“Good point. I’ll remember that.”
“Happy to pass on my words of wisdom. I guess I am getting old,” Sam added with a laugh. “And these notes will come in handy when I find a contractor or foreman.”
Darrell’s smile sagged. “You’re still looking? Really? Wouldn’t you have found someone by now if anyone was available?”
Darrell had a point. Sam had called all the top firms and possible foremen he knew and could trust, but they were all too busy to take the work. He was now calling firms and site managers that had been recommended. He didn’t have a very good feeling about that, though he would never admit that to his son.
“I just showed you I can handle this. I can be your foreman, Dad. You just said I did a great job today.”
“Of course you did. I knew you would,” Sam replied, though in truth he hadn’t been all that sure. But Darrell’s report and their conversation had truly impressed him. “Listen, buddy, just give me a day or two more to beat the bushes. In the meantime, I guess you can keep the jobs up and running. But I’m still not happy about you missing school. This is an important semester for you.”
“I know, I know.” Darrell looked somewhat mollified by Sam’s offer. “But I already told you, all my profs say I can finish the semester at home. I can take finals online and hand in my papers and projects by e-mail. Even if I need to make a model or two, I can easily drive back to BU one day and drop that off.”
Sam didn’t want to argue with his son. He would worry about that if he actually found a professional to take over the work. Which was looking more and more unlikely. “Let’s see what happens in a few days and decide then.”
Jessica came in with a dish of cookies and two mugs of tea. She set the cookies on the table, and Darrell grabbed one, scarfing down half of it in a single bite. Sam watched with a pang of envy.
“I’m going to the gym. Want anything from the outside world?”
“No, thanks. I’m good. Don’t get back too late. You have work tomorrow,” Sam teased him.
Darrell turned in the doorway and shot him a grin. “I know.”
Jessica sat at the table, opposite Sam. She picked up a cookie and chewed with a thoughtful expression. “I know it’s your decision, but I have to say, I’m very proud him. He feels a very deep responsibility to our family, Sam.”
“Yes, he does. I’m proud of him, too.”
“I think you should let him do it. It sounds like he’s good at it, and he really wants to help you. I think he’ll feel very bad if you refuse the gift he’s offering. As if you don’t respect or trust him enough.”
“Of course I respect him. Darrell’s highly intelligent, and he’s got a real feel for building. He’s going to make a fine architect. Once he gets his four-year degree and goes to grad school,” he added.
Jessica sipped her tea. “No one is saying that plan is in jeopardy. But honestly, listening to you, it sounds like it is.”
Sam wondered if that was true. “I’m thinking of what’s best for Darrell. And that’s going back to school and finishing his semester, so he can get good grades and get into a good grad school.”
“I understand. But he already has excellent grades. I think he can finish the term from here just fine. Don’t you?”
Sam sighed. “He’s very responsible. I know he’ll do his work. Even if he has more distractions here.”
“So what’s the problem?” she asked bluntly. “It’s not as if you have a guy like Joe Kelley around to take over. You told me yourself: if you found someone, it would be a stranger. Don’t you trust Darrell to do this job more than you would a stranger?”
Sam met his wife’s dark blue eyes. Jessica had a knack for boiling things down and making a point in a way that was hard to refute.
“And if Darrell keeps the projects running, it would be much better for the family financially,” she added. “I think you know that’s true, too.”
Sam picked up a large chocolate chip cookie. Finally giving in to temptation, he took a giant bite. “If the animal rescue business doesn’t work out, I think you should become a lawyer,” he said finally. “Have you rested your case?”
She smiled, looking pleased at the compliment. “I have, Your Honor.”
“Good. I’ll sleep on it,” he promised, then finished off the rest of the cookie.
• • •
Jean thought a trip to church was too ambitious. For one thing, the temperature had dipped down into the low thirties and she didn’t want her mother to catch a chill. For another, she had hoped to linger over coffee and read the Sunday paper this morning. She had been working hard all week, cleaning out the house. Wasn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?
She thought to ask her mother that question, but instead said, “Are you sure you’re up to it, Mom? You didn’t have much energy yesterday.”
“I feel perfectly fine today. I don’t even need to lug this old tank around.” Cynthia slapped the oxygen tank that was attached to her wheelchair. “I haven’t been out of this house in weeks except to visit the doctor. The least you can do is take me to church, Jean. If you really don’t want to, I’ll call a taxi. Just help me get dressed.”
Her mother stared across the breakfast table with her chin raised at a defiant angle. It was true; she rarely left the house anymore, and the confinement would wear on anyone’s nerves.
“Of course I’ll come with you. I’ll help you dress, and then I’ll take a fast shower.”
Jean had been helping her mother bathe and dress since she had arrived. Most of the time, her mother wasn’t fussy about her clothes and didn’t even seem to care if items matched. But now, she was acting like a five-year-old getting ready for the first day of school as Jean tried to pick out an outfit with her.
“Not that sweater. I said the blue one,” her mother snapped. “Powder blue. Not navy.”
Jean returned to the closet, sifted through the hangers again, and finally found the sweater her mother wanted.
