On Hummingbird Wings

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Give me a call when you get in, will you, Gillian? Thanks.”

  She checked the time of the call. She’d just missed it. Thirst drew her to the kitchen, where she pulled a bottle of Perrier from the refrigerator, popped the top, and poured it over ice cubes into a stemmed glass. Tonight she needed bubbles. Sipping her drink with her phone in hand, she sank down into her favorite leather recliner. With her feet propped up, she dialed Scot’s number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Thanks for returning my call. I just wanted to say how sorry I am that the board went with the other proposal.”

  “Thank you.” I guess. What else am I to say?

  “Between you and me, I think they made a big mistake.”

  She forced herself to take a sip and swallow before answering. “Obviously I do, too.”

  “Well, don’t be discouraged, we’ll work something out.”

  “Okay.” And then her mouth took off without her permission. “I had several calls here from my sister in California. We are having a family emergency, and if I can get flights I think I’ll fly out there tomorrow and come back Monday.”

  “I hope it is not too serious.”

  “I’ll know more when I get there.” I can’t believe I am saying this.

  “Well, go with my blessing and let me know how I can be of help.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” They said their good-byes, but she kept hold of the phone. She really had done it. Not asked for time off, but stated it as fact.

  He must be in a state of shock, for she certainly was.

  Gillian caught the six a.m. flight to SFO Friday morning and called her sister from the airport as she caught the shuttle to the car rental. She ignored the e-mails on her phone; she’d have to check them later. None looked critical.

  “Can you meet me at Mother’s in an hour?” A slight shiver of vindictiveness caught her at the stutter on the other end.

  “But why didn’t you warn me? I’m on my way to a doctor’s appointment with Sherrilyn and we can’t miss that. It took me forever to get it. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  Gillian could hear more muttering. It sounded like she’d thrown her sister into a real tizzy.

  “Look, you wanted me to come, and I am here. Is the key still under the same rock?”

  “Yes, at least I assume so.”

  “Good. I’ll call you if it is, and you won’t need to re-arrange your schedule.” She left out the adjective precious before schedule, but barely.

  “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  “Fine.” A four-letter word that housed a multitude of meanings. Gillian clicked her phone shut and prepared to exit the bus at the rental office.

  Thanks to traffic on the Bay Bridge the trip took more than an hour, but when she had trouble recognizing her mother’s street due to all the new houses in what used to be fields, she was even more grateful she no longer lived in the area. Recognizing the winery that had been there ever since she could remember helped. At least the homes on her mother’s street had been kept up and the few vacant lots built on. She parked in the short driveway and stared at the front yard to her right. The jasmine that had always been the glory of her mother’s yard lay brown and twisted, the leaves lifeless under the branches and stems.

  Alarm sneaked in, followed by resentment. Couldn’t her sister at least have turned on the sprinklers a few times? The small patch of lawn looked equally bereft, only the weeds poking through the dead grass. Her mom would probably get a citation from the city for neglect of the premises, if she hadn’t already. Gillian opened her car door and, leaving her suitcase in the backseat, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the front door. The key lay under the same rock, but it failed to turn the lock in the door.

  Gillian felt like banging her head against one of the curtain-obscured windowpanes in the door. Drapes drawn tight prevented any view into the house. She checked out the side of the house. The gate to the backyard was locked from the inside. By putting her eye to the crack between the gate and post she could barely make out a padlock. The six-foot cedar fence effectively cut off any access to the backyard.

  Muttering a word that her mother would take exception to, Gillian headed back to the front door and pounded on it. “Mother, it’s Gillian. Come open the door.” She knew the effort was futile. Her mother’s bedroom lay on the far end of the house, overlooking the backyard. “Please, God, let her be in the kitchen, or watching TV in the living room, or even getting up to go to the bathroom.” As was the case lately, God did not seem to be listening.

  What to do? She tried the key several more times, but nada. She called her mother’s phone—no answer. Back in the car she punched in her sister’s phone number only to have it go to voice mail. What now? Call 9-1-1 and get the fire department out here to let her in on the pretext that her mother needed medical help? She considered that. Unless Mother was comatose, she would refuse and they would not take her.

  She dialed Allie again. No doubt she turned off her phone during the doctor’s appointment. Were they still there? Nearly noon. Surely not. “Turn your phone back on, you…” No names sounded sufficient. Surely Allie would turn her phone on. Miss Perfect who kept track of everyone in the universe except their aging mother and her now furious sister.

  Slamming her hand on the steering wheel did nothing but cause more pain. Think, Gillian, think. Were any of the neighbors long-term friends? Did her mother leave the key with anyone else? Probably not. She glared at an imprint the key had left on her palm. Why hadn’t she called Allie from the airport in New York? Surely she could have worked something out to be here. She knew the reason—six thirty in New York was only three thirty in California. But you could have called her last night. Would the arguments in her head never cease?

  Returning to the front door, she leaned on the doorbell. Not hearing a ring from inside, she heaved a sigh that sounded more like a groan. Was it broken? Disconnected? Why had Jefferson, Allie’s perfect husband, not taken care of these things?

