Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

She looked, tried to raise each arm. “There’s nothing wrong with my arms. Oh, my. Yes. I hadn’t noticed. I suppose he’s right. Are we going now?”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “Will you comb my hair, please? I don’t want to look like such a wild woman in front of the ambulance people.”

  That was her mama. Presentation was everything, even in the face of death. A strangled laugh, or sob, she couldn’t tell, escaped her, and she picked up the brush and began to smooth her mother’s tangled hair.

  For the last time?

  No, she was being overly dramatic, as Beth had once accused her. But that had been about money, and those worries seemed trivial compared with this.

  She sat beside the bed, holding the thin hand. Every few minutes, her mother roused to ask, “Are you sure my hair is combed?”

  “Yes, Mama,” she replied each time. “You look very nice.”

  After four or five exchanges, Hilda said, “I’ve asked that before, haven’t I?”

  Sarah smoothed a hand across her cheek. “Yes.”

  “I feel so stupid. I’m so sorry, Sarah. I know I’m losing my mind.”

  The lost, confused look in her eyes was a heart wrencher for sure. Every mean thought and cruel word Sarah had ever thought or said rose up in her mind to accuse her now. If only she could wrap her mother in enough love and tenderness to keep her from the pain of knowing her failures.

  “You’re not losing your mind. Mama. It’s just a little short-term memory problem. It doesn’t matter.”

  Hilda closed her eyes, and Sarah sat in silence that was finally broken by the whine of the elevator. She hadn’t heard any sirens. Well, this probably didn’t count as an emergency, so that made sense.

  Rob came into the room, followed by two EMTs with a gurney, and Sarah had to swallow the sudden fear that her mother was being taken away forever.

  ****

  A week later, a week that passed in a blur of pain and seemed to last forever, Sarah tiptoed into the hospital’s intensive care ward. A technician armed with a fierce display of needles and vials stood planted by her mother’s bed. “The doctor ordered a blood test, Hilda,” the woman said. “And I’m going to need to draw some blood.”

  “Please, no,” Hilda said, her voice thin and despairing. “Please.” A tear ran down her cheek as the woman picked up her thin arm.

  This was her mother, Sarah thought, and a slide show of the hundreds, thousands of times her mother had stood by her, supported her, protected her, flashed through her mind. “Wait,” she said.

  The technician turned to her, eyes angry.

  “Could you come back later, please?” Sarah said, willing the woman to leave with every atom. “Just let us have a moment.”

  It worked. The woman left, pulling her cart of torture instruments behind her, displeasure radiating in an almost-visible aura.

  “Mama,” Sarah said. “Are you feeling better today?”

  “No.” Her mother grasped Sarah’s arm with surprising strength. She looked up at Sarah with an intensity Sarah hadn’t seen for months. “No. I’m not getting better, Sarah. And they just keep doing tests and drawing blood, and they’re hurting me so badly. Sarah, please, I beg you, get me out of here. Oh please, please.”

  Sarah looked at the thin hand on her arm, at the pleading face with its lines of pain and resignation, and knew she had no choice. “I’ll talk to Dr. Burgess, Mama.”

  When she reached the nursing station, she leaned against the counter for a helpless, hopeless minute. So this was the end. She’d known, she’d seen that her mother was getting weaker and weaker, despite the days in intensive care. And she knew that the hospital considered three days a maximum stay for this ward.

  The duty nurse hustled back to the station. “Hilda’s not feeling so happy with us today,” she said, her eyes full of sympathy.

  Thank goodness this was the kind nurse who had told her about hospice care. “I think it’s time, Bonnie,” Sarah said. Her voice cracked.

  Bonnie nodded. “You’ll have to speak to Dr. Burgess.” Her mouth flattened. “And good luck. He doesn’t approve of hospice care.”

  “But why? He told me Mama’s not going to get better, and everything you do just hurts her. This is terrible.”

  “I agree. But he’s never permitted it before.”

  Determination surged through Sarah. She couldn’t save her mother’s life, but she could damn sure see that she was kept comfortable. “He’s going to agree this time. How do I get to talk to him?”

