Christmas Blessings

by Katherine Spencer

  “I can do it. Please don’t fuss over me,” Cynthia said.

  Jean didn’t think she was fussing, exactly. But she stepped back from the bed. “Should I turn out the light?”

  “Not yet. I’d like to read awhile. That book with the red cover. And my reading glasses, please.” Her mother pointed to a book on the night table.

  Jean handed it over. “Good night, Mom. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Her mother spoke without looking up from her book. “And thank you for the dinner. I know you made an effort,” she added, her gaze still fixed on the page.

  “You’re very welcome. Sleep well.”

  Jean left the door ajar so she could hear her mother call. She would come back and check on her later.

  A mountain of pots and pans in the sink greeted her as she returned to the kitchen. The rest of the mess wasn’t too bad. She put away the leftovers and wiped down the countertops and kitchen table. She turned on the dishwasher and took out her cell phone, then dialed Kevin’s number.

  He picked up quickly. “Jean? Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. Well, not really. But Mom is in bed, probably asleep by now. I wanted to talk to you privately.”

  “Sure. What’s up? Having second thoughts already?” Kevin sounded amused. Doubts had popped up since she arrived Tuesday night. She did wonder if she had made a huge mistake. But then she would remember the alternative.

  “It wasn’t my first choice. I’m sure you know that. But I’m not sure you realize how bad Mom is. She’s really lost ground. Dr. Nevins wanted us to move her into a nursing home, one with quick access to medical care.”

  Kevin didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “It would be hard to talk her into leaving that house. But maybe it would be for the best, Jean. In the long run.”

  “That’s just it. There is no long run. Both of her specialists agree. She’s in the end stages. Her doctors won’t give a time frame, of course. They hate to do that. But it doesn’t sound good, Kevin. Two months more? Maybe three, if she’s lucky. That’s if she doesn’t catch pneumonia. Or even a cold.”

  She heard her voice rise on an emotional note and tried to calm herself. She hadn’t meant for this to be a melodramatic conversation. For one thing, she knew her brother didn’t respond well to that sort of appeal. She had told him all this in her e-mails, hadn’t she? It sounded as if he didn’t read her updates very closely. Or was in denial about the situation.

  “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  “It is, Kevin. You can call the doctors if you want to speak to them personally. I think they’d like to hear from you.”

  “All right. I will. I’ll call this week,” he promised.

  Jean felt relieved to hear that. Proximity was all-important when an older parent was sick. But there were going to be some hard choices to make in a little while. She did wish Kevin would get more involved, even at a distance.

  “I know you have plans for the holidays. Mom told me about your trip to Utah. But I was hoping you’d come home for Christmas and visit with Mom. It would mean so much to her.”

  And will most likely be her last, she wanted to add. But she didn’t want to play the guilt card too hard. Surely he understood what was at stake?

  “I want to visit her . . . before. Well, soon. You know what I mean.” He was usually so well-spoken, but now his words faltered. “I’m just not sure I can come for Christmas. I’ll think it over, okay?”

  Jean decided not press any further. Kevin could be self-involved at times, and he, too, had issues with their mother, despite her doting on him. Still, Kevin wasn’t heartless or without a conscience. He usually did the right thing, Jean reminded herself. Eventually.

  “Good luck, Jean,” he said sincerely. “You’re a braver man than I.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Yes, let me know what’s going on.” They said good-bye, and Jean ended the call.

  She returned to the kitchen where the pile of pots beckoned. She was tired but she knew she would feel better facing a clean kitchen in the morning when her mother would need her attention. She filled the sink with sudsy water and searched for the scouring pad.

  Her brother hadn’t said it outright but seemed to think she had made a mistake coming back to Cape Light. Not a mistake, exactly, but a miscalculation, choosing a path that might prove too challenging.

  Had she made a mistake? Each corner of this house held memories, and most were not happy ones. Her relationship with her mother had always been strained, though Jean wished it could be otherwise. While some seniors would have been thrilled to have an adult child care for them at this stage of life, Jean knew her mother would offer little thanks or recognition. That’s just the way it was and had always been.

  But coming back to care for her mother was still the right thing to do. What her father would have wanted her to do. Her mother’s attention had been spare, but her father’s love and affection had given Jean comfort, encouragement, and strength. Though he had died when she was ten, she still sometimes felt his presence, especially when she was lonely or confused. She felt it at that moment and pictured him looking down from heaven, heartily approving of her decision. The notion made all the difference to her.

  Chapter Two

  How you doing up there, Sam?” Bart Begossian, one of Sam’s workers, held the bottom of the ladder steady as Sam slowly climbed to the top.

  “I’m good, Bart. I’m just going to take a peek at the chimney seal. I’ll be right down.”

  “You’re not going on the roof, right?”

  A wintery mix of snow and sleet had started falling an hour ago and was now coming down heavier. Sam had sent the rest of his crew to lunch early. When they came back, he would assign indoor work. The house they were working on was a gut job, needing a complete renovation, indoors and out. The outside was just about completed except for a few finishing touches. A new roof and chimney had been rebuilt last week. Sam wanted to make one last check of the tar seal around the base of the chimney. Bart had stayed with him, insisting on holding the ladder steady while Sam climbed, though Sam didn’t think the precaution was necessary.