  And now, on top of everything else, she needed to use the facilities. She should have stopped at the shopping center, but she’d known she’d be at her mother’s house soon enough. Obviously not soon enough. She glanced around the yard and spied the brick edging along the sidewalk. It would be easier to put a new pane in the front door than to gamble on making it to a ladies’ room at the shopping center. Checking the door for an emblem that said security and not finding one, she picked up the closest brick and lifted her arm.

  “Stop!”

  She heard the voice and the growl at the same time. She dropped the brick while spinning around. Her toes screamed from the force of the falling brick, and she yelped. The monster dog standing right at the edge of the single concrete step never made another sound. He didn’t need to. One lip slightly raised and dark eyes that stared into her own slammed her back against the door. The screen door smacked her shins. Could she hide behind that?

  “Sit, Thor.”

  Her gaze shifted to the middle-aged man striding up the walk. The scowl on his face about matched that of the monster. “Call off your dog!” Sure, that sounded like a line from a B-grade movie. She tried to swallow, but somehow her mouth had turned to dust.

  “He seems to be doing his job just fine. Now, what are you doing here?” He glanced down at the brick, then back to her face.

  “Trying to get into my mother’s house, if it is any business of yours.” At least total fear had momentarily dried up the other problem at the same time as her mouth.

  He nodded, a slight glint touching his steely blue eyes. “You could have tried the key under the rock.”

  “I did. It didn’t work!”

  “And Allie?”

  “Who are you?” That you know all this.

  “My name is Adam Bentley and I live two doors up.” He relaxed his shoulders, and the glint brightened. “You must be the long-lost daughter. Gillian, isn’t it?”

  The urge returned, more ferocio
usly than before.

  “Look, I have to get in the house.” Big emphasis on have. “Allie is coming from a doctor’s appointment, but who knows how soon. I can’t rouse Mother and…” She shifted from one foot to the other, like a little kid.

  He gave a slight nod. “I could boost you over the fence.” He looked at her slacks and silk blouse, along with her trademark high heels. “Probably not.”

  “Look, I don’t have any choice. I’m going to break the window and get it fixed this afternoon. Only, call off your dog because I don’t dare move.”

  “Thor, come.”

  Gillian bent over, picked up the brick, and tapped the window. The glass fell inward. She started to reach through the eight inch pane, when his “watch it” made her jerk back.

  “What?”

  “The glass. You could cut yourself.”

  “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. Please, body, hang in there. She tapped a jagged tooth and, when the glass fell, reached through and felt for the handle. A rip in the arm of her silk shirt didn’t stop her. Turning the handle, she pulled her hand out and opened the door. Sliding through, she crunched her way through the glass shards and hustled down the hall, fighting the buckle on her leather belt closure as she went.

  When she’d finished her business, she heaved a sigh of relief, put herself back together, and washed her hands. She took a peek at her mother to make sure she was still breathing, then returned to the front door.

  “Is your mother all right?” The guy had picked up the larger shards and stacked them by the wall. Thor sat on the sidewalk where he’d been told to sit.

  “She’s breathing, but all this noise didn’t wake her. I’ll get a broom and dustpan.” Delayed reaction, she thought as she started to shake. Her foot ached; she glanced down to see a scuff on the toe of her Ferragamo three-inch heels. Fury lit a flame. This was all his fault. Had he not appeared, she’d have broken the glass and entered in a nice, civilized manner. No broken toes, ruined shoes, heart palpitations or…

  “Here, I’ll take those.” He reached for the broom and dustpan. “You’re limping.”

  Up close the man looked like a giant—had to be at least six-five, broad-shouldered—a big man. She started to hang on to the cleaning utensils, but when her foot let out another shriek, she surrendered them. “Do you know my mother well?” She tried to remember his name. Adam something. Mind your manners. Her mother’s voice of yore.

  “No, not well, I’ve not lived here that long, but she and my mother were the best of friends.”

  She caught the were. Had there been a falling out? What happened?

  “My mother died eighteen months ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The light dawned, her mother had often spoken of her friend up the hill. Alice? Bentley, that was the last name. “Mother never told me.” Perhaps had you asked more often about her friends and activities, she would have told you. If only she could order the voice in her head to take a vacation. Guilt was a strident hoyden, a demanding accuser.

  “There.” He held pan and broom. “Where can I dump this?”

  “The trash is under the sink, in the kitchen.” At least it used to be, but then her mother was never one for change. If something worked, she did not try to make it better. Gillian leaned against the half wall that bordered the living room. She started to lean over to take off her shoe, remembered the glass, and thought the better of it.

  “You might want to take a vacuum to the carpet around the tiled area.”

  “I will.”

  “Did your mother know you were coming?”

  Gillian shook her head. No, she is sure I didn’t care enough to come. “My sister called me in a panic, and so I came.”

  “So you are Gillian from New York?”

  “Yes. I don’t know why the key doesn’t work.”

  “Figures. They probably forgot to put a new one under the rock after they changed the locks.”

  “Changed the locks?” What had been going on in this neighborhood?

