“It was fine. A little too much chitchat for me. Vera just wanted to finish the pot holders. That’s why she had us over.”
Jean suspected the Vera had made a very nice party for the group and that her mother had enjoyed herself more than she was letting on. “It must have been fun to get together,” Jean said.
“Great fun. I was jumping with joy,” her mother replied sarcastically. “I’m sure you had a much better time. You totally forgot me. I felt abandoned. It was so humiliating to have Emily Warwick take me home.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. You should have called.” Jean had managed to get her mother’s dress, stockings, and boots off, and looked through her drawer for a nightgown.
“I don’t know why you went out with him in the first place. Sheer boredom, maybe. Or perhaps he flatters you. He’s no better than a day laborer, living in a boarding house. And most of the time, his appearance is appalling.”
Jean took a breath to get hold of her temper. “He’s far from a day laborer, Mom. You know that. Do you expect him to wear a tuxedo to clean the mold off the bathroom ceiling?”
“Don’t be snide. You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t. He’s a very accomplished photographer, and he used to own an advertising agency. He’s traveled around the world and has values I admire. You should understand that, being an artist yourself.”
Her mother raised her arms and allowed Jean to pull on the nightgown. She patted her hair afterward and sighed. “An advertising agency. Really. I guess you believe him, too.” Before Jean could reply, she added, “Do what you wish. You’re too old to listen to anything I say. Even though I say these things for you own good. Your father expected great accomplishments from you, but frankly, I never did.”
Jean felt stunned by her mother’s rebuke. She knew Cynthia hated to be proven wrong and would argue fiercely to save face. But still, the words stung in a way that Jean had thought she had long outgrown.
Jean left the room feeling cowed and deflated. She stood in the dark living room and wished that her father was alive. She was his favorite and could still remember a golden time when he was alive and she was an outgoing child, spirited and happy, feeling so sure of herself because she was sure she was loved. After her father died, she retreated into her inner world. It was a great loss. One she knew she had never really recovered from.
Of all the things her mother said, what hurt most was to think that her father would have been disappointed in her.
Maybe her mother was right. She had never accomplished anything of note, not even marrying and raising children. But another voice insisted on being heard: Grant Keating likes you. He thinks you’re special. He wants to see your illustrations and is sure that the work is wonderful. He’s accomplished a lot and met a lot of people in the world. More than your mother ever has.
Remembering all that and Grant’s tender good-night kiss boosted Jean’s spirits again as she headed to bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Jean woke to the sight of a clear blue sky. She felt relieved. There had been talk of snow flurries, and she worried that bad weather would make her mother’s trip to church this morning for the fair an even greater challenge. Her mother had been insistent about taking part, even for a short time, and Jean doubted she could talk her out of it. At least the weather was cooperating, and it would bring even more crowds to the fair today.
She went downstairs and started the coffee, then went into her mother’s room. She was surprised to find her mother still fast asleep, breathing deeply. Her color wasn’t good. She had probably needed oxygen during the night but hadn’t put on the mask, even though Jean had left it well within reach.
Jean touched her shoulder. “Mom? Do you want to get up? It’s past nine. You wanted to get to church early,” she reminded her.
Her mother shook her head but didn’t open her eyes or even try to sit up. “I’m very tired, Jean. I don’t feel well. Leave me be.”
Jean wondered what was really going on. Her mother seemed more irritable than tired. Maybe that was all it was. “All right. You can sleep as late as you like. But you need to take some pills. I’ll bring them in for you in a few minutes.”
Jean left the room, unable to ignore a spike of worry. She had rarely seen her mother like this. The party must have tired her out more than Jean had realized.
She made her mother a tray with tea and toast, along with her medication. Cynthia sat up briefly, hardly ate a bite, but did take her pills. Then she slipped down under the covers, looking exhausted by the effort.
Jean sat with her a moment until she fell asleep again. Her breath was raspy, even with the aid of oxygen. Her color was definitely not good.