“That’s the one. There should be a matching a cardigan in there somewhere, too.”
“‘Somewhere’ being the operative word?” Jean wrestled with the bunched-up hangers. The closet was packed with clothes, most of them decades out of fashion. She recognized dresses her mother had worn when Kevin was in high school. “A lot of these clothes can go to charity, Mom. I bet you don’t wear half of them.”
Cynthia took the cardigan from Jean’s hand and smoothed it on her lap. “You can do that when I’m dead. You can give everything away at once. It will be a lot be easier.”
Jean couldn’t deny that was true, but her mother’s blunt reply took her breath away. Did her mother really accept her mortality so easily? Or was the remark just bravado, meant to draw a reaction?
“I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be down in five minutes,” Jean said.
It was another ordeal to get her mother properly bundled up and out to the car in her wheelchair. Then get her mother into the car and the wheelchair stowed in the cargo area of Jean’s Subaru.
Luckily, they lived very close to the church, which was in the village green, at the harbor, on the opposite end of Main Street. Still, Jean doubted they would get there on time.
“I hate to go into the service late. You know that, Jean,” her mother said as Jean searched for a handicapped space in the parking lot.
“We’ll slip in the back. No one will notice,” Jean promised her.
“Reverend Ben will. He’ll be looking right at me.”
“Reverend Ben will be happy that you’ve come at all,” Jean said. She knew that was true, too.
A few minutes later, with the help of one of the deacons, Jean pushed her mother’s chair through a side door of the sanctuary and searched for an empty rear aisle where they could sit.
Reverend Ben stood in front of the altar and began the call to worship. Jean handed h
er mother a program and pointed to the prayer. “We didn’t miss too much. Just the announcements.”
“And the Advent candles,” her mother replied. “I like that part. We won’t miss it next week.”
Next week? Was this going to be a regular Sunday morning activity? Jean sighed and sat back in the pew. You came home to help your mother in her final days, she reminded herself. If she wants to go to church every week, that’s what you have to do.
Jean focused on the program again. It was time to sing a hymn. Jean couldn’t find a hymnal, but the music was printed out in her mother’s “large type” program. Her mother nudged Jean with her elbow and held out the page, indicating they should share it.
Jean leaned toward her and began singing, listening to her mother’s raspy voice rise and fall with the notes. Her mother once had a lovely singing voice but could hardly hold a note now. Still, she sat up straight and sang as loud as she was able. As if she didn’t notice her voice was gone. Or maybe, just didn’t care.
When the song was over, she smiled and met Jean’s gaze and nodded. For the first time in a long time, Jean saw joy in her mother’s expression. Jean sat back, knowing she would take her mother to church every day if simply singing a hymn could make her this happy.
The service continued with more prayers and the Scripture readings. The Gospel reading was from the Book of Mark, and Jean followed along in the small Bible that she found next to her seat. The reading was about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, describing the end of days.
“‘But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father . . . ’” Reverend Ben read. “‘Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.’”
Jean’s thoughts turned to her mother, her days clearly numbered. Yet no one knew exactly how many more there would be, not the doctors or nurses or even the angels above.
Jean hoped that however difficult it might be, she would help her mother enjoy these last days as much as she possibly could. Not just oversee her mother’s physical care, or even get the house in order, but try her best to bring some joy back into her mother’s life, which anyone could see was a dark, lonely place.
Maybe they didn’t have the close, warm relationship some mothers and daughters shared, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give her mother this one last gift. Maybe it was all the more reason she should try.
After the sermon, it was time for the congregation to share their news and ask for prayers during Joys and Concerns.
Reverend Ben called on Vera Plante, who sat a few rows in front of them. “Yes, Vera. Do you have a joy to share with us today?”
Vera stood, then turned and smiled at Jean and her mother. “I’m very happy to see Cynthia Whitman and her daughter, Jean, in church today. It’s wonderful to have you with us, Cynthia.”
Someone started clapping and everyone else joined in, everyone turning in their seats to smile at her mother. Jean could practically feel the waves of warmth and affection.
Her mother looked surprised, then overwhelmed. She couldn’t stand but waved her hand. “Thank you, Vera. Thank you, everyone. Very much.” Jean thought her mother might start crying, her eyes looked so glassy. But she dabbed her nose on a tissue and smiled at Jean for a moment. “Silly Vera. I hate to have all that attention focused on me. She knows that.”
“Very silly,” Jean agreed.
After the service, many of Cynthia’s friends came over to greet her. So many that Jean couldn’t budge the wheelchair.
“The Christmas Fair Committee is meeting right after Fellowship Hour. They’re serving lunch, too. Why don’t you come, Cynthia?” Vera asked. “You always have so many good ideas. I can wheel you around. Jean doesn’t have to stay.”
Her mother considered the invitation. Jean was sure she would refuse. “I think I will,” she said. She turned to Jean. “You can come back in a while and pick me up.”
“I can take you home, Cynthia. That’s no trouble,” Vera said.
Jean had been sure her mother would want a nap after church and had planned to use that time to work on her children’s book. She would have even more time now with her mother occupied and in Vera’s watchful care.
