Page 27 of Season of Gifts

He ought to be cataloging the nuances of the interaction for Alice’s sister; Olivia would benefit from knowing how compassion was received by families.But his patience hung by a thread.Inside him, a seven-year-old boy howled in silent panic at being shut out.Therapy had made him cognizant of his behavioral influences, not eradicated them.“May I sit with her?”

“For a little while.She’s sleeping, and we do want to encourage her to rest.The hospital can be a disruptive place.”Doctor Clark smoothed her hands down her thighs and stood.“Henry, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her.”

A quick exchange sent Lina home to her family with the promise of an update in the morning.He strode deeper into the maze of corridors beside the doctor as she delivered information in a deluge.Visiting hours, warning signs, home preparation if Mother proved a good candidate for discharge, long-term treatment considerations—he shunted aside exhaustion from the stress eating into his very fabric and forced himself to pay close attention, mentally repeating the salient points.

Alice and Jay’s presence would have been quite welcome.Either, perhaps both, would have taken notes on their phone during the doctor’s monologue.He would have to take the time later to do so, hopefully having remembered the most important pieces.

The doctor led him to a curtained room with a sliding glass door in a hub of a dozen similar rooms surrounding a central desk and seating area.“Your mother’s here in seven for now, but we may transfer her upstairs tomorrow.We’ll see.”She gestured him forward, projecting a professional pleasant-but-busy impression now that they had reached her domain.“If you need anything, Amy”—she pointed toward a young woman behind the enormous horseshoe desk—“can help you.Okay?”

In this quiet cul-de-sac of care on a Sunday night, the central waiting area sat empty.“Certainly.Thank you, Doctor.I appreciate your time and your forbearance in allowing me to visit outside the usual hours.”

No sooner had she stepped back than another staff member approached her with an electronic tablet, and the two hurried away.He stood in front of the door, not yet within range of its automatic detection mechanism.For the moment, his mother remained as lively as he’d seen her last, dancing and dining after his wedding.

Raising his hand, he idly rotated his wedding band.Alice and Jay would make crossing this threshold easier, if only because Jay would have sallied forth by now.His spouses would be more than secretaries recording the doctor’s cautions and advice; they would be both comfort and distraction, pulling against the memories grasping at him.

But he could not ask them to inhabit this uncertain space with him simply as a method of deflecting emotions he’d resolved years ago.He could not ask Alice, who’d spent too much of her girlhood watching her father decay, to come and sit in a hospital with him.He could not ask Jay, so recently stripped of too many mother figures, to come and watch another in this frail state.Regardless of their careers and other obligations, directing them to join him here would be irresponsible of him.

A softwhooshaccompanied the door’s widening aperture, and he entered a separate world.Dim light illuminated a hulking bed on wheels with a monstrous metal base and railings.Mother lay in the center of crisp white sheets, a pale blue blanket folded over at her chest.He must have strayed into Wonderland, or the cloud kingdom of Jack’s beanstalk, so incongruously enormous did the single bed appear around Mother’s diminutive form.

An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth.Her breath lightly fogged the plastic.He counted the exhalations, their regularity calming.The steadily repeating pattern of her heartbeat flowed across a monitor beside the bed.An IV dripped fluid into a vein at the back of her hand.

He settled into the high-backed recliner nearby.Clasping his hands tightly across his lap, he resisted the frantic pleas of his younger self to hold her hand, to feel her heartbeat for himself, to make certain his eyes did not deceive him.

In silence, he kept watch as his mother slept.

Chapter fifteen

Alice

Breakfast.OnanormalMonday morning, Alice would sit at the island as Henry slid a plate of deliciousness in front of her.Or a bowl; she wasn’t picky.Whatever he offered, she ate.They’d talk quietly, enveloped in the low-toned love bubble that people formed when they couldn’t help themselves.About the night before, about the day ahead, about how Henry would wake Jay today or what special instructions he would give for Jay’s shower.

On this Monday morning, she stared into the freezer, ignoring the chill on her face.Henry precooked breakfast things; she’d seen him do it.Somewhere, a stash existed.The cold intensified as the motor protested her extended survey.

Growling, she hefted a collection of containers over to the counter and shoved the freezer door shut.“Fine.Be that way.I can replace you with outside, you know.It’s that time of year.Don’t test me.”

The freezer glared with judgy indifference.Or the little lights just glowed to show the ice and water were available through the door.She pointed two fingers at her eyes and jabbed them toward the fridge.“Uh-huh.Watching you.”

The containers yielded breakfast burritos and oatmeal—the big flaky kind, not the mushy premixed packets with flavor powders.She kept out two servings of oatmeal and three burritos, which seemed… Right?Overkill?The end of her breakfast usually overlapped the start of Jay’s long enough for her to thoroughly kiss him goodbye, not measure the contents of his plate.The fridge produced the last of a carton of blueberries to top the oatmeal, but if they wanted more fresh fruit, someone would need to shop today.Maple syrup, because the oatmeal could not go unsweetened, especially when Henry bought the good stuff—the real stuff—to indulge her and Jay.

The shower was running upstairs.She’d given Jay a wakeup nuzzle after dressing—shit, and she hadn’t laid out any clothes for him.Henry often did, and Jay had confided more than once how much he loved that possessive attention.She had no fucking clue how Henry chose outfits, nor what would be right for the weather, nor which things Jay preferred.He was her husband, and she couldn’t even name his favorite shirt.She knew next to nothing about the typical pace of his morning with Henry once she left for work.Presumably they had their own love-bubble chitchat.

Bracing her hands against the counter, she blew out a breath.“Not really the time to call and ask him about reheating breakfast burritos and choosing the right outerwear layers.”

She’d spoken all of, what, fifteen words with Henry last night?Twenty?He hadn’t called again, and she couldn’t fault him for it.Hospitals had their own rhythms, and sometimes three hours went by while you’d been sitting in a daze.Hopefully he’d been able to see his mom; hopefully she was fine and not comatose or dying or about to be addicted to pain pills for the rest of her life.

“Enough.”She clenched her teeth and hissed herself into silence, dumping the burritos on a plate.They’d be fine in the microwave.Maybe not crispy like Henry made them, but edible.

Her phone erupted in a cheery song.

Diving across the island, she almost knocked the damn thing to the floor with her fingertips before getting her hand around it.

“Henry?”She huffed like she’d just sprinted down the track.Oh, fuck, and it was video, and he currently had a view of the ceiling and half her hand.“Sorry, making breakfast.”She dragged the phone toward her and reoriented it so he’d actually be looking at her face.“Jay’s in the shower.I’ll get—”

She stuffed the rest of the words back down her throat.Could’ve been hospital lighting, but Henry looked ragged—eyes dull, shadows beneath, face a nonexpression.She could’ve happily gone her whole life without seeing him make that face.Sliding to the floor, sitting with her back against the cabinets, she cupped the phone in both hands.“Tell me how it’s going, sweetheart.What do you need?”

A soft smile crept over him, and he closed his eyes before blinking at her twice.“I thought Jay was your sweetheart.”

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth.He might be avoiding an answer because he was tired—or because the news was bad.“I wish I could wrap my arms around you and make everything okay.”

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