“Has she had a—”
“Like I said, things are stable now. The best thing is to get her up there where she can be evaluated by the doctors.”
“And then what?”
“They'll run some tests, take it from there.”
Two of the medics returned with a wheeled stretcher.
“Luke?” Nona said.
“Right here,” he said. “How're you doing?”
“Such a ruckus over a little dizziness,” she said. “I shouldn't have called them. Just a foolish old woman.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I hate all this fuss over me.”
“They're going to take you up to Hyannis, to the hospital.”
“Oh Lord,” she said, her eyes panicky. “There's no need of that.”
“Just a precaution,” he said.
“I feel so foolish. All this commotion.”
I took her hand. “Do you want anything to take with you? Your handbag?”
“Oh yes. I'll need that,” she said. “And my watch. My glasses. Everything's upstairs.” She clung to my hand, pulled me closer.
“What is it?” I said.
“My teeth,” Nona whispered.
“What?”
“I'll need my teeth. They're in a glass upstairs.”
The medics moved a chair aside to make room to bring through the stretcher.
“For heaven's sake, I don't need that,” Nona said, sounding for a minute like her old self. “I can walk.”
“It's regulations, Mrs. Ryder.”
Luke rose unsteadily. I ran upstairs and got Nona's black plastic purse, her watch, her glasses, found the dentures in a glass by the bed. A partial plate. I had to close my eyes while I fished it from the solution, wadded it in tissue. On the way down to Nona, I used my shirttail to clear the film from the lens of the glasses. She took the purse from me, tucked the glasses, teeth, and wristwatch in an inside pocket, then pulled me close again and whispered in my ear.
“What is it, Ma?” Luke said.
Nona released my hand and reached over and patted his cheek, as if he were a boy. “Now don't you go worrying about me.”
“Should Jessie go with you? Or follow the ambulance up to Hyannis?”
She turned to me. “You stay here with Luke.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, you know hospitals. I'll probably be stuck in a cubicle somewhere; they'll take their own sweet time before they get to me.”
“You shouldn't be alone. How will you get home?”
“Will you call Helen?” she said. “Oh, and Paige. I suppose someone should let her know, so she won't come by and go hysterical when she hears where I am.”
One of the medics indicated that it was time to go. They lifted her, hefting her from couch to stretcher as if she weighed no more than a Christmas ham. She gave a last, nervous look. Within seconds, they had her out the door and in the ambulance. The siren screamed to life, startling me. We didn't speak until the last echo of it had vanished, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake. I helped Luke back to his bed. When the phone rang, he indicated that I should answer. It was a neighbor. She had seen the ambulance and wondered if there was anything they could do. I thanked her, promised I would call if we needed help.
“I'm sorry about all this,” Luke said.
“All what?”
“Getting you over here. Nona should have called Jim or Ginny or one of the staff. She shouldn't have burdened you.” Burdened.
“That's ridiculous,” I said. “I was glad to come. You know that.”
“This is too much for her.”
“Has she had heart problems before?”
“Not that I know of, but she wouldn't tell me if she did. I didn't learn about her cataracts until after she'd had the operation.”
“I still think someone should have gone with her.”
“Would you call Helen? What time is it, anyway?”
I checked the kitchen clock, amazed to see it was only a little before seven. I felt as if I had been up for hours. When I got through to Helen, she was clearly shaken and asked about three hundred questions, none of which I had an answer for. Before we hung up, she promised she'd head directly to Hyannis and said once she'd seen Nona, she'd call with an update. Luke decided there was no point in phoning Paige until after eight.
I put on a pot of coffee and made hot cereal for Luke. I found half a loaf of bread in the breadbox—the white, squishy kind I hadn't had since I was a child—and dropped a piece in the toaster. I found a tray and brought the cereal to him, nibbled the toast while he pretended to eat the Cream of Wheat.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Nona. Before they took her. What did she whisper to you?”
I smiled at the memory.
“What was it?” he said.
“She was worried.”
“About me?”
I shook my head. “About her legs. She hadn't shaved, and she didn't want the paramedics to see her hairy legs.”
He stared at me. “You're kidding.”
“Cross my heart.”
We started to laugh, breaking the tension.
After breakfast, I did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. It felt cozy there, the two of us, the rain outside. When I was finished, I went back to Luke. “Do you want to get shaved?” I asked. I had never shaved a man in my life, but I wanted to now. It seemed an intimate thing, as personal as bathing.
“Jim's coming around eleven,” he said. “He'll take care of it.”
“Anything you need?”
“I could use a Dilaudid.”
“One?”
“Yes.”
I didn't hesitate but went to the kitchen and opened the prescription bottle, handed him the orange tablet. He turned on the Today show, and we watched together while the rain lashed against the window. At eight thirty, he phoned Paige, but there was no answer. “I wonder where she is?” he said.
You don't even want to know, I thought, but said only, “Probably sleeping with the phone turned off.”
“I worry about her. She's had a tough time of it. First the divorce, and now this.”
“She seems pretty strong to me,” I said.
“You think so?” I could see he wanted to believe it.