  “Not in this weather. I’m not totally crazy.”

  “No comment, boss,” Bart shouted back.

  An unexpected gust of wind blew through the trees, and Sam felt the ladder sway. He gripped the edges with his gloved hands and held perfectly still for a moment. Maybe it was a good idea to have Bart holding the ladder today.

  He had been lucky with the weather this winter, managing to get all his outside work done before the snow fell. Even though this weather couldn’t be called snow, it did make things messy.

  He reached the top of the ladder and peered over the gutter and roof edge, his gaze searching out the chimney. The seal looked smooth and solid, though he couldn’t see the opposite side. But the roof was much too slick for him to scramble up and check at close range. Despite what Bart thought, he was not crazy enough to attempt that.

  “How’s it looking?” Bart asked.

  “Pretty good from here. I’ll get a look at the far side some other day,” he added.

  “Good idea. Some sunny day. Better yet, send Mike up. He’ll be happy to crawl all over that roof for you.”

  Mike was the youngest on the crew and by far the nimblest.

  Sam didn’t think he was too old for such work, but he knew Bart had a point. There were some parts of this job that didn’t come that easily to him these days. Not that he was likely to admit it.

  “I can still crawl around on a roof with the best of them.” Sam started down the ladder. “I’ll show you sometime.”

  “Of course you can, Sam.” Bart sounded sorry for having hinted otherwise. “I wasn’t saying that. Exactly.”

  Before Bart could say anything more, ano
ther gust of wind pushed at the ladder, catching Sam by surprise, midstep. He felt one boot slip on the slick metal rung and gripped the side of the ladder with both hands, fighting for balance. But the metal was wet and his hands slipped as both feet flew out from under him.

  “Sam, hang on, man!” Bart shouted.

  But Sam could only cling to his perch for a second. He felt the ladder slip away from him and he began to fall. Nothing between his body and the ground but thin air. As his own shocked scream and Bart’s shouting rang in his ears, he had no time to think or brace himself. His body landed in a heavy, painful heap on the icy ground.

  “Sam!” Bart ran over and touched his shoulder. The man’s panicked face loomed over him. “Can you hear me?”

  Sam nodded weakly, feeling searing pain flash through his body, like electrical currents. Bart had already pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling 911. Don’t move. They’ll be here in a minute.”

  Sam couldn’t answer or even move his head. He tasted blood on his lips. Bart had grabbed a tarp and tried to shield him from the icy rain. “I’m sorry I can’t get you inside, but it’s probably best I don’t move you. They say to never move a person after an accident.”

  Sam’s tongue felt thick and strange as he mumbled a reply. “Thass right,” he managed.

  He stared up at the muddy tarp then closed his eyes. Bart was talking, but Sam could barely make out the words. His shoulder hurt so much, like a hot knife stabbing him. And his left leg felt the same, unbearably painful. He glanced down and saw blood and a piece of bone protruding through his jeans. He felt like he might be sick.

  Call Jessica. Call my wife, he wanted to tell Bart, but it hurt too much to talk.

  He heard a siren in the distance and focused on the sound as it grew closer.

  “The ambulance is here. Thank God.” Bart’s face swam into his field of vision again. Sam couldn’t answer. His entire body throbbed with pain, especially his legs.

  He heard footsteps rushing toward him through the muddy yard. He closed his eyes again and sank into a white haze of pain.

  • • •

  Sam opened his eyes slowly and blinked. The room was dim and the pale blue walls blank, except for an empty bulletin board and a flat TV hung high in one corner. His head pounded and he closed his eyes again, then felt someone squeeze his hand.

  “Sam? Can you hear me?” He turned his head on the pillow and saw Jessica leaning toward him, her pretty face lined with worry. She sat beside the bed. Behind her, tubes, wires, and plastic bags of fluid dangled from a metal pole.

  Sam nodded and tried to sit up but he felt weak as water. He couldn’t move the right side of his body at all. His legs felt hot and encased in cement. He looked down at the sheet that covered his body and could see the odd shape underneath: both of his legs in plaster casts. The sight startled him and he tried to sit up again. “I can raise the bed. Just a minute, let me find the button,” Jessica said. He heard a whirring sound and felt the back of the bed lift. He was soon at an angle, almost but not quite sitting up.

  “How’s that? Any better?”

  He nodded. He tried to speak but his mouth felt so dry. “Some water?” he croaked.

  “Sure, you can have water.” Jessica quickly handed him a paper cup with a lid and a straw. He drank quickly, trying to remember when water had ever tasted so good.

  “You had an accident at work. Do you remember?”

  He met his wife’s searching gaze and nodded. “Most of it. I was on a ladder at the Marino property and I slipped off.”

  “That’s right. You fell nearly two stories to the ground.”

  “Wow . . . don’t remember that part. Or landing,” he added honestly.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Jessica said quietly. “You have a mild concussion.”

  “Yeah, I figured. I have a rip-roaring headache.”

  “I’ll ask the nurse if she can give you something for that. You’re already on a lot of painkillers.” She glanced at the metal pole. “Intravenously.”

