Lost Melody

by Lori Copeland

  Still, there was no doubt at all the stress was getting to Jill. Maybe Doreen was right. “What do you mean by a stress-reduction regime?”

  “There are things you can do in combination with medication to help manage your stress level.”

  “You mean take up yoga or something?” That sounded more like something she could do. She’d done some yoga in college.

  Doreen nodded. “Relaxation techniques are terrific. Rigorous exercise is also a great way to reduce stress. Whatever it takes, that’s what I think you should do.” The pen clicked closed and went back in the holder. “Now, I’ve got a client coming at eight, so I’m afraid we have to end this session.”

  Jill picked up her purse and followed the counselor to the door. Nothing had really been resolved, but oddly, she felt a tiny bit better. Maybe all she needed was to try those yoga techniques she’d learned years ago. Or join a gym, or something.

  The counselor stopped in the doorway. “If you like, Nora can make that appointment with Dr. Bookman for you.”

  “Okay, thanks. And, uh,” Jill gave her a sheepish smile, “sorry for the unscheduled visit.”

  Doreen shook her head, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you came.”

  She disappeared into her office, and Jill made her way to the front door. The receptionist, now at her post behind the window, spoke quietly into a phone she held up to her ear. Jill fastened the last button on her coat and waited for the woman’s conversation to end. Should she wait and ask her to call Dr. Bookman’s office?

  A moment later, Jill left the building. She was certainly capable of making her own appointment. In the meantime, she intended to try some of the other stress management techniques. Immediately.

  When Jill entered her mother’s room at Centerside, she stopped short. Mom lay in bed, still dressed in her nightgown and propped up on a pile of pillows, her eyes closed. Jill glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past eight. Mom’s regular morning routine was for the nurses to get her up, bathed, dressed, and at the breakfast table by seven thirty. Why was she still in bed? Jill whirled and marched to the empty nurse’s station at the end of the hall, where she stood, tapping her fingers on the high counter and waiting for someone to come.

  A nurse’s aide wheeled an elderly man out of his room nearby and headed down the wide hallway. Jill recognized her as one of the aides who helped take care of Mom.

  “Excuse me.”

  The girl turned and, when she caught sight of Jill, smiled. “Good morning, Ms. King. You’re here early today, aren’t you?”

  What was that supposed to mean? Did she need to call and make an appointment to visit her own mother? Or did they only get Mom out of bed at a decent time when they knew Jill was coming?

  Calm down. That’s not true, and I know it.

  She dug at her burning eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Lack of sleep was muddling her thoughts.

  She schooled her voice into a pleasant tone. “I was just wondering why my mother isn’t out of bed yet.”

  The elderly man in the chair raised his head and extended his neck toward Jill. “Lazy!” His shout startled Jill so that she jumped backward. “No good lazy slob won’t get a job.”

  Jill stared at the man, mouth dangling open.

  The aide patted the man’s shoulder. “Now, Mr. Jeffries, we’re not talking about your son. We’re talking about Lorna King. You know she doesn’t have a job.”

  “Well, he ought to get out and find one, no matter what his mother says.” Bushy gray brows dropped down over his rheumy eyes. “No excuse. I’m not supporting his lazy hide another day. I’m putting my foot down, I tell you.” He raised his knee and stomped down on the wheelchair footrest with force.

  The aide’s shoulders lifted slightly in an apology. “Mrs. King didn’t have a good night last night, so she was tired this morning.”

  “Is she sick?” Jill asked, concerned.

  “She does have a slight cough.” The girl’s face cleared. “I’ll ask the nurse to stop by her room and answer your questions.” She wheeled Mr. Jeffries away.

  Jill returned to her mother’s room. Mom had not moved, but lay sleeping with her hands resting at her sides and her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The drawn side of her face wasn’t nearly as noticeable in this position, and gravity smoothed away some of the wrinkles from the gaunt skin. She looked peaceful in sleep.

  At least one of us is getting some sleep.