WE WATCHED the rest of Meredith and Matt, and then turned to a game show. A little after ten, Luke asked if I'd bring him the walker. He needed to use the toilet. There was a portable commode in the room, but he was embarrassed to use it. “Call me if you need me,”
I said. I was afraid he'd fall while in there. I wasn't strong enough to lift him. I was fretting about that when Helen phoned.
“How's Nona?” I asked.
“I'm right here with her,” Helen said, and passed the receiver to Nona.
“Luke?” she said.
“It's Jessie,” I said. “Luke's in the bathroom right now. How are you? What did the doctor say?”
“All the folderol they put a person through. You wouldn't believe it.”
“Are you okay? What did they say?”
“I'm just fine,” she said.
“But what did they say about the chest pain, the dizziness?”
Nona snorted. “They think it was an anxiety attack. Anxiety. I swear, they make me sound like a nervous old lady. I told them I've never had an anxiety attack in my life.”
“Will Helen be bringing you home now?”
“They insist on keeping me overnight. For observation, they say. If you ask me, they just want the money. Do you have any idea how much it costs? I hope to heaven Medicare takes care of it.”
The bathroom door opened. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Here's Luke. Let me put him on.”
“Well, she sounds better,” he said when he hung up. “Like herself.” I could see he was relieved.
Jim arrived shortly before eleven, and I explained the situation.
“It doesn't surprise me,” he said. “She's been under
a hell of a lot of stress. I'll take a run up there tonight and check on her. Have you made arrangements here for Luke? There are respite nurses who can come in for the night.”
“Everything's taken care of,” I said. “Listen, while you're here, I'm going to run out and pick up a few things. It won't take more than forty-five minutes.”
He checked his schedule. “Let me make a couple of calls. Then I'll be able to stay here for an hour.”
THE CAR door was still wide open—a reminder of my frantic run into the house earlier—and the driver's seat was rain-drenched. Water seeped through my jeans as I drove back to the cottage. I took a quick shower, shampooed my hair. I didn't take time to blow it dry but wrapped a towel, turban-style, around my head, then dashed about gathering some things: my overnight bag, scented candles, lotion, a set of sheets from the linen shelf. I had a quart container of chicken soup in the freezer, some that Faye gave me back in March, and I grabbed that, too. My hair was still damp when I headed back to Luke's, driving through the haze of rain much faster than was wise, although the torrential downpour of earlier had changed to a steady, near-silent soaking. I left my things in the car, figuring I'd bring them in the house after Jim left.
“He's sleeping,” Jim said when I went in.
“That's good,” I said.
“I've called the hospital and checked on Nona. They've given her something to calm her down. Probably a good night's sleep is the best thing in the world for her right now.”
“They're sure it's not her heart?”
“As sure as they can be. All the tests are negative.”
“I was so worried.”
“How about you? Are you okay to stay here until Faye lines up a replacement? My schedule is full until after five, but I can swing back by before I head up to Hyannis.”
“There's really no need. But I know it will mean a lot to Nona if you see her.”
“You sure you don't want me to call Faye so she can arrange for another volunteer to spell you until the night nurse arrives? You have arranged for that, right?”
I felt a breathless flutter in my chest. “I've taken care of everything,” I said.
SOMETIME AFTER three, the rain stopped. I brought my things in from the car.
“Jessie,” Luke called.
“Be right in.” I ran upstairs and found a towel and single sheet in the upstairs bath closet.
“What's that for?” Luke asked.
“You'll see.” I dug through my bag, retrieved my comb and a pair of scissors. I shook out the sheet and draped it over his shoulders before he could refuse, tucked the towel around his neck. I set the comb and shears on the table.
“Wait a minute. You're giving me a haircut?”
“You got it,” I said. A mindless rhythm vibrated in my chest.
“You sure you know what you're doing?” he said.
I snipped at the air with the scissors. “How do you think I made drinking money all through grad school?” I said, although, in truth, I had given only one other man a haircut, a Buddhist from Cambridge who had moved to Richmond seven years ago. We'd met at a flea market and were lovers for about two months. The one thing I remembered about him was that he once told me that yearning was at the center of all human experience.
I hadn't thought of the Buddhist—Paul—for a long time. His hair was sandy, and although he was only twenty-seven, it was so thin as to be wispy. Nothing like Luke's. I combed through his hair, dampened the thick clumps of curls with water. His head was beautifully shaped. I couldn't get enough of touching him, as if I could store it up. Slowly, working from front to back, I cut and trimmed and shaped. He didn't move. Black chips of hair fell onto his shoulders and pooled in his lap, vivid against the white sheet.
“The last time I had a home haircut, I was about four,” he said. “I think Nona used a bowl.”
I resisted the impulse to stroke his cheek, to bend my face to his scalp. I took longer than the job required. Finally I was done and stepped back to check. “Lookin' good,” I said. “Yes, sir, you are looking mighty fine.”
He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck and up over his scalp. “I have to admit it feels better.”
“Want to see? I can get a mirror.”
He shook his head. “I'll take your word for it.”
