On Hummingbird Wings

by Lauraine Snelling

  “It’s too large.”

  “I know.” He pulled the glass cutter from his pocket. “Do you have a steel ruler and a pair of pliers?”

  “I guess. I’ll get the toolbox.”

  She returned with the red box in hand. “What else do you need?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I really appreciate this. I know Mother will, too.”

  Adam set about measuring the window frame, the glass, and then scribing the quarter inch off one end. Using the pliers, he broke the extra glass off on the line, the shards falling into the plastic trash can he’d pulled from under the sink. When he set the glass in place, he tapped the points in to hold it steady and then laid a thick bead of caulking around the glass. “The wood is going to need a touch-up.”

  “No problem. Mother always keeps little bottles of paint in the garage to cover up any dings or scratches that occur. She likes to keep her walls and moldings pristine.”

  “If not, the white is easy to match.” He smoothed the caulk with a putty knife and put the supplies back into the plastic bag. “There. Done.”

  “Wish I knew something I could do for you in exchange. Thanks doesn’t seem to be enough.”

  “Go sailing with me. I can bring anti-seasick meds.”

  A smile tried to light in her eyes but failed. “I need to get some other things done here before I leave for New York.”

  Why did even the mention of that make him feel sad? “I’ll drop by tomorrow to see if you need anything.”

  She walked him to the door. “Thanks again.”

  Adam and Thor walked out to the sidewalk. Without looking, he knew she was watching. They headed down the street, his walk picking up to a jog. Shame she wouldn’t go sailing. It might have made her feel better. Tough losing a job like that. From the little her mother and sister had ever said to him Adam knew Gillian was married to her job. When they reached Morello Avenue, they turned right and jogged the short blocks to the school where they turned in and picked up speed. As they both settled into their stride, Adam let go of everything but the pleasure of sun and breeze on his face and blood pumping through his veins. Glancing down he could see the same delight in his dog’s face, pink tongue lolling, ears flapping. They ran to the trail along the dry creek, east to the edge of the school grounds, and back to the other side, picking up the driveway again where Adam slowed to a gradual walk. Both of them strolled with heaving sides.

  “Good, huh, boy?” He reached down to thump Thor on the ribs. Stopping to watch the soccer players for a bit, Adam finally caught his breath, and his mind kicked back into thinking about the woman who had just walked into his life and was counting the days, or rather hours, until she would leave. What would she do with no job in New York City? Perhaps the new company would pick her up; sometimes takeovers did that.

  But another thought made him smile. Maybe she would come back to Martinez to keep on helping her mother.

  Chapter Seven

  Why am I doing this?” she asked the walls as she returned to the kitchen after almost forcing her mother to eat a few bites and drink fluids of any kind.

  Good question. Actually she knew it was because Allie guilted her into it. And she was frustrated at her proposal being turned down, so she bit. Not that it would make any difference now anyway. And because she was afraid her mother really might be dying this time, especially after Allie said the word stroke. People died from strokes. But not TIAs. How could Mother sleep all the time like this if there really were nothing biologically wrong? Now that was the major question.

  Gillian slid open the glass door and stepped outside, closing the screen door behind her. At least the shrubs that bordered the six-foot wooden fence were still alive. And the weeds of course. Why could weeds survive when beloved plants died so quickly from lack of water? She bent over and sniffed a pink rose that bordered the patio on the west. The roses hadn’t died at least, but they sure needed pruning, and a good feeding probably wouldn’t hurt. When had her mother quit taking care of her yard?

  Strange that Allie didn’t have more concrete answers for her. She said she talked to Mother every day, but…Gillian thought a moment. There must be a telephone in the bedroom, too, or how could Allie have talked with her mother? She chewed on her lower lip while she tried to think the disparity through. When she let down her guard, the words no job leaped to the forefront of her thoughts, trampling out all others.

