The woman lost her smile. “Do we need to intervene?”
“I—I don’t know what to do.”
“You need to talk to Dr. Isaacs. Let me make you an appointment for next week.”
Gillian waited for Allie to chime in, but when she didn’t, Gillian leaned forward. “That would be wonderful, but I need to be back in my office in New York on Tuesday bright and early. Is there any chance we could see him for a few minutes right now or…?” She could feel Allie’s glare.
Jeanie glanced down at her book. “He’s really busy but…” She paused a moment. “Let me check.” She picked up her phone, punched a button, and waited. “Hi, Sarah, is there any chance Dorothy Ormsby’s daughters could talk with him for a couple of minutes?” She nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that.” She hung up and turned back to them. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “This never happens. Just shows how much concern he has for your mother. Follow me.”
She showed them into the doctor’s private office. “He’ll be with you in a couple of minutes. He’s squeezing you in between patients.”
Allie stared at Gillian, all the while shaking her head. “You know what a miracle this is?”
“No, but I can guess.” Gillian ignored the throbbing in her foot. She’d ice it when she got back to her mother’s. Glancing around the office, she noted the family pictures on a bookshelf, including several of the doctor and a sailboat. Sailing was one of those things she’d never dreamed of, due to intense motion sickness the one time she’d tried.
She hated waiting for anyone; doctors were not exempt. Relax. She took a deep cleansing breath, paused, and let it all out. Sometimes obeying that inner voice was extremely wise. Allie’s glare drilled into her. What was her problem? Gillian repeated her action and felt the tension leave her shoulders. At the same time, she hoped breathing would improve her armor against those unwanted and unearned dagger-glares.
“Have you never heard of breathing to relax?” Gillian spoke softly, refusing to let the barbs sink in.
“Yes.” Even a yes sounded brittle when pushed through clenched teeth.
“You might try it.”
Allie’s foot began to swing, more like a twitch at first but escalating. She’d done the same as a little girl when she got restless. Deep breathing was far more effective.
The door opened and a deep voice preceded the white-coated man with silver hair any aging male would covet. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you, Allie?”
How often was her sister here that everyone knew her name? Surely her mother didn’t need to come that often.
“Fine, Reuben, we’re here about Mother.”
Reuben? First names all around. Gillian made sure her face was smiling.
“I understand. Since I haven’t seen her since that little TIA, I assumed she recovered well.”
“This is my sister from New York, Gillian Ormsby.”
He extended his hand. “Good to meet you. Your mother has often mentioned you.”
Gillian hoped she caught the look of surprise that must have at least made it to her eyes. She shook his hand. “Thank you. You said she had a little TIA?”
“Yes, a very small stroke in other words.”
“I see.” Gillian understood about TIAs but was still having trouble associating that with her mother.
“Maybe more than one but nothing to be concerned about. Why?” His blue eyes looked right into her.
“She refuses to get out of bed. She says she is dying.” Gillian kept the eye connection with the doctor. “Allie called me because she could not get Mother to cooperate.”
He switched his attention to Allie. “How long has this been going on?”
“Two, three weeks. I wanted to call you, but Mother was adamant.”
“Ah, I know what you mean about adamant. But where did this idea she was dying come from?”
“Mother has been dying all her life. Or at least she has said so.” Gillian dropped into the conversation.
“I know she has a low threshold for pain, but dying?”
“She’s also a drama queen.” And a narcissist of the first order.
He half shook his head, and then rolled his lips together, as if keeping a smile inside. “Your mother can be a most charming woman.”
“When she wants to.”
“Gillian!”
Gillian almost waited for the pinch that used to come when she didn’t do exactly as her mother wished. Often the wish wasn’t verbally stated, but both girls had learned mind reading, or rather mother reading, at an early age.
“Is she taking her medication?” He looked to Allie.
“I—I think so. She’s usually very careful about that.”
“But she won’t get out of bed. Is she eating? Drinking fluids?”
Allie shook her head. “Not to speak of.”
“Unless something else has happened, she is in very good health. This makes no sense.” He stared at the pictures on the shelf. “I could request an ambulance go get her and check her into the hospital for observation.”
“They can’t take her against her wishes.” Allie stared down at her purse in her lap. “I asked a friend who is an EMT.”
“And she’s not comatose?”
“Sleeps all the time, but when you wake her, she is fairly alert.”
“She did not answer the door when I rang, but once I was in the house, I shook her and she woke. She recognized me.” Gillian leaned slightly forward. “I heated some soup and fed it to her. She ate about a cup before she refused any more.”
“She can’t stay by herself any longer, at least not like this. I recommend you look into an assisted living facility.”
What are we to do, tie her up and haul her there? Gillian kept the thought to herself.
“I know she won’t want to go. She made that clear to me one day when I suggested she think on it. But then she was fully cognizant and busy with her garden. She even brought me some tomatoes.” He appeared to be thinking hard, his eyes half slitted. He was nodding slightly as he looked from one woman to the other. “She shouldn’t be living alone especially if she refuses food and drink. Even if she’s not sick now, she could will herself to that end, and we all know what a strong will she has.”
