“Work together? You’ll be busy tomorrow, and then you’re leaving and I’m left to…” Her inflection changed, mimicked Gillian. “To do what needs to be done.”
Gillian massaged her forehead with her fingertips. Maybe a change of subject would help. “How well do you know Enzio?”
“He’s a sweetheart and has been trying to get Mother out, too. Did he call?”
“Yes, and came by for tea. Brought napoleons.”
“Did Mother see him?”
Gillian shook her head. “She was sleeping.”
Allie waved toward the door. “I see you got the window fixed.”
“I tried to, bought the supplies but…” Again she shook her head. “Adam fixed it Saturday morning.” Before I tried to call you all day. Let it go. Let it go.
“That was nice of him.”
“It was. Why don’t you go in and wake Mother? I’ll heat up something for her lunch.”
“All right.” Allie rose and headed down the hall with a speed that suggested she wanted out of the kitchen.
Gillian took the white boxes out of the refrigerator and lined them up on the counter. Near as she could tell, they hadn’t accomplished one blasted thing. Think, Gillian, think. If she went ahead without consulting Allie, then she would be accused of thinking she was better than her sister and could run the whole show. If she left it all up to Allie, then she would be accused of ignoring her. So what was the bottom line here? She knew the answer to that one. Make sure Mother was cared for and forced back into real life again—if that was possible.
But what if their mother really wanted to die? Didn’t she have the right to make that kind of decision? Not eating and not moving around could certainly precipitate dying. So, what was it Mother really wanted?
Gillian could hear Allie talking with their mother as she entered the bedroom with the lunch tray.
“If you help her sit up, I’ll put the tray on her lap.”
Mother shook her head. Allie glared at Gillian. Gillian clamped her jaw and smiled, set the tray on the dresser, and crossed to lean over her mother. “You can scoot up by yourself, or I will help you. Which is it to be?”
Mother huffed and glared at her elder daughter but pulled herself up enough for Gillian to stuff the pillows behind her. “I’m not hungry.”
“I know, but it’s lunchtime and I heated up some of the leftovers from last night. Adam brought over dinner and had hoped you would join us.” She earned another glare for her efforts. Ignoring that, she set the tray in place. “You can feed yourself or I will help you or, or…” Glancing toward her sister, “Allie will help you.” She waited for an answer from either of them, but when neither responded, she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“So, how did the soccer games go yesterday?” she asked Allie, picking up the fork. Even though she already knew the answer, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Wish you had been there, Mother. Sherrilyn made a spectacular save in the last few seconds, and her team won.”
“Do you go to the games?” Gillian asked, handing the fork to her mother when she reached for it.
“She used to.”
You can’t answer for her if you want her to take part in the conversation. But Gillian kept her mouth shut again, sure by now she had the indentations of her teeth permanently embossed on her tongue. “Mother?”
“I don’t like tennis much.” She picked up her cup for a sip to wash down the enchilada. “Too hot.”
Thankful for every bit of progress, Gillian glanced at her sister to see if she realized what was happening. Allie was busy studying her cuticles. Shaking her sounded like a helpful idea. But it probably would not be popular.
“But what about soccer?”
“Too noisy.” Dorothy sampled the refried beans with melted cheese on top.
“I hear Enzio came by yesterday,” Allie said.
“He did?”
“I told you he was coming, Mother, but you refused to see him.” Gillian willed her mother to take a few more bites.
“Oh.” She laid her fork back down on the tray and picked up her cup again.
“Sherrilyn said she hoped you would come to her next game.”
Gillian watched as her mother pulled back into herself, slumping again and staring at her plate. “How about a couple more bites, then I’ll leave you alone?”
Her mother glared up at her, picked up her fork, and stabbed a piece of enchilada. She ate two bites, let the fork rattle on the plate, and pushed the tray away.
Gillian grabbed it before the liquids could spill. Now that was indeed a reaction. And any reaction was better than no reaction. “Why don’t you help Mother to the bathroom, Allie, while I take this back to the kitchen?” As she left the room, she heard her mother grumble.
“I’m not a child, you know. I can go to the bathroom when I need to.”
“But, Mother…”
Did Allie always switch into little-girl mode when dealing with their mother? Gillian promised herself she’d think more deeply on these things. She’d never paid much attention to the way the three of them interacted with each other before, although Mother was the one with the strongest and most dominant personality. She’d read an article about how members of families often stepped right back into the roles they’d lived when they were younger when they came home again to visit. Allie most assuredly was doing just that. But with Mother trying to die, Gillian was forced to act differently. Or chose to. She was able to deal with Mother differently, but what about with Allie?
She glanced outside to see a hummingbird zip by the window and door. What if she were to hang a hummingbird feeder outside her mother’s bedroom window? How could she resist? But the thought died before going any further. Who would fill it when she wasn’t there? If Allie couldn’t take time to turn on the water for the yard, why would she bother with a bird feeder? Both thoughts made her grit her teeth again.