Back in the kitchen she called Dr. Nevins’s office and left a message with the answering service. She called Barbara Crosby next. Barbara was not due to visit until Sunday, but when Jean described her mother’s condition, the nurse said she would come by soon.
“She might just be tired from the party. Don’t worry, Jean. Let’s see what Dr. Nevins says. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Jean thanked her and hung up. She wished Barbara could come right away, but the nurse had other patients to see, and it was good of her to come at all today.
Jean didn’t know what to do with herself while she waited. She had already decided to take a break from cleaning. After breakfast, she took out her artwork and set up on the kitchen table. Then she set her phone alarm to make sure she looked in on her mother every ten minutes. It was hard to concentrate. She looked over her work, but couldn’t focus enough to make any progress.
She didn’t even need the alarm. Each time she checked, there was no change in her mother’s condition. Her mother slept deeply, an unnaturally deep sleep for the time of day, Jean thought. Cynthia seemed unaware of Jean being in the room, even when Jean adjusted the covers or the oxygen tube in her nose.
Jean heard the phone ring and ran back to the kitchen. It was her mother’s specialist, Dr. Nevins. It had taken less than an hour for him to get the message and call back, but it definitely felt longer.
Jean quickly described her mother’s symptoms. “She went out last night. A get-together at a friend’s house for a few hours. She must have gotten home around ten or ten thirty at the latest,” Jean explained. “But maybe the outing was too tiring for her?”
“That’s possible, Jean. But, as I’ve explained, your mother’s heart is getting weaker and her organs are starting to fail, especially her liver and lungs. She could have stayed at home last night and still woken up this way today. There’s no way for us to know.”
“I understand,” Jean replied. The facts of the matter, stated so plainly, made her feel sad. “Is there anything I can do for her? Any medication you can prescribe to help her?”
“I can’t prescribe anything over the phone without seeing her. My first concern is pneumonia. I don’t normally make house calls, but I’ll come see her if I can. The problem is I’m out in Worcester, giving a talk. I won’t be back in Cape Light until this evening.” Jean knew that Worcester was a good hour and a half way. “I don’t think you should wait that long,” Dr. Nevins went on. “I think you should call an ambulance now, and she should be admitted to the hospital.”
The last thing Jean wanted was to fail to give her mother proper care. But she also knew Cynthia did not want to be hospitalized.
“Do you really think that’s necessary? Barbara Crosby, her visiting nurse, is coming soon. Maybe she could examine my mother and call you, and we could decide from there?”
Dr. Nevins didn’t answer for a moment. “All right. I know Barbara and trust her opinion. Keep your eye on your mother and call me if there’s any sudden change. I know it’s hard, but make your mother take liquids at least. She mustn’t get dehydrated. And have Barbara call me as soon as she takes a look at your mother.”
The doctor gave Jean his
private cell phone number so that she didn’t have to call the service again, and they said good-bye.
Jean still felt nervous but somewhat reassured by the plan. Too distracted now to even think of painting, she gathered up the illustrations and slipped them back into the black portfolio.
She heard a knock on the back door and hoped that it was Barbara, though she had never come in that way before. She turned and saw Grant peeking through the window.
“Morning,” he said when she opened the door. “I came to pick up a ladder I left in the shop and saw you in here. I thought I’d say hello.”
Jean thought he might call, but a visit was even better. “Come in. Would you like some coffee? It’s still warm.”
“No thanks. I can see you’re working.” He glanced at the paints that were still out and the portfolio on the table. “Am I not allowed to look?” He pulled his knit cap down over his eyes, making her laugh.
“I just put it all away.”
“You said I could see it when it was finished, remember?” he reminded her. “Getting any closer?”
Jean felt a flock of butterflies in her stomach but forced a smile. “I have a bit more to finish, but you can see what’s done so far.” She forced herself to pick up the portfolio and hand it to him. “Just be careful with it. It’s my only copy.”