  Jill dismissed the bitter thought and scooted a chair near the bedside. The pleasant odor of lemons gave evidence that the room had recently been cleaned, and Mom’s silvery hair showed signs of being brushed. Some of the tension left her muscles. Obviously Mom hadn’t been ignored this morning.

  A rustling noise behind her announced the presence of the nurse. Jill turned.

  “Good morning.” The woman smiled as she bustled around Jill to stand at the head of Mom’s bed. “The night nurse said Lorna wasn’t feeling well last night. Her temperature was slightly elevated, and she had a cough. Didn’t you, honey?”

  The last was directed at Mom in a near-shout that set Jill’s teeth together. Mom’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “Is she sick?” Jill covered her mother’s hand on the blanket with hers. The skin felt cool.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Her vital signs are good this morning. The doctor is going to stop by when he does his rounds, but I doubt it’s anything serious. Probably just a cold.” Her voice rose again. “But every now and then we ought to be allowed to spend a few extra hours in bed, shouldn’t we, honey? She was served her breakfast in bed just like a queen.” The woman smiled at Jill. “She ate well, too. I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.”

  The nurse left the room, and Jill forced herself to relax. Mom’s lids did not shut again. Her eyes moved in their sockets as her gaze circled the room, then came to rest on Jill. Not a hint of recognition, but at least Mom was looking at her. It was easier to carry on a conversation with her when she was in bed with her head back against a pile of pillows. At least they could make eye contact.

  “I hope you’re not coming down with anything,” Jill told her. “I know how it is to get no sleep. I haven’t been sleeping well myself lately.”

  An understatement of monumental proportions. A yawn took possession of her. Jill covered her mouth.

  “Sorry. I didn’t go to sleep at all last night, thank goodness. I know it’s going to catch up with me sooner or later, but I just didn’t want to risk it.”

  No reaction in the eyes fixed on her. In fact, a second later, the lids drooped, then closed. Jill leaned back in the chair. In some ways, visits with Mom were as good as therapy sessions with Doreen. She could pour out all her thoughts, and sometimes talking about them helped. Problems didn’t seem quite so insurmountable when she articulated them, as though finding the right words to describe them reduced their power to something more easily managed.

  “I’ve been having weird dreams, Mom.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t overheard. “Well, just one dream, really. My counselor says it’s from stress because of all the changes in my life lately. Or it might be from some unresolved issues left over from the accident.”

  Robert.

  Jill braced herself against the pain that always accompanied thoughts of Robert. Was he somehow responsible for this dream? Not him personally, but what he represented?

  And exactly what does he represent in my mind?

  “We were friends.” Her whisper crept into the silence of the room. “We only knew each other a few minutes, but we became friends. Like kindred spirits or something. He knew I was a musician, even what kind of music I liked.” She brushed a finger over the diamond on her left hand. “Greg barely knows who Beethoven is.”

  The realization of the sentiment she’d just voiced struck her. She rushed on. “Not that there would ever have been anything romantic between us. It wasn’t like that. It’s just that …” She bit down on her lip, stared at the
sparkling stone. “Greg doesn’t really know what I’ve lost. Robert knew. He told me God wouldn’t take away my gift.”

  A bitter laugh welled up from somewhere deep in her chest. “Obviously, he was wrong about that. So I need to forget about him, put him out of my mind, and get on with my life. Maybe if I can do that, this stupid dream will go away.”

  Mom’s eyelids fluttered open.

  “I haven’t told you about my dream, have I? I keep dreaming that some terrible disaster is going to happen in the Cove, and that I’m supposed to warn people. Problem is, I don’t even know what this disaster is supposed to be, only the date. December 6.”

  Mom’s gaze fixed on her face. Jill twisted her lips. “I know. Ridiculous, huh? Doreen says I should do whatever it takes to reduce the amount of stress in my life and the dream will go away. I’m sure she’s right.”

