Window on the Bay

by Debbie Macomber

  “At last, our someday is here.” I could already feel the excitement building inside me. Over the years, we’d never stopped talking about our trip to Paris, but the timing had never been right. “I’m thinking we can go next spring.”

  “Spring,” Maureen agreed with a single nod. She was the trip planner, Lonely Planet in human form. The woman was a hound dog when it came to research. She could find her way around the Internet the way some people could find their way around the Mall of America without a map. Being a librarian no doubt helped. Maureen had majored in library science, and that career was a natural for her. She’d worked for the last twenty years at the Seattle Public Library.

  Next spring would be the perfect time to go. Paul was working year-round as a server in Pullman while going through college, and Allie was planning for an exchange program that would take her to Japan for six months, leaving my schedule next year wide open for this trip. Of course, I would need to get time off from the hospital, being certain to get the request in early for my vacation dates. Several months’ notice would guarantee there wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’ll look for our planning notes from when we were in college,” Maureen said, showing her excitement.

  “You kept them?” That shouldn’t surprise me. Maureen was an organizational genius and always had been. She liked her life structured. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. She was a spotless housekeeper. Dust didn’t dare make a showing in her home.

  “Of course I kept them. Why not? The Louvre is still waiting for us.”

  “And Sainte-Chapelle.” I’d looked at breathtaking photos of the stained-glass windows of the chapel countless times, dreaming of the day I would be able to see it in person.

  “Shopping on Rue de Rivoli,” Maureen added dreamily.

  “Was that on day five?” I asked. If I remembered correctly, shopping had been reserved for later in our self-guided tour.

  “Day six.”

  Naturally, Maureen would remember the minute details. The woman’s mind was a steel trap. I sincerely doubted she would need those notes to recollect the details of our original plans. She probably remembered the flight numbers and our seat assignments, if I were to ask. That was Maureen.

  She had never remarried after she and Peter split. Like me, she’d dated, too, but not often. Her marriage had lasted only five years. Peter and Maureen had never been a good mix, and they both knew it. To their credit, they’d stuck it out as long as they had for the sake of their daughter, Victoria—Tori for short. A couple years following their divorce, Peter had remarried and had two additional children, both boys. He continued to be a good father to Tori, and had remained an integral part of her life, unlike how my ex had been with Paul and Allie.

  I’d always hoped Maureen would find happiness with another man. She deserved it, but I feared she’d lost something of herself in her failed marriage. I understood, as I feared I had, too.

  Settling back against the sofa, I brought my legs up under me and held the bowl of popcorn in my lap as the movie started. I’ll never forget the first time Maureen and I watched Casablanca in college. The movie had the same impact on Maureen as it’d had on me as a teen. We’d both cried and agreed it was the most romantic movie ever made.

  “I love the opening,” Maureen said with a sigh. “It’s the music.”

  Surprisingly, Maureen Zelinski had a romantic heart. I suspected she hid that fact from her peers at the library. Only those closest to her would suspect as much.

  I munched on my popcorn, relaxing as I got involved in the movie.

  “Was Allie able to connect with her dad before she left?” Maureen asked.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No.” It hurt me that Allie’s father had disappointed our daughter yet again. It demanded effort not to add a derogatory comment about my ex. Even before the ink on our divorce papers was dry, Kyle had basically abandoned the children and me. He’d left Seattle Central Hospital, where we were both employed, him as a surgeon and me as a nurse. He’d promptly moved to another state. It wasn’t long before I learned he’d remarried, and, shockingly, it wasn’t to the woman with whom he’d had the affair. In the years since, he’d divorced and married two more times. Paul and Allie were his only children.

  To be fair, Kyle had faithfully paid child support, and I was grateful he’d held up that portion of his responsibility. What hurt most, other than the fact he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped, was the way he’d treated our children as nonentities. He would send them birthday cards—if he remembered, that is—and send a check at Christmas. Basically, that was it.

  In the last year, Allie had tried to reestablish a relationship with her father. She’d reached out to him, seeking his advice regarding her choice of colleges. I didn’t discourage her, and hoped Kyle would take an interest in our daughter. Thankfully, he’d responded, and she’d been thrilled. All the effort, however, had been on Allie’s part and continued to be so. She’d phoned him right before she left for school and was told he wasn’t available. I hated to see her disappointed yet again.

  “Allie has no real expectations when it comes to her father,” I said, feeling sad at how true that was.

  My phone rang, and I grabbed it off the coffee table. I didn’t recognize the number, and ignored the call.

  “You going to answer that?” Maureen asked as the phone continued to ring.

  “Nope. I’ve been getting far too many solicitation calls.” The numbers that showed up were often local ones that made me think I might be missing a personal call. I’d fallen for that trick far too often.

  “I’ve been getting those calls, too,” Maureen said, and seemed as irritated as me with the interruption by robot calls. She leaned back against the sofa, returning to her popcorn.

  After five torturous rings, the phone went to voicemail, but whoever had called didn’t leave a message. I knew it. Another sales call. If I got one more call from that perky Elizabeth, I was going to scream.