“If you’re sure you’re not too tired, Mom,” Jean said.
“Not the least bit,” Cynthia assured her.
“All right, but make sure you call me if you want to leave early, and use the oxygen if you need it,” she added. Despite her mother’s vow at the breakfast table, Jean would not go out without attaching the trusty tank to the back of the wheelchair.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time without your help, Jean. I think I know by now if I need my oxygen or not.”
The rebuke stung, but Jean knew it was true. Her mother had been left on her own for far too long.
“I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” Vera’s breezy tone smoothed things over. Vera took the handles of her mother’s chair and began steering her out of the sanctuary. “We’d better get over to Fellowship Hall,” Jean heard Vera say. “Sophie Potter is hosting coffee hour, and you know how fast her cakes go.”
Jean watched the two women for a moment as they disappeared down the hallway. She had come to the service thinking of her role as her mother’s chaperone. Or even her chauffeur. Jean hadn’t expected to feel involved in the service at all. But she had enjoyed it. She felt refreshed, her spirits lifted. Jean buttoned her coat and pulled on her gloves before heading outside. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a chore to take her mother to church on Sundays, after all.
A cluster of people stood at the big wooden doors, slowly making their way out. Jean waited behind a mother with two children, a girl and a boy. The boy, who looked about four or five, was having trouble zipping up his jacket, and the woman turned and crouched down to help him. Jean stared down at her a moment then edged her way to the other side of the line.
Laurel Milner? Jean suddenly doubted her own eyes, then sneaked another look. It was definitely Laurel. Her features had matured and she had cut her hair. But there was no mistaking her. Laurel hadn’t changed much. She was still very pretty in a natural, “girl next door” way.
What was she doing here? Jean had heard that Kevin’s old flame had gotten married and moved somewhere down south. North Carolina? Maybe she was in Cape Light visiting family. Her parents or siblings could still be in town.
Jean wondered if she should tell Kevin. The relationship had not ended well. Even though years had passed and her brother had married—and divorced—and had probably dated many women since, Jean had a feeling talking about Laurel would still disturb him. There was really no point, she decided.
And no point telling her mother either, who never had a nice thing to say about Laurel and certainly would not now. Still, Jean had always liked Laurel. She wondered what her life was like now and what had brought her back to Cape Light. But for many reasons, Jean didn’t stop to talk to her.
Jean stepped out into the crisp winter air and headed for her car, feeling more contented than she had since coming home. She was about to dive back into her children’s book, and her mother was helping out with the Christmas Fair. Despite this being such a difficult time, the two of them were genuinely enjoying the day. Surely, Jean thought, that was a blessing.
Chapter Six
Disproving her doubts, Grant Keating arrived bright and early Monday morning. Jean had been taking care of her mother—serving her breakfast, washing and dressing her, the usual routine—but hadn’t yet taken care of herself yet when he came to the door.
She and her mother both heard the doorbell. Cynthia looked at her while Jean looked down at the sweatshirt she wore over flannel pajama bottoms printed with polar bears, her fuzzy slippers peeking out at the bottom. Not the most alluring nighttime attire, that was for sure. The upstairs bedrooms were frigid this time of year, and Cynthia insisted t
hat the thermostat be kept very low at night.
“That must be the handyman,” her mother said. “Don’t just stand there. He’ll think we’re not home and go away.”
If only, Jean thought. She headed to the foyer, deciding she could hide behind the front door and all he would see was the sweatshirt.
The bell sounded again and she opened the door a crack, just her head poking out. Grant wore his usual utility jacket with a denim shirt underneath and a black T-shirt underneath that. His thick brown hair, tinged with gray, was still damp from a shower and combed back from his forehead. He looked very handsome, she thought. Too handsome for this early on a Monday.
“Good morning, Jean. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Not at all. We’re up. Wait here a moment, I’ll get you to the key to the shop.”
Jean intended to shut the door and have him wait on the porch, but her mother had quietly made her way into the room on her walker, and planted herself so close that Jean nearly knocked her over when she turned around.
“Let him in, for goodness’ sake. Where are your manners?”
Before Jean could respond, her mother made her way to the door and opened it again. “No need to stand out in the cold. Please come in.”
Grant looked pleased by the invitation. He smiled at her mother and rubbed his hands together. Bare hands, Jean noticed. Didn’t he own a pair of gloves? It was cold out today, the sky a shade of crystalline blue that only seemed to appear in winter.
Jean thought she had left the shop key on a hook near the back door, but couldn’t find it. She rummaged through a kitchen drawer, searching for a spare.
“Would you like some coffee, Grant?” she heard her mother ask. Jean stifled a groan as she waited for his reply.
“Thanks, but I don’t want to trouble you,” he said.
“No trouble at all. Jean? Is there any coffee left?” her mother called. “If not, put on a fresh pot. I’d like some more.”
You’re not supposed to have any coffee, Jean wanted to remind her, much less extra cups in the morning. But she didn’t want to embarrass her mother, who always tried so hard to seem fit and “normal” in front those who didn’t know her well.
Christmas Blessings Page 10