“I can’t leave my family at night, at least not for any length of time.” Allie’s voice climbed a notch.
“What about you?” He looked to Gillian.
“I have to be back in my office on Tuesday.”
“I see. You can hire an attendant, but they are expensive and difficult to find. I don’t think she needs a full-time nurse, but I can write orders for her to be monitored. I can also order that she gets physical therapy twice a week to get her strength back. But…” He started writing on a prescription pad, tearing one sheet off and then another. “I can also prescribe something to increase her appetite.” He wrote out a third slip of paper and tore it off. “And tell her I expect to see her in here on Wednesday.”
He looked to Gillian again. “If you could make different arrangements, even for two weeks, it could be very important.” He extended his hand. “Good to meet you. Dorothy certainly has two lovely daughters.” He shook Allie’s hand, too. “Tell her I gave the orders.”
“What about the papers we need to sign?” Allie asked.
“Pick them up and take them home. Have her sign them and send them back so you can both call for information when you need to.”
“Thank you for working us in.” Gillian stood and hooked her kid leather bag over her shoulder. After he left, she turned to look at Allie, who had yet to move.
“She won’t come. She really wants to die. He didn’t get it,” Allie murmured.
“Yes, he thinks we have some kind of influence here. Well, maybe you do, but I know I don’t. Come on, let’s get the papers and get back to the house so I can see about fixing the window.”
Once they were in the car and waiting at the stoplight to enter Alhambra Avenue, Gillian turned to Allie. “How do you know t
hem all so well?”
“He used to be my doctor until we moved to San Ramon. For the last year or so, Mother has insisted that she can’t drive down here.”
“Not drive?”
“Oh, she drives but not to the clinic, not since they finished the hospital additions and Dr. Isaacs moved his office into this building.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe not, but she made up her mind.”
“I see.” Gillian pondered a moment. “So she drives to church?”
A nod. Allie accelerated and turned south on the now four-lane street.
“To the grocery store?”
“She drove most places until about a month ago. After the stroke.”
“Technically it was a stroke, but TIAs aren’t usually debilitating. One of the men in the office had the same kind of thing.”
“You tell Mother that. I tried.”
“Did you go online and print out information for her to read?”
“No.” Allie heaved a sigh. “They gave her a booklet about it.”
“Did she read it?”
“How would I know? I’m not her mother.” Allie checked her watch. “And now I am officially late.”
“But you told them you would be.”
“I know.” Allie sped up to get through a light and onto Highway 4 going east.
“So, will you pick up the kids and then come back?”
“I can’t. I have a commitment for this evening.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Sherrilyn has a soccer game at eight a.m., and Benson has tennis practice.”
“What about Jefferson?”
“We haven’t discussed the weekend much yet.”
That seemed strange. Friday afternoon and they’d not discussed the weekend. Hmm. “What does your calendar say?”
“Look, I’ll check and get back to you.”
“I’d think since I came clear across the country, we might want to get together, the whole family for dinner or something. Perhaps Sunday evening?”
“If you had told me you were coming, I would have made arrangements. Now I will do what I can.” Allie cut the corner a bit sharply onto Munson Street, earning a glare from the driver waiting to turn, and sped up the street. Pulling into the driveway as far as she could without clipping her sister’s rental car, she stopped and clicked the door lock latch.
“Thanks for the ride.” Gillian opened the door and stepped down. The vehicle was in motion almost before she slammed the door and backed out of the way. Her sister did not wave or smile. Watching her leave, Gillian blew out a long breath. Well, it was obvious they were going to have trouble working together on this. Doctor’s orders or no. She shook her head and headed for the door. Good thing the window was open because she still had no key.
“Of all the stupid…!” She wasn’t sure who she was referring to. At the moment, that didn’t much matter. Hobbling to the door was enough for right now, then phone book for a glass repair shop and an ice pack for her toes, in that order. Oh, and check on Mother.
Chapter Five
Eight phone calls and three frozen toes later, Gillian still hadn’t located a man to fix the window—today. The earliest possible opening was next Thursday.
“Thieves could steal the entire house by then,” Gillian huffed, ignoring the fact there was no one to hear her. Besides, she would be back in New York. Feeling a bit like the little red hen in the children’s story, she told herself, “So then, I will fix it myself.”
She wished it was as easy to come up with a Plan B for Mother. She wasn’t really sure if there had been a Plan A. Other than flying across the country to help when clearly, her mother didn’t want her help. Allie wanted her to either take care of this situation or for the situation to just go away. What did Gillian want? She wanted her mother to get out of bed and be the mother she remembered, not that ghost in the bedroom. Impossible expectations.
She stared at the empty window frame. How difficult could this be? Measure the space, go to the nearest home fix-it store, buy the glass, come home, and put it in. She could ask at the store what other supplies she needed.
Your mother would know how, her inner voice prompted.
Maybe this would be enough to get her mother out of bed. She headed for the bedroom. As usual, waking Mother took some shoulder shaking.