  “Is that why the rest of me feels numb?” He looked back down at his body. “Did I break both my legs?”

  Jessica nodded. “The right leg was fractured. They had to put a plate in. On the left leg, the ankle and foot are broken. And you broke your right shoulder,” she added. “Luckily, they didn’t need to operate.”

  Sam glanced at his right shoulder and arm, completely immobilized.

  “Are you in any pain right now?”

  He shook his head. “I’m all right. My shoulder hurts a little. I guess the medication is strong.”

  “They said the shoulder might bother you.”

  “I should have fallen on my left arm. Why did it have to be my right? I can’t write, I can’t drive. I can’t do anything—” Sam stopped. He hated to hear people complain, and hated the sound of his own voice complaining even worse. He glanced at Jessica. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start whining like that. You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m all right.” She reached over and smoothed the hair off his forehead with a featherlight touch. “You can complain if you want. It might help you feel better to vent. You’ve been through a lot today, Sam. You don’t need to be all manly and stoic, you know.” She stuck out her jaw, making a mock-grave face.

  “I’m not,” he replied, laughing at her. “It has been a long day. A long, blurred, lost day,” he added. He glanced at the half-closed curtain. It was dark outside. He hadn’t noticed. “What time is it?”

  Jessica checked her phone. “Half past seven.”

  “That late? What about the kids? Don’t you need to get home for them?”

  “They’re with Emily. She picked them up after school and is giving them dinner. They can do their homework at her house. She waited here until the doctor came out to speak to me and told us you were being moved to a room. She said to give you a big hug. She and Dan will be by tomorrow to see you.”

  Sam was glad to hear Jessica’s sister had kept her company while the doctors were taking care of him. “That’s sweet. But I really don’t want any visitors, Jess. Maybe once I get home. They won’t keep me here long, will they?”

  “I’m not sure, honey. The doctor didn’t say yet. I hope not. I called Darrell. I didn’t want to keep anything from him.”

  “Of course not. You had to tell him,” Sam replied. “Was he upset?”

  “Well, he says he’s coming home.”

  “Coming home? He just got back to school last night. There’s no reason for him to come home. I look like a mummy in this plaster outfit, but there’s nothing he can do.”

  “That’s what I told him. But he’s worried about you. You know how he gets.”

  Sam didn’t answer. Sam and his adopted son had always shared a special bond, one that had only grown stronger with each passing year. Sam had met Darrell when he was nine years old. The boy was living at New Horizons, a Cape Light center for inner-city children who were at risk. Darrell had never known his real father, and his birth mother struggled with drug addiction. He had been left in his grandmother’s care, but she had grown too old and sick to keep up with him. The boy had begun hanging around with the wrong kids and had gotten into minor trouble shoplifting and skipping school. He had been placed at New Horizons to help get onto a better track.

  Sam met Darrell while working as a volunteer at the center. He and Jessica had been married a short time and were trying to start a family, though Jessica had suffered two miscarriages and they were not sure that dream would ever come true. When it came time for Darrell to be placed in foster care, Sam couldn’t give him up. He knew that the boy was meant to be his child—his and Jessica’s—a gift from heaven above he could not turn down.

  A lot of Sam’s friends reported tension and conflict when their sons reached adolescence. Growing pains that were par for the course, Sam had heard. But he and Darrell h
ad never hit a rough patch in their relationship. Now twenty-two, Darrell was about to graduate from Boston University, and Sam was very proud of his son and proud of their close relationship.

  “Give me the phone. I’ll call him. He’ll calm down if he hears me tell him I’ll all right.”

  Jessica dialed Darrell’s number and handed Sam her phone. It felt odd holding the phone in his left hand, but he managed, listening while it rang and rang. “These kids, they never pick up the phone. If you don’t text, they won’t talk to you.”

  Suddenly his son picked up. “Hello?”

  “Darrell, it’s Dad. I know Mom told you I had a little accident. But I’m all right. Well . . . not perfect. But nothing that won’t heal. There’s no reason for you to rush back home and miss classes this week,” Sam said. “Maybe you could come home on the weekend and—”

  Darrell laughed. “Too late, Dad. I’m already at the hospital. I’m on my way up to your room. See you in a sec.”

  “He’s here,” Sam said.

  “Yes, I heard.” She took her phone back and shrugged. “We didn’t want him to go far from home for college, so . . .”

  Sam couldn’t deny that. He had felt comfortable knowing Darrell was in Boston, about a two-hour drive away, where they could visit him easily or he could come home quickly if he wanted to. Though he had been very independent the past four years and rarely came back to Cape Light unless it was for a holiday or a vacation.

  Or a family emergency, which, thank goodness, happened rarely.

  Jessica stood up and refilled Sam’s cup with water. “He just wants to see for himself that you’re all right. He doesn’t need to stay long.”

  “Right. I’ll tell him that and you do the same,” he added, just to make sure they were on the same page. “Help me sit up a little more, will you?”

  He wasn’t quite as comfortable sitting up as he had been lying down, but he thought it would make him look as if he felt better, and give Darrell a better impression.