  Mom’s right hand, the one that retained limited movement after the stroke, flew up from the mattress and began waving in the air. “Eyuah, eyuah, aaahhhh.” Her voice, so melodious and sweet in Jill’s memory, croaked the harsh, low monotone that was the only sound she’d made in nine years. Jill had long since ceased trying to interpret the unintelligible noise. The doctors said the sound was merely vocalizing, as a baby who has no words does to express feelings. But even though Mom wasn’t speaking words, the sound always meant she had something she wanted to convey.

  “Mom, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

  “Aaahhh, eyuah, aaahhh.” The hand gyrated in the air above the bed.

  Jill’s heart sank. Most of the time Mom rested quietly, but these instances of wild, uncontrolled babble were happening more often lately. What did that mean? Was she developing Alzheimer’s in addition to everything else?

  “Eyuah, aaaahhh, eyuah, eyuah.”

  Jill rose from the chair and grabbed her mother’s hand when the nurse hurried through the door.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Her voice wavered as she held the hand close to her chest. “Is she in pain? Has her fever spiked?”

  With cool professionalism, the woman placed a hand on Mom’s forehead. “I don’t think so, but I’ll check her vitals in a second.” She bent over the bed, placed her face six inches from Mom’s, and shouted, “Lorna, do you need something?”

  “Eyuah, aaaaahhhhh.”

  Jill ground her teeth in frustration, both at the nurse’s shout and at her inability to understand her mother. “We were talking and she just started babbling. What does she want?”

  The nurse straightened and fixed a sympathetic smile on Jill. “Honey, she does this sometimes. It doesn’t mean a thing. Probably just her way of letting us know she’s ready to get up.” She turned and shouted into her patient’s face. “Lorna, the doctor is in the building. He’ll be here in a few minutes, and then I’ll get the aide to come in here and help you get a bath and dress. It’ll be just a minute, honey.”

  Amazingly, Mom’s eyes focused on the nurse, and she calmed. Her hand relaxed in Jill’s grip, and she fell silent.

  “That’s better.” The nurse turned to Jill with a smile. “If you want to wait for the doctor, he’ll be in here shortly.” She patted Jill’s arm and bustled out of the room.

  Jill settled back in the chair. Doubt niggled at her mind like a worm winding its way through an apple. She hadn’t said anything to set Mom off, had she? She searched the pale face resting comfortably once again on the pillows. Maybe the nurse was right, and Mom was simply letting them know the only way she could that she was ready to get out of bed.

  Still, Jill would question the doctor closely. Maybe request that he perform whatever test they could to diagnose Alzheimer’s. That would be icing on the cake, wouldn’t it? Yet another stress factor. At this rate, she’d never be able to sleep again.

  Chapter 11

  NOISE AND AN ALMOST UNCOMFORTABLE warmth slapped at Greg when he stepped through the doorway and into The Wharf Café. He’d thought he would miss the lunch rush since it was nearly one o’clock, but every table was in use. He pulled the door closed behind him and unwound his scarf before shedding the heavy coat, his gaze sweeping the room for an empty table or at least a couple of friendly faces he could join. A few of the lunchtime regulars exchanged nods of greeting.

  “Hey, there’s our next councilman!” Rowena’s cheerful voice rose over the top of her chattering patrons’ heads. Behind the counter she stood, dressed in a thick white apron over jeans and a tightly fitted T-shirt, her cheeks rosy with a becoming flush from the heat of the grill.

  Heads turned, and people smiled and called greetings to Greg.

  “Come on over here, darlin’.” Rowe beckoned with a long spatula. “This stool right here’s got your name on it.”

  As he threaded his way through the café, people greeted him with smiles and nods. A man stood and thrust a hand toward him. Familiar face. Greg cast about in his mind for a name.

  “Roy Newsome,” the man supplied. “I’m looking forward to hearing about this plan of yours tonight.”

  Newsome. Lived on the outskirts of the Cove and worked for an insurance company or something in downtown Halifax. Greg had met him at a community picnic during the summer.

  He grasped the man’s hand and returned a firm handshake. “Thank you, Roy. I’m glad to hear you’re coming. I hope you’ll let me know what you think.”

  “I’ll do it.” The man returned to his lunch.