  Bonnie nodded again. “I’ll page him for you.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sarah faced Dr. Burgess across a battered desk in an unused office. After determined questioning, he’d finally admitted again that Hilda’s condition was deteriorating. “I want her released for home hospice care,” Sarah said bluntly.

  “I can’t do that. Miss Gault. I have principles. Hospice care, administering unlimited amounts of morphine, is tantamount to murder.”

  Sarah met his gaze, and hers hung tough. When he looked away, she said, “Keeping my mother in the intensive care ward and running tests on her is torture, plain and simple. How do your principles feel about that?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know I’ve devoted the last year to my mother’s care. She’s hurting so much. She’s begging to go home. Please, please, Dr. Burgess.”

  “I can’t.” He turned and gazed out the window.

  Sarah held her breath.

  “But I have seen your care and devotion,” he said slowly. “I’ll transfer her to Dr. Fayad as soon as I get back to my office. He touched Sarah’s arm. “You’re a brave woman, Miss Gault, and a dutiful daughter.” He rose and left the room without looking at her again.

  Four nerve-wracking hours later, Sarah stood at her mother’s bedside, once again fending off the now-determined technician with her needle. “Well, go check again. The order’s been cancelled. Mother is going home.”

  Her mother’s eyes popped open. “Home?” she said. “You did it?”

  Sarah smiled down at her. “Yes, Mama.”

  Bonnie came in with Miss Harkness, the discharge coordinator who had been so rude about Christine. “I need to ask you some questions before you leave, Hilda,” she said, pulling up a chair and settling a clipboard on her lap. “I see that your daughter has requested that you be released for home hospice care. Is that your wish?”

  “Oh, yes,” Sarah’s mother said softly. “Yes, I want to go home.”

  “You do understand that you will be given no further treatment?”

  “Yes.”

  “I must be certain that you understand the implications of that, Hilda. Without treatment, you will get worse. Do you understand that?”

  Hilda nodded, a weak movement of her head.

  Sarah gripped her hands together. Uncertainty gathered in her mother’s eyes, generating an answering anxiety in Sarah. Bile surged in her throat, and she couldn’t believe she was working to take her mother home to certain death, that she was afraid Miss Harkness would confuse her mother until she refused hospice care. Sarah couldn’t endure hearing her mother’s plea “no more pain” again. Massive self-doubts crashed down on her. Was she acting from selfishness or its opposite?

  “Without treatment, you will die,” Miss Harkness said bluntly.

  Sarah’s heart stuttered.

  “I understand. I’m tired. I want to go home.” Hilda closed her eyes.

  “We are going home. Mama,” Sarah said. “As soon as the ambulance is ready. You just rest now.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. You’re a good girl.” A faint smile lifted her Hilda’s mouth. “A good girl.”

  Bile rose in Sarah’s throat. A good girl?

  A murderer.

  ****

  Hilda settled against the pillows, her own pillows, even though the bed was an awful rented hospital one, and peered around the familiar room. Where was Eldon? Things were so confusing, she wanted Eldon. But no. He’d been dead for years.<
br />
  She felt light, floaty, and thought she’d see him soon. That was nice. She was so tired.

  The next time she opened her eyes, a strange woman stood by her bed. She tried to focus. Not a stranger. She struggled to put a name to the person, to...her daughter. “Sarah,” she said.

  “Yes, Mama. I’m here.”

  “I’m home.” The words warmed her. But Sarah looked so unhappy. “I’m glad to be home. Don’t be unhappy.”

  “Oh, Mama.”

  “It’s all right, dear.” She closed her eyes again, sorry she couldn’t help the child’s unhappiness, but the thought of being with Eldon again was drawing her away from everything, even Sarah.

  “How is she?”

  The whisper brought her awake again, and she opened her eyes to an enormous belly that almost filled her vision. She smiled. “Christine,” she whispered, feeling very alive, as though someone had given her back her mind again. “I wanted to see your baby.” But she supposed she wouldn’t now.

  “You’ll see the baby, Mama. Christine’s going to have it right here at home, so you can see it as soon as it’s born.”