Could she ask Mrs. Gonzales next door to check on things like watering and a hummingbird feeder? Offer to pay her? Give her a key and ask her to come inside to visit with Mother? Would Mother allow that? Gillian sat down with pen and paper and added on to her lists, the major one titled “How to help Mother get going again.” She glanced up when Allie entered the room.
“She refused to go to the bathroom and insisted that I pull the drapes again.”
“And you went along with that?”
“What was I supposed to do? Drag her out of bed?”
Gillian heaved a sigh. “No, but you can encourage her to get up and at least sit in the chair for a while. We have to get her out of that bed. And why in the world would you close the drapes again? Let the light in there.”
“Because she told me to.”
“Well, little sister, at this point we have to make some decisions, and if you won’t help me make them, then you have no right to get mad at me for doing what I think is best.”
“I don’t get mad.”
“Oh, really? You don’t return calls, you snap, get sarcastic, and refuse to use a little pressure to get Mother to do what is best for her.”
“I was busy.”
Always back to I. Instead of throwing something through the window, Gillian stabbed her pen into the pad of paper. “Look. I have to leave tomorrow night. Who is going to stay with her, and who is going to take her to the doctor on Wednesday?”
“Hire someone. I cannot stay here all the time, and you know she is not going to get up, get dressed, and let me use a wheelchair to get her around.”
“So, what are our options?”
Allie sank into a chair, all the while shaking her head. “I just don’t know.” She heaved a weary sigh. “Cancel her appointment?”
“That’s one idea. What about her friends?”
“Well, Alice died. She refuses to see Enzio. And I guess the others sort of fell away.”
“Have you looked into Social Services to see what they might offer?”
Allie shook her head. “I s
uppose I can contact the director at the senior center and ask her what to do.”
“Good.”
Gillian leaned back in her chair. “What do you think Mother really wants?”
“To die. That’s what she said.”
“Come on, Allie, you know she’s always been a master manipulator. What does she want from us?”
“To be left alone so she can die.”
“You really think so?”
“That’s what she said.” The defensive tone returned.
“Did something happen to bring this on?”
“Well, as I told you, she had a bit of a stroke, a TIA, and then after that she told me she was dying.”
“You think that’s it?” Gillian narrowed her eyes, trying to think this through. “What else about the stroke? Was she incapacitated? She’s an intelligent woman. What could she be afraid of?”
“Mother’s never been afraid of anything.”
“She’s always wanted a lot of attention.”
Allie shook her head again. “Where do you get this stuff? Mother has always been strong. She never played games, I mean head games. She used to play bridge.”
“Strong, yes. And you never caused her a moment’s concern.”
“That is a bad thing?” Allie’s glare sharpened to daggers. She rose to her feet and grabbed her purse. “Are you coming for dinner or not?”
“I think not. I really don’t want to leave Mother alone for that many hours.” She paused for a moment. “What if you all come here? I’ll order pizza or something.”
Allie stared at her. “But—but Jefferson said…”
“You want me to call and invite him?”
“No, I’ll talk to him and call you back.”
“You could call him, stay here so we can visit longer, and he can bring the kids. Any time is fine.”
“I—I can’t do that. He’s not home right now. I’ll call you.”
Gillian watched Allie do her version of stomping out the door. She never once asked when I would be coming back. Or if. Interesting.
Chapter Eleven
Adam glanced down at Thor sitting beside him at the sliding glass door to the backyard. A whine and a tail thumping indicated Thor’s one-track mind. Outside. He wanted outside.
Adam opened the door and the dog shot out, barking at a squirrel Adam had not noticed. The squirrel took refuge on the top of the fence, chattering his displeasure, punctuating the diatribe with a flicking tail. Adam chuckled to himself at the body language of the two opposing forces and shifted his attention to his father’s nursery area. His dad was just stripping off his gardening gloves and putting away his tools. Since it was Sunday morning, neither of them cooked breakfast because they stopped to eat after church.
Half an hour later they climbed into Adam’s truck and headed down the street.
“She’s still here.”
Adam nodded. “Gillian leaves tomorrow night. I wish you could meet her before she goes.”
“Jen made me promise to come there for dinner today. You going?” Jennifer Bentley had been married to Adam’s brother, Charles, who had died several years earlier. She and her two children lived in Oakland and kept in close contact. She, too, had expressed concern about Bill’s lack of vitality.
“Nope, I wasn’t invited.”
“Oh.”
Adam glanced over to see a puzzled look on his father’s face. “Don’t worry about it. I had told her I was taking the Sea Dream out.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know. I thought we could stop and pick up the potting soil you wanted and I’d help you for a while. If you want me to, that is.”
His dad nodded. “I could use your strong back for a bit.”
“Great, valued for my strong back instead of my brains.” There, he’d brought a smile to his father’s face.