He looked shocked and held out the folder as if it were very fragile. “Are you sure? I was only teasing you, Jean. I can wait if you’re not ready.”
“You’d better take it, before I change my mind.”
He laughed. “I’m honored. I’ll take good care of it. I can’t wait to see what’s inside.”
Jean felt flattered by his excitement but also nervous, worried that he might think the illustrations were an amateur mess.
“I’m surprised to find you home,” he said. “I thought you were taking your mother to church today, for the fair.”
“She’s not feeling well. She’s still in bed. I just spoke to her doctor. He’s worried that she has pneumonia and wanted me to call an ambulance. But Barbara Crosby is coming to see her soon. We’ll decide then what to do. She might just be tired out from Vera’s party.”
Grant looked concerned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she will rally soon. Let me know if I can help you. At least it didn’t snow today,” he said, glancing outside. “I’m meeting a friend in Newburyport. We’re going to shoot some photos of the harbor.”
“That’s a beautiful place. The village looks wonderful this time of year.” Jean wondered if he had planned to ask her to tag along. Maybe he would have if her mother hadn’t been sick. She loved Newburyport and would have liked to spend the day there with him.
“I’ll call you later to see how your mother is doing,” he said.
He said good-bye and left, the packet of illustrations tucked under his arm. Jean felt a tinge of melancholy as she saw him drive away but reminded herself that he had come by to see her. Even if he had not asked her for another date, that was a good sign.
Jean was putting away the last of her paints and drawing supplies when Barbara arrived. They went straight back to her mother’s room.
Cynthia was still listless and groggy. Barbara quickly took her vital signs. Then persuaded her mother to drink some water before she laid back on the pillows and closed her eyes again.
“She hasn’t had a stroke, and I don’t hear signs of pneumonia,” Barbara said, easing some of Jean’s fears. “But her heart is definitely working very hard, Jean. I’ll call Dr. Nevins and see what he wants to do.”
“I’m awake you know. I can hear everything you say,” her mother mumbled. “There’s no need to talk about me as if I wasn’t in the room.”
“Sorry, Cynthia. I’m going to call Dr. Nevins. He wants to know how you’re doing.”
“I could be better,” her mother replied. “And I could be worse. Tell him that for me.”
Barbara dialed Dr. Nevins on her cell phone, described Cynthia’s symptoms, and relayed her vital signs. “I see. Yes. I’ll tell her that—”
“I can speak to my own doctor, for goodness’ sake,” Jean’s mother said in her loudest voice yet. “Give me the phone, please.”
“Hold on, she’d like to speak with you, Doctor.” Barbara handed down the phone, and Jean watched her mother struggle to sit up.
“This is Cynthia Whitman. Your patient. Do you have something to tell me, Doctor?”
Jean and Barbara glanced at each other, sharing a secret smile. Jean’s mother listened for a few moments, then said, “Absolutely not. I have no need of a hospital. I’m really past that point. If this isn’t the end, I’ll get through it. I’ve had setbacks like this in the past. If it is indeed the final act, I want the curtain to go down while I’m in my own bed. The only way I’m leaving this house, Doctor, will be feet first.”
“She still knows her mind. That’s a good sign,” Barbara whispered to Jean.
“You come by if you like. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere today,” her mother said to the doctor. “I’m going to put my daughter on. You can make the arrangements with her.”
“I’ve told Barbara to take a blood test. We need to rule out pneumonia or some other infection,” Dr. Nevins explained when Jean took the phone. “Keep working on the fluids. I’ll be by around five o’clock. I’d prefer that Cynthia be admitted to the hospital, but we’ll respect her wishes.”
“Good,” Jean said. “I think that’s what we have to do.” Barbara took the blood specimen then spent some time making Jean’s mother more comfortable. Jean went into the living room and dialed her brother.
Kevin picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Jean. What’s up?”