  “Sarah. Good girl. I love you.”

  Fred jumped onto the bed and curled against her.

  Hilda put one thin hand on his plushy back, smiled, and closed her eyes again.

  ****

  “Here, Sarah, let me finish that.” Christine nudged Sarah away from the sink.

  Sarah pushed her hair away back with one hand. “Wow.”

  “Like being bumped by an elephant? That’s what I feel like.”

  Sarah forced a smile. It felt strange, as though she hadn’t found anything amusing in longer than she could remember. “You said it, I didn’t,” she said, just to hang on to the lightness for a moment longer. She dried her hands and her smile faded. “I’ll go up and see if Mama needs anything.” See if she’s still alive. She swallowed hard and headed down the hall.

  The doorbell rang when she’d gotten halfway up the staircase. She sighed and went back down to answer. “I’ll get it, Christine,” she called over her shoulder.

  When she opened the door she took a step back in surprise. “Beth? Well, um, this is a surprise.” The high, thin voice that didn’t seem to belong to her was a good indication of how completely flummoxed she was.

  Since The Big Fight, contact with Beth had been limited to a few short, business-focused discussions that were as chilly as the weather, when Beth had called to ask about a client that had been Sarah’s. The loss of her best friend hadn’t been much more than a blip on the radar compared with her mother’s fading life, but now, face to face with Beth, Sarah realized how much she’d missed her.

  “I—I—” Beth stammered, nervously brushing snowflakes from the sleeve of her Navy pea coat. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here. I heard about Miss Hilda.”

  Disappointment made Sarah’s shoulders droop. Of course Beth hadn’t come to apologize. She’d always liked Hilda. She probably was worried, given that she’d spent the last year blocking out the seriousness of Hilda’s condition.

  Sarah should have been prepared for this. “She’s not seeing visitors.” She’s unconscious, you nitwit. Anger was easier than letting herself feel. “Is that all?” Sarah moved the door a few inches toward closed.

  “Wait. I didn’t want to intrude,” Beth said. “I just stopped to see if you needed anything. Like errands. I thought you might not want to brave the before-Christmas crowds.”

  True. All that holiday season happiness was a killer. If Rob hadn’t been taking care of errands, Sarah wouldn’t have been able to bear it. But Beth? She hadn’t been very ready to help last September, when they’d had the big fight. What had changed? “That’s very nice of you, but I think we have it covered.”

  “I know. You have lots of help. You don’t need me.” Beth turned to go but spun back to face Sarah, her gloved hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry. That’s really why I came over, to apologize.” Her gaze met Sarah’s for the first time, and skittered away. “I didn’t mean all those things I said. I was so out of line. And, well, just, I’m really sorry.”

  Of course she’d meant them. Sarah’s anger rose like a dragon’s tail and she wanted to lash out, to tell Beth how awful it had been, that outpouring of jealousy and hurt.

  She suppressed the urge to scream and made herself think about how Beth must be feeling. Lonely for certain, cut off from her mother as she was. And Sarah was childish enough to hope Beth felt guilty for deserting a friend in need. Even as the thought crystallized, she realized that she was genuinely glad to see the girl, and her anger faded.

  “Come inside. It’s cold out.” She stepped back so Beth could enter.

  Beth stood awkwardly in the hall, pulling off her gloves and twisting them.

  She looked miserable and small and alone and penitent. Sarah knew she should concentrate on that instead of her own chaotic feelings.

  “I need to check on Mama. I’ll be right back.” Sarah abandoned Beth and ran upstairs.

  “No change,” said the nurse. Hilda slept quietly in her morphine haze. Sarah bent and kissed her cheek, then turned reluctantly to go downstairs.

  Beth still stood in the hall. “I should go. This isn’t a good time.”

  “No, it isn’t, but there aren’t any good times right now.” The problem was just that all her feelings seemed packed in cotton wool. The dreaded, inevitable end was bearing down like a runaway train, and she couldn’t get past the stay-busy-and-don’t-think stage.