  “Don’t waste your time stewing on it when there is nothing you can do to change it.” This was one of her life-based credos. Worry was a waste of time—and energy.

  “So, make a list of the things you must do while here.” She returned to the kitchen to fetch a paper and pencil and went back outside to sit at the round, glass-topped patio table. The umbrella was tightly bound with bungee cords, and the chairs, plus the table, held a thick coating of dust. Rather than giving up the idea of sitting in the sun, she turned on the hose wrapped in a perfect circle on the wall hanger and sprayed the table and chairs.

  After wiping them down with a cloth from the kitchen, she sat down. Her mother lived to care for her flowers and plants, so what had caused such an abrupt cessation? Could the doctor’s diagnosis really have caused her mother to quit like this?

  Back to her list. Get her mother out of the bed and into the slipper chair where she usually sat to put her shoes on. Strip the bed, remake it with clean sheets. Shower or sponge bathe mother. Call Enzio if she could keep her mother sitting in the chair. Laundry.

  A hummingbird zipped by her shoulder heading for the roses. Her mother used to love the flying jewels as she’d heard someone call them. How could Mother simply stop caring about all the things she loved? Including her daughters? The thought sneaked in, like a cat on a hunt.

  As Gillian had always known, Allie was the favored child. She was born beautiful and stayed that way. She always minded, not a wayward thought in her little head. She lived to make her mother happy. And now her family. Not like Miss Independent gap-toothed, pudgy Gillian, whose hair never curled and who never cared for fluffy dresses—or wearing dresses at all during her younger days.

  The one thing the three of them had always shared was the love of flowers and gardening. Allie had sat, chortling in her infant seat, between the rows of lettuce, carrots, and beans. The girls worked in the garden alongside their mother from the time they could bend over and identify the weeds.

  Even today, wherever she traveled, Gillian strolled through public gardens and admired the beauty, but she only had three pots in her condo—one African violet and one with parsley, sage, and rosemary. Shiny-leaf sweet basil grew in the third container and was one of her favorite cooking ingredients. Her mother’s herb garden looked like a collection of dried sticks among the yellow mustard and thistles going to seed.

  How long had this hiding in the bed been going on? If the weather had been really hot the annuals would have died quickly, but the jasmine in the front yard should have deep enough roots to stay green. Glancing at her watch, she gathered her writing things and returned to the house. Time to lead the charge. One thing to do before rousing her mother—open all the windows and doors, including the garage, and let the breeze blow the stagnant air out of the house. With that accomplished, she headed for her mother’s dark den.

  On the way to get her mother out of bed she reopened the bedroom drapes and let the sunshine in through half-opened blinds.

  “Mother.” She accompanied her words with a moving hand on her thin shoulder.

  “You’re still here?”

  “Yes, I am.” She considered the interchange while she got her mother bathed and the bed changed, the latter being simple, the former cantankerous enough to send her running for her car or at least counting the hours until she could fly home. This trip would be a lot more pleasant if she heard one thank you.

  When the kitchen phone rang, she answered, “Ormsby residence.”

  A man’s chuckle greeted her. “A bit formal, aren’t we?”

  �
�Good morning, Mr. Delgado.” Even the sound of his voice made her smile. If only her mother would talk with him, surely she would feel better. Her daughter surely did.

  “Are you all right?”

  Honesty was needed here. “I’m just tired.” She listed the things she’d accomplished so far.

  “Sounds like a full morning.”

  “Adam Bentley has been here and repaired the door, and I’ve watered all but the back garden…” And my company was bought out so I have no job. No whining allowed. He doesn’t want to know about your New York woes.

  His chuckle brought her smile back. “I tried calling a half hour or so ago, but there was no answer. I guess you were busy.”

  “I want to meet you.” Her words shocked her into silence.

  “Well, that’s a nice thing for an old man to hear. When can we meet?”

  Gillian heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. I fly back home on Monday night.”

  “Oh, so soon?”

  She could hear his regret over the phone.