  I was about to grab another handful of popcorn when it rang a second time.

  Same number.

  Maureen glanced at my phone and over to me. “Maybe you should answer that.”

  “Maybe I should.” I paused the movie and reached for my phone, getting it on the fifth ring, just before it went to voicemail.

  “This is Jenna Boltz,” I stated matter-of-factly.

  “Jenna, oh Jenna,” an elderly woman’s voice returned breathlessly. “I’m so sorry to bother you…your mom gave me your number.”

  I sat up straight and set aside my popcorn bowl. “Mrs. Torres? Is that you?” She was the widow who lived next door to my mother.

  “Yes, dear, it’s me.”

  Mrs. Torres was a good friend to my mother, especially since my father had passed. He’d been gone more than two years now, and the two widows looked after each other. Knowing that Mrs. Torres kept an eye on Mom reassured me, and I know Mrs. Torres’s children were grateful to have Mom do the same for her next-door neighbor and friend.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Jenna, your mother has taken a bad spill. I’m afraid she’s hurt herself.”

  I jumped to my feet, my heart pounding so loudly it echoed in my ears. “How badly is she hurt? Is anything broken?”

  “I…I don’t know. I think it might be her hip. I hope I did the right thing by calling nine-one-one. The paramedics are already here. You mother didn’t want them to take her to the hospital until I contacted you.”

  “What?” I asked in disbelief. My mother is waiting for my approval before she sought medical attention?

  “The paramedics are talking to her now,” Mrs. Torres continued. “They’re checking her vital signs and suggested I step back. Carol wants to talk to you, but they need a few minutes with her first.”

  “Of course.” I couldn�
�t believe this was happening. My poor mother. She’d already been through so much with the loss of my father. I hated the thought of her being hurt and in pain.

  Seeing the concern on my face, and the fact I was on my feet, Maureen was looking at me with alarm. Being a nurse, I immediately went into crisis mode. “Where did she fall?” I asked, wanting as many details as Mrs. Torres could give me.

  “Outside, off the back steps. She was working in her garden and started into the house. She must have stumbled.” Mrs. Torres lowered her voice, not wanting Mom to hear. “She landed hard on the walk.”

  I gasped when I heard she’d landed on concrete.

  “We’d been chatting just a few minutes earlier,” the widow explained. “I was picking a bouquet of dahlias when it happened.”

  “Thank God you were there.”

  “I went over to her right away and told her not to move. Carol didn’t think she was hurt at first. Although she was in a lot of pain, she insisted she was fine.”

  That was just like my mother. She wouldn’t want anyone to make a fuss.

  “After a few minutes she wanted me to help her stand. But I could see she’d hurt herself, and that this wasn’t a simple fall.”

  I closed my eyes with worry. “Please tell me you didn’t move her!”

  “No…oh no. I insisted she stay still until I got help. Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t have had the strength to get her upright.”

  I heard my mother’s voice in the background.

  “Let me talk to Jenna.”

  “While I talk to her,” I said to Mrs. Torres, “please ask the paramedics to take her to Seattle Central Hospital.”

  “I’ll do that, dear. Now, don’t you worry. Here’s your mother.”

  “Mom?”

  “I’m so sorry, Jenna.”

  “Don’t apologize, Mom. It was an accident. Mrs. Torres did the right thing to call for help. Let the aid car take you to the hospital. I’m leaving now and will meet you there.”

  “Okay.” Mom gasped for breath as if she was in terrible pain, her voice a mere whisper. My heart clenched.

  My mother was a salt-of-the-earth kind of woman. I’d been blessed with wonderful parents who had loved and supported me throughout my entire life. After Kyle and I divorced, I would never have managed on my own without their love and backing. Losing Dad to a heart attack was a blow that had left our family reeling. Two years had gone by, yet Mom wasn’t past the fact that she was now a widow. Grief had aged her. She was in her midseventies and in overall good health, but she missed my father something terrible and had given up many of the things they had once enjoyed together.

  This past year Mom had stayed home far more than she’d ventured out, tending her garden and working jigsaw puzzles. Maureen had tried to get Mom to join a reading group at the library, but she wasn’t interested. I was grateful that she continued playing bridge with a group of ladies from the church.

  Mrs. Torres came back on the line. “They’re loading Carol into the aid car now.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Torres.”

  “I wish I could have done more, Jenna. I feel a bit shaken myself. Falling is one of my biggest fears. Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”

  “I will, and thank you again.” Poor woman. Seeing this happen to my mother must have been an ordeal for her. I would be forever grateful that she’d been outside at the time of Mom’s fall. I hated to think of how long my mother might have lain on the walk before anyone found her, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Torres.

  As soon as I disconnected the call, Maureen was full of questions. “What happened?”

  I tossed my phone and my charging cord into my purse as I explained.

  “I’m coming with you,” Maureen insisted.

  “Then follow me in your car.” I didn’t want Maureen trapped at the hospital because we’d driven in one car. Depending on Mom’s prognosis, I knew I could potentially be at the hospital for several hours.

