Page 73 of Season of Gifts

Where’s Ollie?She clutched Mom, her fingers digging in without asking her.Christ, Ollie was safe, halfway across the country, a grownup, and so was she.She should’ve left sooner.But she’d finally connected with Mom, adult to adult.Shit, shit,shit.

“Lori!”Dad bellowed from the top of the stairs, a shadow moving in the light.“Are you down there dragging up more junk?Whose coat is this in the kitchen?”

Hands shaking, Mom pushed back and tucked Alice’s hair behind her ears, both sides.“I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered.“I should’ve kept a better eye on the time.”

“You shouldn’t have to be sorry.”The magma splashed, fiery and flowing into her bloodstream.Alice folded the box of ornaments under her arm and headed for the stairs.“It’s my coat, Dad.Alice.I came home.”

Chapter thirty-eight

Henry

Theweddingphotosbroughtreal color to Mother’s cheeks.Henry had cleared the breakfast tray while Mother dressed for the day, then hurried back upstairs to accompany her down to the music room, lest she begin the trek without him.Perusing the photos served as a peaceable way to encourage her to rest afterward.The stairs still prompted a few puffs from the oxygen mask, but the medication she had started this morning would help with that.

He sent a brief message to Alice and Jay.The first of the nurses would arrive shortly to interview for the position.His phone rang a few minutes before the hour—not a cancellation, but his brother.Unexpected; Robert hadn’t phoned him once since the crisis began, though their schedules only misaligned by six hours.

“I hadn’t expected to hear from you today.How is the conference?”Inquiring was only polite, as he’d had the details from his sister-in-law days ago.“Frankfurt this time, is it?”

Mother raised an eyebrow, and he mouthedRobertto her.Nodding, she leaned back against the settee, relying more upon the furniture to hold her upright posture than was typical.The cardiac program tomorrow would be an appropriate place to raise the question of building core strength.Though not aggressively; Mother would require frequent rest during any sort of activity.

“Lengthy, but lucrative.I arrived home last night.”Brusque, that was Robert.He saved his eloquence for more important matters, securing contracts and the like.“I thought I might visit Mother today.Constance has been keeping me informed.”

“A late teatime?Shall we say four-thirty?”He would need time after their second interview to prepare sufficiently nourishing amuse bouche.“Mother and I would be delighted to see you.”

Delighted wasn’t entirely an exaggeration, as having Robert present would facilitate overdue discussions about Mother’s long-term care needs.

“Four-thirty.Until then.”

“Until then.”He ended the call just as the doorbell demanded his attention.

The first candidate addressed all of her questions and answers to Henry, which did nothing to endear her to Mother.He’d made clear to the agency that his mother was fully mentally competent and participating in her own care decisions.

“And of course we’ll want to stay as active as we can, won’t we?”The woman’s doe-eyed enthusiasm met with Mother’s thinnest lips.She swiveled back to Henry.“Does your mother play checkers?Or do word searches?Even circling random letters can be a way to keep those fine motor skills functioning.”

He reached for his most patient smile.“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Mother unwound the light scarf she’d chosen to accessorize her outfit, then wove it into a more complicated drape.“My motor skills are functioning quite well, thank you.And my mental acuity is more than sufficient for games far more complex than checkers.Henry?”

Politely but firmly, he escorted the failed candidate to the door.She would most certainly not be starting Saturday.Hopefully the second would prove a better match.He couldn’t impose upon Lina’s kindness for another all-day venture to Boston and back, and he couldn’t leave Mother alone for so many hours.Even with the baby monitor last night, he’d awakened so often to ascertain her health in person that he’d given up attempting to reclaim his own bed and simply pulled a blanket over himself in the chair at her bedside once more.

“Well.”Mother sighed at him as he reentered the music room.“You needn’t ask my opinion of that one, darling.She’s a resoundingnofrom me.”

“I did receive that impression, yes.”Unfortunate to have such a miscue set the tone for the process.If that was the quality of care available, he would be loath to leave Mother in anyone’s hands but his own.

Throat tight, he rummaged in the cabinet for something soothing and emerged with an album of Chopin’s nocturnes.Providing full-time care for two weeks had immeasurably complicated his marriage.Continuing for an indeterminate stretch might prove harmful to Jay and Alice in more ways than he could imagine as yet.Steadying his hand, he lowered the needle on the record.“Perhaps some music before lunch.A palate cleanser?”

Mother patted the seat beside her.“You, my darling boy, know exactly what I need.”

He rested his arm along the back of the settee, warming her shoulder.She’d been vibrant and joyous last month at his wedding.He’d been so focused on ensuring Jay’s feelings of belonging and security, on preparing for Alice’s birthday, on planning a splendid holiday with his spouses and his two dearest friends.He hadn’t thought to check in personally on Mother afterward, knowing he would see her at Christmas.And now she faced a lengthy recovery period and lifestyle modifications, and his marriage would require delicate repair work, and he almost certainly owed the man more brother than his brother a significant apology for hanging up on him.Was his own equanimity so thin a façade that two weeks of sleepless nights and days of medical appointments could shatter it?

Closing his eyes, he breathed slowly, the conductor of his soul murmuringadagio, adagio, adagioas the music floated to his ears.Mother rested her head against his shoulder, occasionally naming the birds flitting from tree to tree outside the window.

With lunch and a nap under their belts, they commenced the second interview at two precisely.

The nurse appeared about his own age or a touch older, with glints of silver in her hair and faint lines that gave her face a grave cast.She sat as straight-backed as Mother typically did, with her hands folded in her lap.Her background satisfied; she’d held positions with a number of families for a year or more.“I subscribe to a goal-centric model of care in which the patient identifies what they would like to do but cannot.We would then embark on a plan to make those things possible, which may involve lifestyle changes, a fitness plan, and, depending on the activity, perhaps modification to make it permissible.I don’t suppose you have designs on open ocean swimming or a triathlon, Mrs.Webb, but if you did, we might begin with a cardiac-approved water exercise class, for instance.”

Mother tapped her lips.“I confess, I hadn’t been considering a triathlon, but now that you mention it—” Laughing lightly, she stroked Henry’s forearm.“No, I shouldn’t tease.My son has been working himself to the bone to look after me, and my foremost concern is to have a care program in place that will make him feel secure.He’s witnessed enough weakness from me.”

“Surely not weakness, Mother.”He’d allowed too much of his fear to bleed into their conversations if her utmost priority during her health emergency was his emotional state.He resettled his shoulders, his body unaccountably disturbed.He could easily assume a neutral mask with submissives and peers at the club or with clients when they described their grand visions for a portrait.Where had his calm gone?

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