhausted, as if pushing the sounds out was as hard as running a race.

  “Just rest, Dad. You don’t have to try to say anything.”

  He looked up at her and seemed to try hard to focus. His right eyelid drooped more than it had in the past. The heavy lid now covered half his pupil.

  Marge did an overall survey to make sure nothing was poking him. She couldn’t find any indicators of what might be causing external pain. “The doctor will be back soon,” she assured him in her efficient manner. “You just rest now.”

  The afternoon at the hospital dragged on. More tests were ordered, and Jack was rolled out for a scan. He returned with the sheet covering his middle but not his legs. His paralyzed right leg was curved in and his right foot followed inward, turning in and tightening up in a limping position. Both his legs looked uncharacteristically pale. All of her dad’s years of going to work in Southern California in shorts and a polo shirt with a whistle around his neck were far in the past. His continually tanned legs and teaseworthy white sock line were gone. The legs that now replaced them were unrecognizable to Erin.

  Marge readjusted the sheet to cover his legs as Erin checked his left foot. He felt cold to her touch. Erin pulled the thin blanket up from the end of the bed and tucked it in around him. He gave no indication that he was aware of her touch. His eyes remained closed.

  Erin commented in a low voice to Marge that it never felt this depressing when they were at home with him. There he had light, music, and a manageable routine. Not to mention the view and the heating vent that blew warm air at the foot of his bed. The hospital was straight-backed chairs, beeping machines, and air-conditioned chill.

  Erin checked her watch. “It’s almost three o’clock.”

  “Don’t worry about leaving on my account.” Marge had pulled a paperback novel from her purse and looked at home in the corner chair. “I’m fine with staying here as long as I need to. You might want to call Sylvia in case she was planning to make her usual visit this afternoon.”

  “Good idea.”

  Erin slipped out to the emergency waiting area to make her call. She ended up having to go outside because she couldn’t stand being in a room full of so many hurting people. It was as if her empathy antenna had sprouted since caring for her father. She could look at people and read more in their expressions than she had ever even tried to decipher in the past.

  Stepping outside, she pulled out her cell phone, which had been turned off because use of cells wasn’t allowed in the hospital rooms. She saw that she had missed a call from her brother.

  “Hey, Erin. Listen, I’m working on trying to schedule a flight to see Dad like you said I should, but it’s not coming together for me. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. How is he doing? I mean, if he’s stable at the moment, maybe I should wait and come when it’s more urgent, you know?”

  Erin called him back, and when she reached his voice mail she said, “Hi, Tony. I just listened to your message, and I think you should come as soon as you can. I had to bring Dad to the hospital this morning. He has a fever that wouldn’t break during the night. That usually means there’s an infection. They’re still taking some tests. He’s not the same strong, forceful man you remember him as being. As a matter of fact, he’s lost a lot of weight. I don’t know how long he has left, but I do think you should treat this as if these are the end of his days. Call me back and let me know what you decide. Love you.”

  Erin then found the Shamrock’s number and phoned Sylvia to reach her before she headed to the Hidden Cottage for her afternoon visit. When Sylvia answered, Erin gave her an update, realizing that Sylvia was the unofficial town crier and that by six o’clock most of Moss Cove would know about Jack’s confinement in the hospital.

  The doctor was in the room with her dad when Erin returned. He was talking with Marge and showing her some details on Jack’s chart. When Erin entered, the doctor looked up and said, “Are you the daughter?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I was telling your mother that—”

  “She’s not my mother. Marge is his day nurse.”

  “My apologies.” The doctor looked at Marge, clearly embarrassed.

  “If you would like me to leave the room I’d be glad to.” Marge rose from the chair, but Erin motioned for her to remain.

  The doctor continued with the test results.

  Marge nodded as the doctor relayed the test numbers. She seemed clear on all his medical terms while Erin got lost immediately. The main piece of information she gleaned from his report was that Jack’s kidneys were failing.

  “The average male his age and in his condition can function for an extended time on as little as one-fourth of one kidney. It’s hard to say how well he’ll do with the limited use he has at this point. He seems to have a lot of inflammation in his lungs, which would indicate he’s fighting a common viral infection as well. I wish I had better news than this.” The doctor closed the chart and leaned back. To Erin it seemed his next words would be “It’s only a matter of time now.”

  Instead he said, “We can step up the fluids. I’ve prescribed a painkiller. It’s fine for you to administer it any time you have reason to believe he’s experiencing discomfort. The area around the G-tube looks very good.” The doctor turned to Marge. “It’s evident that he’s receiving excellent care. I didn’t see signs of any bedsores, which is also very good. Our objective at this point is to make him as comfortable as possible.”

  “So we should take him home?” Erin asked.

  “I’d like to keep him overnight for observation to see if the inflammation in the lungs calms down. If it appears he might be headed for pneumonia, I can start medication. With the many other medications he’s on now, I’d rather wait to see if he needs the other drugs.”

  “Okay.” Erin leaned up against the edge of the bed and gave her dad’s feeling leg a squeeze. He didn’t respond.

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p; “Can you think of anything I didn’t cover? Any questions?” the doctor asked.

  Erin had been watching her dad off and on during the discussion. She had a suspicion he wasn’t asleep even though his eyes were closed. When the doctor was explaining the kidney failure his eyelids seemed to wiggle. When the doctor repeated the decision to keep him overnight at the hospital, Jack’s mouth seemed to twitch, and his eyebrows dipped. But when she squeezed his leg, he didn’t engage with her.

  Erin couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have people standing around discussing your condition and making decisions for you when you aren’t able to protest or enter into the conversation.

  Motioning to the doctor that she wanted to step away from the bed, Erin walked toward the waiting room, and the physician followed. Once she was certain she was too far away for her father to hear, she asked, “Is there anything else we can do for him?”

  “Not that I noted. As I said, he looks like he’s getting excellent care. Just keep him comfortable.”

  Erin’s next question was painful and difficult to form in a way that didn’t make her feel like an impatient or uncaring daughter. “Is there any way to know . . . I mean, how much longer . . .” She couldn’t finish her question.

  “You want to know how much more time he has. Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t have a way of knowing exactly, of course. But I’d say, based on his overall condition, he has a few weeks. Maybe a month. Again, we can’t estimate with precise accuracy in cases like this. Patients surprise us in both directions. Does that help?”

  Erin nodded. A lump had formed in her throat. If she answered aloud she was afraid the lump would burst.

  “I’d recommend that you go on home and get as much sleep as you can. He’ll receive good care here. You’re going to need your strength for what’s ahead of you.”

  Marge and Erin stayed another hour while Jack slept, seemingly unaffected by their presence.