He listened a long time then listened to her lungs. Then he gave her a complete examination. At last he said, “We need to wait for the blood test to come back to be certain, but I don’t believe that you have pneumonia.”
“That’s good news,” Jean said.
“There is a great deal of fluid in your lungs, Cynthia. If it was anyone else, I’d be calling an ambulance right now.”
“We’ve already discussed that. My mind is made up.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m not pressing it. I’ll let you have your way, this time. We’ll wait and see how it goes.”
“My son, Kevin, is coming from California,” she said. “You’ll have to talk to him from now on. He’ll stick up for me.”
Jean felt a jolt. As if she had not been sticking up for her mother?
“I look forward to meeting him.” The doctor rose and took his bag. He said good-bye to Cynthia and promised he would see her soon.
Jean walked the doctor to the door and gave him his coat. “Keep an eye on her,” the doctor said, his tone concerned. “She might surprise us and come through this. We should know more by tomorrow. You can call me any time.”
“I will, Doctor. Thanks again for stopping by.”
“Cynthia has been my patient for a long time. And you’ve been a very good advocate for her, Jean. She’s lucky to have you in her corner,” he said quietly.
Jean thanked him and said good night. As she closed the door, she wondered if her mother intended for Kevin to be the one to deal with the doctors now. He was officially her mother’s medical proxy, but she doubted Kevin wanted it that way. For one thing, he had barely been in the medical loop the last few years. Jean had at least come home from time to time to drive her mother to tests and appointments with her specialists.
Her mother might get over this crisis and be back to her old self in a few days. But the end was clearly closer. Jean had many regrets about their relationship—too many to be papered over by coming to live here and taking care of her mother these last weeks. It just didn’t work like that, Jean realized.
• • •
Reverend Ben noticed that Cynthia and Jean Whitman were not at the service Sunday morning, but he didn’t think much of it. Many seniors didn’t feel well from time to time and found it hard to come to church every week. He found out during Joys & Concerns that Cynthia was feeling poorly. Vera Plante announced it and asked for prayers. He usually visited sick members of the congregation and shut-ins on Mondays, but he was concerned about Cynthia. Her condition seemed so fragile the last time he had visited. He called the Whitman house right after the service and spoke to Jean.
“I’d like to come see her this afternoon, if that would be all right. Do you think she’s up to having a visitor, Jean?”
“I think she’d like to see you, Reverend. She isn’t very talkative, but she did mention that she missed going to church this morning.”
He left from church and arrived at Cynthia’s house a few minutes after twelve. Jean led him back to Cynthia’s room. Even though the house looked exactly the same, the sense of illness hung in the air. A certain stillness and tension. A sense of waiting. It was hard to express exactly, but he knew the feeling well by now. He’d encountered it many times, in many houses.
Cynthia’s room was dimly lit, but he found her sitting up in bed. She was asleep with the Sunday newspaper spread out on the quilt. “She wanted to read but must have dozed off,” Jean said. She touched her mother’s shoulder and gently woke her.
Cynthia’s small blue eyes blinked and focused on him. “Reverend Ben. I thought for a moment I’d imagined you standing there.”
“It’s me, Cynthia. I’ve come to see you. How do you feel today?”
“Oh, I’ve felt better . . . and I’ve felt worse. I think I’ve improved a little from yesterday,” she added, glancing at Jean.
“She has a little more energy today. Her nurse is coming later. We’ll see what she thinks.”
“For goodness’ sake, I know if I feel better, Jean. I don’t need that Barbara Crosby to tell me.”
Reverend Ben smiled. Her voice was raspy but her spitfire spirit was still intact. That was a good sign.
“Why don’t you bring us some tea, Jean?” Cynthia said. “I could use a cup and I’m sure Reverend Ben would like some.”
“I don’t want to wear you out. I won’t stay long.”
“At least have some tea. When the minister comes, you have to offer him something,” Cynthia said, making Ben laugh.
“The kettle is on. I’ll bring it in a moment.” Jean left the room, and Ben took a seat next to Cynthia’s bed.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the fair,” he said. “It was a great success. Everyone was talking about your ornaments. They sold out very quickly. Jessica Morgan ran that booth, and she even took down phone numbers of people who want to order more from you.”
Reverend Ben could see Cynthia sit up a little higher, her expression lighting with pride. “I won’t be making any more of those. But it’s nice to know.”
Jean returned with the tea, gave them each a cup, and left a dish of cookies on the nightstand. The cookies looked homemade, with Christmas decorations. He took a peanut butter cookie and Cynthia selected a butter cookie, in a star shape, then dipped it in her tea. He thought that was a good sign, too.
“I’m not hungry for regular food. Jean has to nag me. But I still want my sweets,” she said.
“These cookies are good enough to encourage anyone,” he replied, taking a bite of his.
“I gave everyone a scare. Even Kevin. He’s coming back from California,” she told Ben. “But it’s not quite the end. I think I’ll get through this episode, but it doesn’t bode well,” she admitted. “If not this time, it will be soon. I know what you’re going to say,” she added, setting her tea aside. “No one knows the day or the hour, except God above. But the road signs are telling me it’s closer.”