  “Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”

  Beth looked so miserable that Sarah’s heart melted, just a little. “Eventually,” she said, trying to lighten the moment. “Right now, I’m such a mess I don’t know what I feel. I’m just glad to see you. Take your coat off and come back to the kitchen. I’ll fix tea.” She gave Beth a hug and led the way toward the kitchen.

  As they passed the office, Sarah saw the envelope on the corner of the desk. “Oh, I almost forgot. This came yesterday, but I’ve been a just a bit distracted lately.” Yeah, nothing like having your mother dying to distract you. She led the way into the room and motioned Beth to take a seat on the couch.

  Beth’s gaze was hard and bright on the envelope, her expression stony. “Not a Christmas card,” she said. “Is that from my mother?”

  Sarah nodded, and put out a hand to keep Beth from rising.

  “You might hate me for saying this, Sarah, but you’re lucky.”

  Funny. She didn’t feel very lucky right now. She clamped her teeth hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming. Why hadn’t she just let Beth go home, no matter how hurt and lonely and apologetic she appeared? “How can you possibly think I’m lucky right now?”

  “Your mother loves you, and believes in you. I know I’ve been acting like a spoiled brat. You were right when you said I was envious and jealous.” She twined her fingers in an agitated cat’s cradle. “She’s going to get better, isn’t she?”

  “No, Beth. She’s not going to get better. She’s dying. I’ve had to face it. Now it’s your turn.” Sarah almost regretted the blunt words at the stricken look on Beth’s face. Dear Lord, what had the silly girl been thinking for the past year?

  “You’re right. I haven’t wanted to face it, but I guess I knew when I heard you’d brought her home.” Beth bowed her head, then looked up at Sarah. “I love your mother.”

  “I know you do.” Grief clutched at Sarah and made her voice harsh. She’d never been sure if Beth thought of Hilda or Sarah herself as a mother figure. Maybe both. “Now stop blowing smoke and changing the subject. This came with a cover letter for me from her lawyer. It said that your mother wasn’t able to get in touch with you and that this letter is really important.” She handed it to Beth.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t care what she has to say.”

  “Maybe not, but if you don’t, you’ll just make up all kinds of awful things. You might as well k
now the truth.”

  Rob came through the door just as Beth extended a shaking hand. “What’s this?”

  “Letter from her mother.”

  “It’s Christmas. Maybe she wants to—”

  Beth’s glare cut off the rest of his sentence.

  Sarah looked at Rob and raised a questioning eyebrow. Did he agree that she was doing the right thing?

  Rob shrugged and gave Beth a thoughtful look. He got her a brandy from the mini bar beside the desk. “You want us to wait in the kitchen?”

  Beth grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone.” She pulled him down on the couch next to her. “Sarah?”

  “Right here.” Sarah sat on her other side and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “With you all the way.”

  “I’m scared.” She picked up the brandy and gulped. “Wow!” she gasped.

  “Dutch courage,” Rob said.

  “I don’t care what nationality it is. As long as it works.” Beth reached for the letter and tried to open it, but her hands shook so badly she almost tore it in half.

  Sarah took it, ran a finger under the flap, and pulled out two sheets of paper. “Here.”

  Beth took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. You guys read over my shoulder, okay?” She glanced at Sarah, who nodded, and Rob, who said, “If you want us to.”

  “Okay,” Beth repeated, unfolded the letter and read the shaky writing of the first page.

  Please, Baby Girl, be happy. Know always that you are a wonderful, worthwhile woman, the nicest, smartest one I’ve ever known. Please be joyful and certain in all of your choices, in spite of your mother.

  Love my grandchildren lavishly, if there are any, because a child can never be loved enough. Believe in them as I failed to do with you, much to my regret.

  I always loved you as much as I could. It’s not your fault I wasn’t a good enough person. You are. I know you can do anything as long as you don’t let my mistake chain you to the anchor of bitterness, even though you have every right to be angry and bitter.

  With all my love, Mother.

  Tears trickled down Beth’s face.

  “Sounds like a pretty heart-felt apology to me,” Sarah said. She thought for a minute. Beth had never wanted to talk about the cause of the estrangement. Maybe it was time. “What did she do that was so terrible?”