“You’re still here.”
“Yes, I am.” They’d been through this before. Perhaps there was something wrong with mother’s mind. “Can you hear me?”
“I am not hard of hearing.”
Good. A response at least. “I have a slight problem in that I can’t find anyone to fix the broken window in the front door. Do you have the tools here that I will need?”
Dorothy’s eyes opened. “A broken window?”
“Just one of the small panes.” She thought of telling her mother the entire story but decided not to. “We can talk about that later.”
“A broken window.”
She should never have mentioned it, she knew it now. “Yes, Mother, a small one. I will fix it. Now, what can I get you to drink?”
Dorothy shook her head. “Nothing.” Her voice sounded so weak that Gillian leaned closer to hear. “A broken window.”
Patience! And she needed a full measure right now!
Dorothy shook her head, her eyes drifting shut again. She mumbled something that Gillian figured was the same as before. “Window” being the only word she heard clearly.
Back in the kitchen the telephone rang. Answer it—ignore it. “Hello?”
“Ah, is this Dorothy Ormsby’s residence?” Surely that was a slight Italian accent. And male.
“Yes, this is her daughter Gillian. How may I help you?”
“Ah, Gillian. How delightful. I’ve heard about you.”
I just bet. So what does one say to that? Yes? Thank you? “Oh.” That seemed the safest.
“Yes, your mother is very proud of you.” If he was as nice as his voice…
“I’m glad to hear that. What did you say your name is?”
“Oh, sorry, this is Enzio Delgado. I’d like to talk to Dorothy, if I may.”
Oh, dear. Gillian thought a quick second. “I’ll see if she’s available.” She laid the receiver on the stand and headed down the hall. “Mother, a man named Enzio Delgado would like to talk with you.”
Without opening her eyes, her mother shook her head.
Gillian returned to the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but she’s not able to come to the phone right now.”
“Not able to or refuses?”
“How well do you know my mother?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time. We met at the senior center.”
“I see. How about I have her call you back later? Does she have your number?”
“Yes. But, Gillian, I’ve been trying to reach her for days. She never answers the phone or the door. Is she all right?”
The truth or not? “I’m trying to determine that myself. We’ll get back to you.”
“Promise?”
After finding his phone number in the address book, she smiled to herself. He was nothing if not determined. “I promise. Bye.” Wondering if Allie knew about this friendship, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. The afternoon was already cooling off, not that it had been hot before. Typical October weather. The perfect season, she used to think. She slid her arms into the jacket she’d left in the car and shrugged the shoulders into place. Slubbed silk was perfect for fall and ecru, her favorite neutral color. Taking lipstick from her purse, she applied it using the mirror on the visor before checking her hair. As usual it swung perfectly in place, thanks to her master hairstylist.
Because she’d seen the home improvement store on her way in from the airport, she drove to it, parked, and followed the signs to the window and glass department. From the first question the clerk asked, she wished she knew more about windows.
Once she’d explained the
situation, she handed him the measurements.
“Now, you’re sure these are correct?”
“Yes.” She did know how to read a tape measure.
“I always double check. Easy to make a mistake.”
“Yes, it is correct. While you are cutting it, what other supplies do I need?”
“You need brads…”
At the look on her face, he sighed. “I’ll get the things for you. Have you ever installed a pane of glass before?”
She shook her head. She’d always had a maintenance man in her building that took care of things like that. “I tried to get someone, but they were all busy.”
“True, most glass guys don’t like to make a trip to replace one small pane. I’ll be right back.”
Gillian waited…and waited…and waited. When he finally returned, she kept her smile firmly in place—with effort.
“Now, do you have a hammer?” At her nod, he continued. “And a caulking gun?” At her blank look, he held out a metal contraption that looked like a giant syringe. “You put the caulk tube in here and squeeze this handle to line the caulk around the window. That is after you put the points in to hold the glass in place. With a hammer. Gently.” He appeared to be watching her for a reaction—any kind of reaction.
“I see. Thank you.” Surely this couldn’t be too difficult. She took her supplies to the counter, paid, and returned to her car. At least she was able to remember which one was hers and where she had parked it. She’d learned the importance of focusing on things like that with an earlier rental. The memory was not a good one.
When she returned to the house after a stop at the grocery store, a note on the door caught her attention.
“Gillian, I stopped by to see if you need any help. Call me if you do.” It was signed with an A.
“Well, that was nice of him.” Here she was talking to herself again. Was it becoming a habit, or a natural accompaniment to sighing? Glass crunched under her feet again as she entered. That had to be the next thing on the list. Vacuum up the glass. After checking on her mother—no change there—she hung her jacket in the closet. Maybe jeans and a cotton shirt would be more appropriate attire for replacing glass. Caulk on her slacks, two shades darker than her jacket, would probably destroy them. As she removed her blouse, she saw a rip in the left sleeve, the arm she’d put through the window to open the door. About an inch and a half long, it pronounced the shirt no longer usable. No dry cleaner could repair that.
On Hummingbird Wings Page 4