  “Do you think Dorothy would see me?”

  “I doubt it, but if you want to come by and join me drinking iced tea out on the patio, I’d be delighted.”

  “I’ll stop by the Italian bakery. Surprise you.”

  You dear, sweet man. “Fine, around two-ish?”

  She couldn’t stop smiling after they hung up and looked out the patio doors. What if she could get her mother out there on the chaise longue? How could she resist such a charming gentleman?

  Allie hadn’t called. The thought surprised her. She dialed her sister’s cell.

  No answer. She must still be at Sherrilyn’s soccer game. Gillian picked up the tray with two coffees and a bud vase on top of a linen napkin and carried it into the bedroom.

  Dorothy stared from the tray to her daughter and back to the tray. “The roses are still blooming?”

  “Yes.” Something to be thankful for, her mother had noticed the pink rose in the bud vase. “But things look really bad out there.” When her mother didn’t respond, Gillian decided to leap in with her questions. “When did you stop taking care of your yard and garden, and why?” The only response was a head shake. “Do you have pain anywhere? Mother, I need to know what happened to…” She stopped. “Where do you hurt?”

  Dorothy only shook her head, slowly from side to side as if it were too heavy to hold up.

  Gillian retreated behind her coffee. It looked like a change of tactics was in order. “Even the jasmine is dead. Or appears to be.” She ransacked her brain trying to find a topic her mother might respond to. “You used to go watch the kids’ games. Why did you stop?”

  Nothing. Not even a head shake. “What if I left early?”

  Her mother raised her head and glared at her. “You said you would stay until Monday night.”

  “I have a bargain for you. I will stay if you will answer some of my questions. Two at least.”

  Dorothy sipped from her cup and made a face.

  “Do you want me to warm up the coffee?”

  “No.” She took a couple more swallows and made another face. “Yes.”

  Gillian left to refill the cup, mentally rejoicing over the response, and returned immediately. “I have news for you. A hummingbird nearly nicked my shoulder when I was sitting at the patio table.”

  No response. “If I were going to be here longer, I’d put up the feeders.” How many years had it been since she’d watched the hummers dueling over the feeder? She wasn’t even sure there were hummingbirds in New York City.

  Something under the bed caught her eye. A telephone. So that’s how Allie spoke with Mother. But the phone hadn’t rung in here while she was bathing Mother. “Does your phone work?”

  “The ringer is off.”

  “So, Allie said she talks with you every day. How can that be?”

  Dorothy shrugged and clutched the sweater closer. “Sometimes I hear it.”

  Gillian let the subject drop. Criticizing Allie was never allowed. But pushing her sister for the truth was. The next time she saw her.

  “I should open your window and air this room out, too.” Gillian left the room smiling.

  “No.”

  * * *

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” her mother grumbled at the arrival of her daughter carrying in the lunch tray a while later. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Would you rather eat for me or go to a nursing home where they will force you to eat?” Playing a trump card was sometimes a gamble. When her mother took a bite of salmon, she knew it had been a good move. One she couldn’t use too often, but then Monday was coming like a runaway train. Who will do this when I leave?

  “We have a visitor coming this afternoon.”

  Dorothy laid her fork back down. “I will not see anyone.” She paused. “But Allie.”

  “Shame. He seems so charming.”

  Dorothy shrugged and tried to lift the tray off her legs. When the dishes started to slide, Gillian grabbed the tray and set it on the floor. By the time she glanced back at the bed, her mother had lain back down, purple bruises under her eyes the only color in her pale face. Dorothy did indeed look exhausted. Perhaps I am pushing her too fast? If only I knew what was the best thing to do. Although common sense said to make her mother eat and move around, what if there was indeed something really wrong, that might be exacerbated by…? She heaved a sigh. Would Dr. Isaacs be on call or would he switch to a service since this was a weekend? She picked up the tray. Time to talk with her sister.