  “Sit here, Greg.” Rowena pointed toward an empty seat at the counter, near the grill.

  As he slid onto the high stool, the girl who worked weekdays for Rowena plopped a glass of ice water in front of him. She started to pull out an order pad, but Rowena waved her away.

  “I’ll get this one.” Dimples appeared in the flushed cheeks she turned toward Greg. “The chowder’s good today. And I have a piece of warm gingerbread to follow it up.”

  “Sounds great. You know I love your chowder.”

  The dimples deepened. “I know. I made it special, because this is your big day.”

  When she turned toward the stew pot, he picked up the water and sipped. It felt good to get away from the office. The cozy atmosphere of the café provided exactly the distraction he needed to help him switch gears from a morning full of legal briefs to an afternoon of preparation for his presentation tonight.

  She ladled a huge bowlful of creamy chowder and set it in front of him. Fragrant steam wisped upward. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Mmmm. Smells wonderful, Rowe. Thanks.”

  “Anything for my favorite customer.”

  She gave him a saucy wink and returned to her position at the grill, which was situated directly in front of his stool so he had a good view of her profile as she worked. A pretty profile it was, too, and she used it to full advantage. The old fishermen who frequented the café hung out here for the view as much as for the gallons of coffee she poured them. Greg blew on a spoonful of chowder, then savored a bite of thick soup filled with chunks of haddock and lobster.

  “So, are you all ready for tonight?” She expertly flipped a burger and mashed it flat with the spatula. Grease sizzled and popped on the hot grill.

  “I think so.” He scooped up another steaming spoonful and shot her a sheepish grin. “I’ve blocked off all afternoon to go over my presentation a couple of dozen times.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. “You lawyer-types are so obsessive.”

  “Oh, I didn’t learn that in law school. I inherited that quality from my mother.”

  She twisted sideways to look at him head-on. “I’d like to meet your mother. Will she be here tonight?”

  “‘Fraid not. She and Dad don’t leave the orchard much after dark in the wintertime. It’s killing my dad not to be here, though.” He heaved a laugh. “He requested that I have the meeting taped so we can go over it together later. I told him no way.”

  The burger done, she scooped it up and slid it onto a bun. When she’d dressed it with lettuce, pickles, and tomatoes, she handed the plate to the girl to d
eliver.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she tilted her head sideways. “I’d be happy to videotape it for you, if you like. I mean, I’m not a professional or anything, but I have one of those little handheld numbers. I can certainly sit on the front row and hold a camera steady.”

  Greg paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. Visions of giant TV cameras on tripods scattered around the room, bright lights, and stage makeup had prompted him to dismiss his father’s request. That would make him feel ridiculous, and Samuels would probably accuse him of trying to generate a bunch of fake hype or something. But a small, handheld home video camera on the front row would be unobtrusive. And watching the recording afterward would help him analyze his presentation skills, so he could improve the next time. Sort of like professional ball teams watched game clips.

  “You don’t think people would be intimidated by the presence of a camera? I want tonight to be all about getting people’s honest reactions, and a free exchange of ideas.”

  Rowe’s lips twisted and she rolled her eyes. “Trust me, honey. I’ve been talking this meeting of yours up for weeks now, and I’ve listened to what the folks who come in the café say. People are excited to hear about this plan of yours, and there’s no danger a little handheld video camera is going to intimidate them out of giving you their honest reactions.”

  Greg set his spoon down and gave Rowe a long look. She really had been talking this up. The walls of the café were peppered with posters about tonight’s meeting, and the café’s owner had become one of his staunchest supporters in recent weeks. Rowe couldn’t stand Samuels, and that didn’t hurt Greg’s cause any with the pretty café owner. Plus, The Wharf Café was exactly the kind of business that would reap the most benefit from increased tourist trade in the Cove, but he didn’t think her support was entirely due to the possibility of personal gain. She seemed to genuinely like him.

  “Thank you, Rowe. I haven’t told you how much I appreciate all you’ve done. Your support means a lot to me.”