Ben couldn’t argue with that. “You seem . . . resigned, Cynthia. Is that really so?”
“Yes . . . and no. I have regrets, Reverend. More than I expected,” she said in a quieter tone. “But it’s too late to do anything about them. That’s the very definition of a regret, wouldn’t you say? Things that you want to do over. That you know you could have done differently or better. But you can’t go back in time. That’s the problem now.”
“I understand. If it’s any comfort, there is no life ever lived free of regrets, Cynthia. No life,” he repeated.
She shrugged, her thin shoulders sharp and gaunt under her nightgown. “Maybe so. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“We can’t change the past. That is so. No one is perfect. God didn’t make us that way.”
“Why didn’t He? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because He wants us to experience free will and forgiveness. Forgiving those who have wronged us and asking for forgiveness for our own missteps and misdeeds. Just the way He forgives us, if we ask Him to and are sincerely repentant.” He gazed down at her. She seemed to be considering his words carefully, not just engaging in some polemic sparring match.
“It’s all in the Lord’s Prayer,” he reminded her.
“Perhaps,” Cynthia replied finally.
“Is there anything specific that you’d like to talk about with me, Cynthia? I only ask to offer comfort and, perhaps, advice. I’m not here to judge, believe me.”
He had a feeling that Cynthia’s regrets had to do with her children, especially Jean. But he doubted she was ready to put those difficult realizations into words.
She met his gaze for a long moment, her blue eyes glassy. He thought she might cry. But finally, she looked down again at her bed and shook her head. “There’s nothing more I have to say. I will think about what you just said, Reverend.”
&nbs
p; He leaned over and patted her hand. “I don’t want to wear you out. I’d better go.”
“Yes, you probably should. Thanks again for stopping by.”
“Anytime. Please call me or have Jean get in touch if you’d like to talk again. Or if you just want me to sit with you.”
“I will, Reverend.” She leaned back on her pillows and closed her eyes.
Ben rose and picked up the teacups. He took them out to the kitchen where he found Jean reading the newspaper. “Your mother is resting again. We had a good talk. She thinks that she’ll get through this setback. Sometimes, in these situations, if a patient believes that they’ll get through it, it makes all the difference.”
“She’s definitely improved today. My brother is coming tomorrow. That news has given her a huge boost.”
“I’m glad to hear you’ll have some help caring for her. Whatever happens now, I hope you’ll take comfort knowing you’ve done all you could to ease your mother’s final days. Which I’m sure has not always been easy.”
“No . . . it’s not,” Jean admitted.
“Please call if there’s anything I can do to help. I can come anytime, day or night,” he reminded her. She thanked him again and he said good-bye, then headed out to his car.
He had a feeling that Cynthia would want to talk more before very long. He sensed that she carried some burden and would not be at peace until she allowed herself to let it go.
Chapter Fourteen
Get the door, Jean. For goodness’ sake. Your brother is standing out there in the cold.”
Jean had already jumped off the couch at the first note of the doorbell. She knew her mother was excited about Kevin’s arrival. Cynthia had been watching the clock all day, even though they knew that his flight would not get into Boston until five, and he most likely would not reach the house before seven or even eight.
Jean went to the door, feeling excited and a bit anxious. When her brother’s warm, familiar gaze met hers, her heart filled with happiness. “Kevin, you made it!” She pulled open the door and grabbed one of his suitcases.
He took the other bag inside and leaned down to give her a hug. “Hello, Jean. So good to see you.” He stepped back and stared down at her. “You look terrific. I think coming home agrees with you.”
“You look well, too. Let me take your coat.” He looked very fit, though a bit older. She noticed touches of gray in his dark hair. She guessed that she must look older to him, too, but he was too nice to say that.
“Why are you two standing out there yakking? Don’t I deserve a greeting, too?”
Kevin looked at Jean and they shared a sibling look. “She sounds in fine form,” he whispered.
“She’s perked up considerably, knowing you were on the way,” Jean whispered back. “But she’s still in bad shape.”
She followed her brother into the living room. Her mother was beaming. She couldn’t get up from her chair but held open her arms. “Come here, son. Let me give you a kiss. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Kevin leaned down and kissed their mother hello, then sat in a chair close to hers and held her hand. “How are you doing, Mom? I heard you’ve had a rough time the last few days.”
“I hit a bad patch,” Cynthia admitted. “But I made it through. It was good of you to come. But it probably wasn’t necessary. I told you that on the phone.”
“I’m here now. I’m relieved to see you’re feeling better.”
“How long can you stay?” Cynthia asked eagerly.
“I thought I’d stay through the holidays.” He glanced at Jean. “I’d already scheduled some vacation time, so it isn’t a big deal to be out of the office.”
“That’s wonderful.” Cynthia seemed as happy as a child. “Isn’t that good news, Jean? We’ll have a nice Christmas together. The way we used to.”