The parking lot was nearly full already. They parked along the outer perimeter and followed the people in through the carved wood front doors to be greeted by smiling people handing out bulletins along with their “good mornings.” Adam followed his father as they took their usual place fifth row from the front, right side, as if they owned that particular portion of the padded pews.
“How you doing, Bill?” asked the man who always sat directly behind them.
“Good, James, good. How about you?”
“Can’t complain, after all what good would it do anyway?” James laughed and glanced at his wife beside him. “Huh, honey?”
The Sunday ritual never changed, but while his dad didn’t seem to mind, Adam really wanted to sit somewhere else and meet new people. The one time he’d tried that, his father had gone along with it, but led the way from then on. After all, the tradition had started many years earlier, and one of his father’s favorite axioms remained. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
As they settled in for the sermon, Adam’s mind wandered to thoughts of Gillian. Did she attend church? Her mother had certainly raised her that way, but had she stayed with her childhood training? Life in New York City would most likely not be conducive to that. At least all the big cities he’d spent any time in through the years had been that way. A chaplain aboard the aircraft carrier he’d been assigned to had made it his mission to reawaken the faith of his “boys” as he called them. Adam knew he’d never forget the man, thankful for his hard work and persistence. When his brother died in a freak accident on the ski slopes, Adam’s faith was a solid bridge to his heavenly Father’s comforting arms.
They were sitting in a booth at their favorite restaurant waiting for their order when Adam cleared his throat, determined to ask a few personal questions.
“Dad, how long has it been since you’ve seen a doctor?”
Bill squinted, thinking. “Nearly a year, I guess. Why?”
“Just wondering. You don’t seem quite yourself lately. Jen commented on it, too, so it’s not just me.”
“So, is she going to give me the old quizzing when I get there?”
“I have no idea. Have you noticed anything different?”
His dad thought again. “I guess I get tired more easily. Figured I was pushing kinda hard at the shop.” He smiled at the waitress who slid plates of food in front of them. “Thanks, Maggie.”
“You are welcome. Can I get you anything else?”
Bill held up his coffee cup.
“I’ll bring the pot. Anything else?” She smiled at Adam, who shook his head.
Adam waited for his father to spread butter on his pancakes and pour the syrup, before prompting him again. “Anything else? Pain anywhere?”
“Well, come to think of it, I got pain in my right foot some.”
“Really?”
“Yep, dropped a skid on it Friday.”
Adam shook his head. Leave it to his dad. “You’d tell me if you suspected something was wrong, right?”
“Most likely. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
Adam shook his head and did as he was told.
Later at the nursery he shouldered his father away from the bags of potting soil and loaded the dolly himself, paid for the items, and let one of the young men load the truck. Father and son wandered through the nursery to see what to mark for a display like the one Bill now planned to set up at his shop.
“I’ll come back later and put this together,” he told the clerk. “Have someone clear out that section over there.”
Back home they changed clothes and headed out to the nursery in their backyard. While Adam mixed the potting soil with their homegrown compost, some dried steer manure and dirt from a pile, his father cut the soil in the cyclamen flats so he could transplant them into individual pots.
With his mixing done, Adam watched his father for a bit. “Back to our discussion, how about getting an appointment for a checkup?”
Bill glanced up from his plants. “I will if that will ease your mind.”
“It would. Thanks.” He saluted his father and whistled for Thor. Both males needed a good
run. At least his father wasn’t cantankerous like Gillian’s mother. Sometimes one needed to thank God for favors large and small.
Chapter Twelve
Enzio called. He’d like to come over.”
Dorothy shook her head, her eyes clamped shut.
“He’s bringing something for you, but I can’t figure out what it is. Says it is something you really like. Any idea what it might be?”
Another head shake, but this time the woman in the bed opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Is Allie still here?”
“Nope.” And I’m not mentioning she left in a huff.
“She is always so busy with the children and Jefferson.”
Gillian wondered if she should tell her she invited them all for dinner, then decided to wait until she knew they were coming. “How long since you’ve seen either of the kids?”
Dorothy shrugged. “They were here this summer.”
Not since then and this is October? Strange.
“I saw the hummingbird again. Do you still have any feeders in the garage?”
“Don’t think so. They broke after a while.”
Gillian almost smiled. Her mother was actually volunteering information. “Do you want me to comb your hair for you?”
“Why?” Her mother glared at her. “You tell Enzio he cannot come.”
“How? He said he doesn’t have a cell phone and he’d be out and about.”
Dorothy closed her eyes. “Leave me alone.”
“Sorry, can’t do that.” Gillian crossed to the bathroom and retrieved a brush and comb. “You have a choice, visit with him like you are, or let me comb your hair and you can put on a blouse or one of those church sweaters.”
“Gillian Ormsby, this is my house and I will say who can come and who can’t.”
“Guess you’ll have to get back on your feet then, so you can do as you want. Right now”—she held up the brush and comb—“you have a choice, yes or no. Unless of course, you want to hide under the covers or in the bathroom.”
“Comb my hair.”
On Hummingbird Wings Page 9