  No answer on either Allie’s cell or home phone. Gillian left pointed messages on each and hung up. Was Allie playing paybacks for Thursday? If so, it was pretty childish. Half an hour later, she called again and left more messages. If she knew where the soccer field and the tennis court were, she’d drive over there and have it out, in public if necessary. Did she have Jefferson’s office number? He, like her, usually worked Saturdays. She checked her mother’s address book to see if possibly she had it. Nada.

  Did this family ever communicate with each other? Allie, turn your phone on.

  Fuming was getting Gillian nowhere. With the towels in the dryer, she pulled out the vacuum cleaner and attacked the living room. Pretending it was Allie she was pushing around the furniture accomplished two things: a clean room and better feelings toward her sister. With the furniture dusted and waxed, she went to the closet where her mother saved all the gifts she’d been sent. A burning vanilla candle set on the coffee table not only looked nice but helped take away the musty odor as well as the musty feeling.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh, dear.” Two o’clock by her watch, and the man was nothing if not prompt. She’d planned on changing clothes and…oh, well. She crossed to the door that was still open and unlatched the screen door. “Welcome.” He looked much like she expected. Silver hair that any of the older movie stars dreamed of, dark twinkling eyes, and olive skin that looked like a permanent tan. The crinkles edging his eyes deepened with his smile. He was taller than she by only a couple of inches, and his trim body said he stayed active.

  There was no way one could resist his smile, not that she wanted to. “Come in, come in.” She extended her hand and he shook it, covering their clasp with his other hand.

  “Your pictures do not begin to do you justice. How blessed your mother is with two such lovely daughters.”

  “Enzio, you are a charmer all right. Let’s go outside.” She ushered him through the house. “Do you like your tea plain or sweet?”

  “Whatever you fix.” He dropped his voice. “Your mother?”

  “Is sound asleep, and this time she earned it. I’m afraid I might be pushing her too hard. I tried to get her to join us, but her no was pretty adamant.”

  “Don’t you fret. We’ll overcome all of her obstacles.” He leaned his backside against the kitchen counter.

  Gillian filled the glasses with ice and poured the tea she’d made earlier.

  He lifted a white box tied with string. “
We need plates for these. Hope you like napoleons.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Your mother used to love napoleons, too.”

  “How come Mother has never mentioned you?”

  He shrugged. “That I don’t know, but I plan to remedy her oversight.”

  Setting the small plates on the counter, Gillian turned around to see a look of dedication, his eyes slightly narrowed, jaw raised, as he stared back at her. “You mean that, don’t you?”

  “I do.” He broke the string and laid the box open to reveal three of the sinfully delicious desserts. “I believe that positive thinking makes a difference.”

  Gillian transferred the delicacies to the plates, set out forks and napkins on the tray she was preparing, as he held out his hands.

  “Let me.”

  I will let you, she thought as she nodded and smiled. “I think you will do my mother a world of good.” Sliding open the screen door, she went out first and closed it behind him. A waft of subtle male shaving cream slipped past. One more tally mark in his favor. Too many men wore too heavy a cologne. Well, if she was thinking along those lines, many women did the same.

  When they’d sat down and had their plates in front of them, he held up his glass and she clinked hers to it, as he said, “To many happy years.” Gillian nodded. Right now the year ahead was shading toward bleak, but she had no intentions of dimming his delight. She sipped her tea and set the glass down.

  “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “Try that first.” He indicated her plate.

  “I hate to smash it, it’s so pretty.”

  He nodded. “Pretty enough to eat.”

  She picked up her fork, cutting through the alternating crisp and creamy layers with difficulty and closed her eyes in delight as the confection’s flavors burst upon her tongue. “Oh, my right arm. This is sublime.”

  “Ah, a woman who thinks like me.” He followed her lead. “I would have one of these every day, if I could afford it.” He grinned. “Calorie-wise, that is.” His chuckle elicited an answering one from her.