  “We had a rash of burglaries last year, and the police suggested that those of us with older houses might want new locks with dead bolts.”

  Right now if she could get her fingers around Allie’s neck she would have been seriously tempted to squeeze. Dead bolt. Thank God that wasn’t in place; she’d never have gotten in in time. The thought flipped. What good was a dead bolt if it wasn’t used?

  “I see.”

  “Have you called your sister?”

  “Yes.” What do you think I am, stupid? Of course, had she called earlier…or come more often. She gritted her teeth. All she needed was another dose of guilt to make this a perfect day.

  The dog whined outside from his place on the concrete walk. She flinched. Little dogs were fine, but this monster looked like he could be guarding a junkyard with ease. Broad of chest, salad plate–size paws, square muzzle with lots of shiny white teeth, one ear stood up, the other flopped forward.

  “I’m coming, boy.” Adam looked back to Gillian. “We’ll stop back in when we get home in an hour or so to make sure you’re all right. Maybe by then your sister will be here.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Gillian took a deep breath and let it out. Her cell phone was ringing in her purse she’d left outside the door.

  He waited to see if it was Allie, and when she shook her head, he smiled and the two strode down the drive and turned to go down the hill. He stopped and called back. “You might want to get some ice on that foot.”

  “I will.” She watched him leave. Bossy-man. She’d not even said thank you.

  “What is it, Shannon?”

  “Are you really in California?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you never leave New York.”

  “True, but this time I did. Have you heard about the meeting? Oh, before you answer that, how is your father?”

  “He’s doing better, thank you for asking.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Something strange is going on here, and I have no idea what it is. I keep hearing words like takeover and reorganization, but no one knows for sure.”

  Gillian heaved another sigh. “Well, keep me posted. I should be back in the office on Tuesday.” Barring any real catastrophes here, and if Allie doesn’t arrive soon, she is going to be one of the casualties.

  Chapter Three

  Since when had deep sighs become part of her modus operandi?

  Gillian caught herself in another one. She peeled herself off the half wall and limped down the hallway. If she had brought her suitcase into the house, she would have changed shoes. Trying to ignore the pain, she entered her mother’s bedroom. Not only were the drapes pulled but the blind was down, too. Strange since her mother had never closed the back drapes before. She loved seeing the first light of the day. The room smelled musty, empty like a house when no one was home. Where had the meticulous housekeeper gone? Good thing she could hear her mother breathing, since she could barely see her. Should she turn on the light? Would that be too much of a shock? She crossed the room to stand beside the double bed, the same bed she’d known as a child and had climbed into when the nightmares overwhelmed her. All those years ago, before her father had died. Even the lamp and shade on the nightstand were the same. Memories from her growing years whipped through her mind at warp speed.

  With eyes more adjusted to the dimness and the light from the doorway, she stared down at the frail woman in the bed. Gaunt was the only word she could think of. How long had her mother been like this? Was Mother really dying? From what she saw, it could happen at any minute.

  “Mother.” Gillian touched the thin hand lying on top of the blankets. “Mom.” She gently stroked the fingers she remembered being strong enough to pull quack grass. Surely her mother wasn’t comatose? Fear raced through her mind chased by larger ones.

  A slow burn ignited. Why had Allie let their mother get to this state before attempting to do something? Gillian laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder and sho
ok a bit harder.

  Her mother snorted and sniffed, her eyes slowly opening as if the weight was too much to lift. When she didn’t focus immediately, Gillian took her hand. “Mother, it’s Gillian. Can you hear me?”

  Dorothy nodded and turned her head bit by bit. “You came?”

  “Yes, Allie called me.” Called me twenty times or more. The burn flickered higher.

  Her mother looked straight forward again. “It’s too late.”

  “What do you mean, too late?” She fought to keep the edge from her tone.

  “I’m dying.”

  Gillian swallowed and blinked. “I brought you some See’s Candies; you know the creams you like so well. I bought them here at the airport.”

  Another shake of the head.

  You can’t be dying, Mother, you are too young to die. But her argument didn’t hold water as she stared down at the still form whose eyes were drifting closed again. Was Mother really so weak she couldn’t even talk? Or sit up? Or…or… “Can I get you something?” She forced herself to think. What did her mother like, other than the candies? “When did you eat last?”

  She’d have missed the shrug had she not been staring so intently. “Okay, how about I heat up some soup and bring it in and feed you?” She took the non-answer as an affirmative. “I’ll be right back.”

  Stopping at the door to the guest room, she removed her shoes and tried wiggling her toes. At least they worked, although the three smaller toes were already swollen. No wonder her shoes hurt so badly. As long as she stayed away from the front door and the glass, she should be all right.

  Sunlight flooded through the south window and sliding glass door, warming the kitchen that included a dining area. The geraniums in front of the window side of the door looked about as shriveled as her mother. Did Allie ever water anything? Disgust warred with anger, and then the two teamed together. Obviously her visits were short, with a lack of assistance. Gillian’s mind turned into list mode. Even though she would only be here for a couple of days, she could get some of this mess cleaned up.