I carefully folded up the sheet, taking care to scoop up the cuttings. “I'll be right back,” I said. “I'm just going to shake this out.”
“Want to take Rocker with you? He hasn't been out since morning.”
“Come on, boy,” I said. “Does he need the leash to go in the backyard?”
“Just keep an eye on him. If he starts to head for the road, call him back.”
I stopped for a moment inside the kitchen door and, on impulse, reached inside the folded sheet and withdrew two ebony curls. I twisted them inside a paper towel, which I tucked in my bag.
Outside, the Lab ran in a frenzy of joy at being loose. He sniffed the ground and ran laps around the yard while I shook out the linen. Luke's hair twirled though the air; the longer strands floated down to the grass and lay there like black commas. I imagined chickadees or a titmouse swooping in and carrying the curls off for nests and, remembering the Greek myth, felt an unreasonable flash of fear. I should not have shaken the sheet there, but it was too late now. Once things are released to the wind, it is impossible to recapture them. I refolded the linen and waited while Rocker peed on a shrub, called him to me, and returned to the house.
THROUGHOUT THE afternoon, Luke dozed on and off. He asked me to stay with him, even when he slept, said my presence helped keep him steady, that he had never known anyone like me in that regard. Of course, I would have stayed by him even if he hadn't asked. Later he tried to call Paige, and again, there was no answer. “She must be off at work,” he said.
The sun had reappeared earlier, after it stopped raining, and now it slid toward the west. Inside the house, it felt cozy, almost as if this were an ordinary day. While Luke watched the early news, I slipped out and performed housewifely chores: a load of laundry, a quick dusting of the living room, emptying the trash. Around six, I went in the kitchen to start dinner. I set the chicken soup on low. While it heated, I found two matching bowls. I put some saltines on a plate, poured two glasses of ginger ale. I could only find paper napkins and regretted I hadn't thought to bring cloth ones. I ran outside and cut two lilac stems and put those on the tray. When everything was ready, I carried it in to him. Rocker roused himself and came to the bed by Luke's side.
“You didn't have to bother with this,” he said. He snapped a saltine in two and fed the halves to Rocker.
“It wasn't any bother.”
He reached over and touched the tiny bells of the lilac blossoms. “They're in bloom already.”
“Tulips will be next,” I said.
“Spring works so hard to come,” he said. He sounded tired.
I dipped a spoon in the broth and raised it to his lips. “I can manage,” he said, and took the spoon from my hand. I knew he would make an attempt, pretend to eat, as he had at breakfast. It didn't seem possible that someone could exist on so little. “It's good,” he said. I didn't tell him Faye had made the soup.
“What's your very favorite meal?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It's hard to remember the last time I really gave a damn.”
“Well, what's the thing you would choose if you could only pick one?”
“You mean like the condemned man's last supper?”
“Not exactly the analogy I had in mind.”
He laughed. My chest pinched at the sound. “The one thing?”he said. “Just one favorite thing?”
I nodded.
“That's tough. It's a toss-up.”
“Between what?”
“Chicken Parmesan made with a thick, red sauce. Or rib roast, end cut, rare, and a baked potato on the side, heavy on the sour cream.”
I smiled.
He fished a chunk of chicken out of the bowl and fed
it to Rocker. “But, of course, on a hot summer night, watching a ball game, nothing on earth can beat a pepperoni pizza and a beer. What about you? What's your favorite?”
“Me? Oh, I like everything.”
“You have to pick one, remember? Your rules.”
I looked out the window at the growing darkness, unable to face him when I answered. “This,” I whispered. “This. With you. This is my favorite meal.”My words fell into silence. Finally I dared to look over, but I couldn't tell if he was angry or sad. An ache spread like a stain through my body.
He put the spoon down. The room was so still and empty, every movement drew notice. He stared out at the gathering dusk. “There is nothing here for you, Jess,”he said.
“I don't care,” I said.
“Don't you get it? I can't give you anything. I have nothing to give.”
“I don't care,” I repeated. “Let me give to you.”
He rubbed his eyes, a weary gesture. “Why are you doing this?”
“I can't help it,” I said.
“We can always help it.”
“No. We can't. There are some things we can't stop. Some things that can't be helped.”
“You're wrong,” he said. “This is a mistake.”
“It's not. I don't want anything from you.” A lie, I knew. I was reduced to this single, feverish want. To receive. And to give, too. I couldn't remember ever having such a deep desire to give to a man.
“You're making a mistake,” he said again, and turned from me, looking off into a middle distance.
“Luke?” I said.
He wouldn't answer for a minute. Then he said, in a voice so soft I had to lean close to hear, “It's impossible.”
“Why?”
His mouth twisted in a bitter smile, but he reached for my hand. “I think that's pretty obvious.”
“Is it?”
“Let's just say our timing's off.”
I felt the harsh truth of what he said, felt the unbearable pain of knowing what might have been but couldn't be.
“Do you have any feelings for me?” I said.
His fingers tightened around mine. “That isn't the question.”
“But do you?”
He wouldn't meet my eyes. “You know I do.”
I held the words close. A quiet joy hummed in my chest.
The Lavender Hour Page 13