She could tell from his cautious tone that he was wondering if she had called to bug him again about coming home for Christmas.
“Mom isn’t well, Kevin. She’s very weak and could barely rouse herself to talk to the doctor. Dr. Nevins wants to put her in the hospital, but Mom refused.”
“Is she that bad?” He sounded concerned and alarmed. “Maybe she should go, Jean. No matter what she says.”
“I was thinking the same way. Until I heard her talk to the doctor. She’s perfectly lucid and able to make the decision for herself. That’s the hard part,” she added. “Her nurse came by, Barbara Crosby. She examined her and doesn’t think it was a stroke or even pneumonia, thank goodness. The doctor is nice enough to come by later. I can call you back and let you know what he says.”
“Sure, call me back. Can I speak to Mom?”
“Of course. Barbara is with her now. I’ll bring the phone back. Hold on.”
Jean returned to her mother’s room. Barbara had bathed her mother and combed her hair, and taken her to the bathroom. Cynthia looked a bit better, sitting back against a pile of pillows.
“It’s Kevin, Mom. He wants to talk to you.”
Her mother stretched out her hand and took the phone. “Kevin? What did Jean tell you? I don’t want you to worry. I’m not half as bad as they make me out to be.”
Her mother listened for a moment, then said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine in a day or two.” She paused. “Of course I’d like to see you. I’d love to see you. But you don’t have to go to all that trouble. Don’t you need to be in the office?”
She listened again, then nodded and smiled. “All right, dear. If you insist. But don’t be mad if you find me dancing a jig, and you’ve come all that way for nothing.” Jean couldn’t hear Kevin’s reply, but her mother laughed. “I hope so, too, dear. You have a safe trip. See you soon.”
She handed the phone back to Jean. “Kevin is coming. He wants to speak to you again.”
Jean took the phone, feeling surprised and relieved by the news. If her mother was facing her final days, Jean was glad she would not be alone. And her brother needed to be here. She was relieved he had realized that.
>
“I’ll let you know when I’ve made my reservations, Jean. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. “Let me know what the doctor says.”
“I will, Kevin. I’ll speak to you later. Thank you for . . . for coming home. I know it means the world to Mom. No matter what she says.”
He was silent for a moment. She sensed that he felt uncomfortable. “Thank you for taking care of her, Jean. I’ll talk to you later.”
Barbara left but told Jean to call if she needed anything at all. “Even if you just want to chat. And do let me know what Dr. Nevins says when he comes by later. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon, but call if you need me sooner.”
Jean thanked her, grateful for her concern and her friendship. She felt too distracted the rest of the day to do much. She sat in her mother’s room with a book but couldn’t concentrate.
She considered calling Grant. He said he would call for an update on her mother’s condition. She assumed he meant later that night. He was probably busy now in Newburyport, taking photos. She didn’t want to bother him. She didn’t want him to think she was too clingy after just one date. She decided to wait for him to call her.
She finally gave up on the book, went into the kitchen, and took out some ingredients for baking. Baking or cooking never failed to soothe her nerves, and she had the perfect excuse today to make cookies. Next Sunday was Christmas Eve, and even though it was only herself and her mother and now Kevin in the house, it wouldn’t feel like Christmas without some sweet treats.
Dr. Nevins arrived a few minutes after five, just as he had promised. Jean showed him back to her mother’s room. Cynthia was asleep again, sitting up against the pillows, her head flopped to one side like a broken doll.
She woke up and blinked when she heard Jean and the doctor come into the room. “Dr. Nevins. I forgot you were coming to see me. Don’t you know that doctors never make house calls anymore?”
Dr. Nevins smiled. He was a dapper-looking man with silver hair and an expensive navy blue suit. “Only for my favorite patients, Cynthia. Don’t let it get around.” He sat on the edge of her bed and took out a stethoscope from his bag. “Let’s listen to your heart, please,” he said, his expression turning suddenly serious and focused.
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