“That’s what I was hoping, Mom,” Kevin said.
Jean met Kevin’s gaze. She was never one to say “I told you so,” but she felt that he was thinking now she had been right to call and even e-mail him. It had taken an emergency to get him home, but at least he was here, Jean thought. No need for recriminations.
“Are you hungry, Kevin? I can heat something up for you,” Jean offered.
“I’m fine, thanks. I ate on the plane.” He turned to their mother. “You look tired, Mom. Can I help you back to bed?”
“That would be nice, dear.” Their mother patted Kevin’s arm, as if testing that he was actually there. “I need my wheelchair. I’m not up to using the walker right now. Though I normally do,” she quickly added.
“At least you’ve been sitting up and out of bed today,” Jean said, rolling over the wheelchair. “One step at a time.”
“Yes, one step at time, Mom. I’m here to help now,” Kevin said, then scooped up their mother as if she weighed nothing at all, and set her down in her chair. “Jean and I can take care of you together.”
“So much attention. It’s really not necessary. I’m quite overcome,” their mother replied. But Jean could tell she was elated, floating on a happy cloud.
Kevin came into the kitchen a few minutes later. Jean had made a pot of tea and set out some of the Christmas cookies. Her brother had always been a big fan of her baking.
He sat down at the table, and she brought the teapot over and sat across from him. “She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow,” he said. “I can see that she’s lost a lot of ground since the last time I was here. But her spirits seem good.”
Jean wondered when Kevin had seen their mother last. Was it a year ago, or maybe two? She didn’t want to ask him and get off on the wrong foot. “Her mood goes up and down. But she’s gotten a big boost seeing you.”
“What does the doctor say now? Anything new?” His expression was serious and concerned, which reminded her of their father, Jean realized. Kevin had always been handsome, tall and lean with dark hair and eyes. Now he was in his early forties and his looks had matured; he resembled their father even more.
“Nothing that I haven’t told you. She’s been taking some heavy medication that has cleared up the fluid retention. But it causes other problems. It’s worked this time, but just barely. Her heart is wearing out, Kevin. There’s nothing more that they can do about that.”
“I understand.” He looked very sad, his eyes glazing over with tears. He rubbed them back with his hand. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this on your own, Jean. I should have come sooner. That was wrong of me.”
She was surprised by his apology. “You’re here now. That’s what counts.”
“It’s good of you to say that. But I haven’t been fair to you. Neither has Mom. She never has been. I can’t understand why. And now you’ve been so good to her. That takes a lot of character, Jean. I admire you for that.”
“No thanks necessary. I felt it was just what I should do. I’m glad you’re here now. We have plenty of time to talk, Kevin. It’s been a big night.”
Jean felt tired and emotional. She wasn’t ready to talk about their family drama, though she appreciated that her brother recognized these issues.
“What do you think of the house? We’ve been working on it. I’ve cleaned out a lot of the rooms. Though there’s plenty more to do.”
“It looks great. I noticed right away.”
“Mom hired a handyman to do the repairs. He’s a photographer, actually. He’s been a big help and is good with Mother. He has a knack for handling her,” Jean added with a smile.
“He sounds like a man of many talents,” Kevin said.
“He is. Maybe you’ll meet him while you’re visiting,” Jean replied. Grant had sent a text early Sunday morning to ask about her mother, even though he had said he would call. Jean replied but hadn’t heard from him since. It had only been three days since their night out and she assumed he was busy. But it still stung a bit that he had not
been in touch with her more, especially since he knew about her mother’s setback.
“Where will I sleep tonight, in my old room?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, I aired it out and changed the bedding, of course. But I didn’t clean out any of your things. It’s still the Museum of Kevin,” she said with a grin. Her mother had not touched one Little League trophy or rock star poster.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ll have plenty of time to help you in the house while I’m here, too. No need for the handyman anymore.”
“Good to know,” Jean said, though it made her a little sad to think that even that excuse to be in touch with Grant was gone now.
• • •
“I can get the hang of this, Jess.” Sam tottered out of the doctor’s office and onto the sidewalk. “You just go ahead and open the car door.”
“Are you sure? Darrell, stay close to your father. He might fall.” Jessica sounded nervous. It wasn’t helping Sam’s concentration.
Three weeks had passed since the accident, and the doctor had just taken off the long cast on his left leg and given Sam a shorter one, just to his knee, and a soft cast on his broken foot. His right shoulder was still too fragile to handle a crutch, so Sam was given one crutch for his left shoulder and a cane. The arrangement was awkward, but Sam was happy for any change that got him free of the wheelchair.
“Easy does it, Dad. You need to build your strength up again,” Darrell said.
Sam knew that was true, but he didn’t like being reminded. He had tried to use hand weights and do the leg exercises he was able to manage. But it hadn’t been enough to keep him fit.
“The doctor said you can start physical therapy tomorrow,” Jessica said. They had reached her SUV, and she opened the passenger side door. “You can make an appointment as soon as we get home.”
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