  On the drive over, my mind was working at warp speed, assessing what little I could from the information given me. Mom had fallen, but from what Mrs. Torres told me, she hadn’t hit her head, which was a blessing in and of itself. Nor did I know how far she’d fallen. Had she been up one step or two when she’d taken the tumble?

  I rushed toward the hospital, then parked with relative ease, thanks to my employee parking pass, although it was at the farthest spot in the parking lot. I trusted that Maureen would find parking in the garage or on the street.

  After twenty years working in the intensive care unit at Seattle Central, I’d become acquainted with many of the medical professionals there, but I wasn’t as familiar with the emergency room staff, though I did recognize the names of several physicians and nurses as I passed through.

  I was directed into the cubicle where Mom had been taken. Relief showed on her face as soon as she saw me. Stretching out her arm, she grabbed hold of my hand as I stepped to the side of the gurney.

  “Everything is going to be okay, Mom,” I told her, bending over to give her a gentle hug.

  Closing her eyes, Mom held on to me as though she never intended to let me go.

  We didn’t need to wait long for the examining physician to arrive. I wasn’t familiar with Dr. Spencer, though I’d heard his name mentioned before, and always in a good way. We spoke briefly, and he put in an order for X-rays.

  Patient transport arrived quickly, and my instinct was to accompany her because I knew it would comfort her to have me at her side. However, the woman at the check-in desk came by, asking me to fill out several pages of paperwork. Mom’s worried eyes sought me out.

  “I’ll be here when you get back,” I promised, walking down the hallway with her before she was rolled into the elevator.

  With a heavy heart, I took the clipboard into the waiting room and called my brother, Tom, to let him know what had happened. Tom and his wife, Louanne, lived three hours away in Oregon. Both of his kids were out on their own now. I told him to stay put until I had more information. I found Maureen pacing in front of the emergency department check-in station.

  “How is she?”

  “Pale, and clearly in a lot of pain. Her blood pressure’s elevated because of that, and her heart rate is fast but steady.” I had sneaked a peek at the chart clipped at the base of the bed and scanned the notes left by the paramedics.

  Maureen went back to the cubicle to wait with me. Mom returned in a relatively short amount of time, and ten minutes later Dr. Spencer reentered the room. Without a word, he brought up the X-ray on the computer screen for us and pointed out what was quite noticeable, and what I had suspected had happened: Mom had indeed broken her hip. The break was bad, and I knew it would require immediate surgery.

  “I’ve put a call in to Dr. Lancaster,” Dr. Spencer said. “He’s the best orthopedic surgeon in the state.”

  I was familiar with Dr. Lancaster’s superior reputation as a surgeon. We’d never worked together, so I was uncertain of his bedside manner. All I could do was hope that he would be patient and tender with Mom. For the most part, the surgeons I’d met and worked with had minimal people skills. They were often brilliant, yet found it hard to relate to patients. Because of this, many chose this field of medicine because it had the least amount of one-on-one patient contact. They’d perform the surgery, and the patient would never see them again. In, done, and gone. Yet I knew Dr. Lancaster to be the best orthopedic surgeon in the area, and I was thankful that Mom would be in good hands during surgery, no matter what his people skills were.

  Mom’s hand tightened around my own. “Everything will be fine, Jenna. Don’t you worry.”

  How like my mother to be reassuring me.

  “Yes, it will,” I said, although tears had gathered in my eyes. Mom and I were close, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, especiall
y so soon after losing my father.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jenna

  Maureen handed me the cup of coffee she’d brought me from the hospital cafeteria. It wasn’t the greatest coffee in Seattle. After working here for twenty years, I should know. I’d downed my fair share of the hospital blend. Starbucks had no competition.

  “Thanks,” I said, letting the warmth seep into my cold hands. The surgical waiting room was nearly empty. Only two others remained, an older gentleman and a woman who looked like she could be his daughter. I’d observed them and saw that the younger woman was encouraging and comforting the older man.

  The volunteer who manned the waiting room desk had left after assuring all of us that the surgeons would be in to speak to us privately after the surgeries were completed. Checking the wall clock, I sighed, noting Mom had been in surgery going on three hours. I couldn’t help being anxious. Mom had been through so much already. This was only the beginning; the long road to recovery awaited her. The hospital wouldn’t keep her for more than three days before transferring her to a rehabilitation center for physical therapy. I suspected it would be a month or more before she was able to return home.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Maureen asked. She’d been a trooper, sitting with me all this time. We hadn’t talked a lot, each caught up in our own thoughts. Mine centered on Mom and how grateful I was for Mrs. Torres. While waiting, I’d updated both her and my brother, and promised to phone again once she was out of surgery.

  “I don’t need anything, but thanks.” For emphasis, I shook my head. It was then that I realized it was well past the dinner hour. Maureen must be starving. All we’d had to eat before the call was a few handfuls of popcorn. That had been hours ago.

  “I can bring you a sandwich,” Maureen suggested.

  Again, I declined. I was too worried to be anywhere close to feeling hungry. Besides, by this time at night, the cafeteria selections would be slim.

  “You should go,” I told my closest friend. “It could be a while before she’s out of surgery.”