“She always called me Kelly Ann,” she said through her tears. “My full name. When I was little, I hated that sooo much.”
“She called me her ‘blue-eyed boy,’” he said. “Do you know the grief I got from Billy over that?”
Grandma loves her blue-eyed boy. She had said that to him when he was little more than a baby. He remembered the words and how they made him feel.
Did those words exist only in his imagination? There had to have been some good times along the way. He refused to believe otherwise.
“You’d better phone Aunt Claire,” Kelly said, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “She won’t care, but still . . .”
“You’re right,” he said. If Claire didn’t care, maybe one of her kids might. At the least, they were family and they had the right to know.
Claire greeted the news with her usual blunt candor. “If you’re looking for tea and sympathy, you dialed the wrong number.”
“I’m not looking for anything, Claire. I’m just passing on the information.”
“Consider it passed on.”
“You’ll tell Kathleen and the others.”
“Of course.” She paused and he could hear the sound of cigarette smoke being exhaled. “So do we open up as usual today or wait until all the roads are cleared?”
“Your call,” he said. “I’m going over to the hospital.”
“Right,” she said. “Of course you are. So Tommy and I will open. You get there when you can.”
“I can’t make any guarantees, Claire. I don’t know how the day’s going to play out.”
Claire’s laugh held more than a hint of bitterness. “Nobody does, Aidan. That’s the hell of it all.”
“YOU’RE BEING VERY quiet,” Rose said to Lucy over breakfast.
“Am I?”
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I waited too long to tell Maddy about the cancer.”
“So you’ve added mind reading to your list of accomplishments now?”
Rose’s cheeks flushed at Lucy’s pointed words. “If you have something to say, Lucia, please say it.”
“Fine.” Lucy put down her coffee cup. “Let’s put your gigantic mistake about your cancer aside for right now and deal with the slightly less gigantic mistake you made this morning. Maddy was right, you know. You never were one for fussing over a sickbed or making cookies for the school bazaar.”
“And that’s a crime? We’re not all Florence Nightingale or June Cleaver. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“And I do. What I’m saying, Rosie, is that I always had the feeling you loved Maddy but found motherhood itself an uncomfortable fit. And no, that’s not a crime. I like to believe I would love being completely responsible for another human being’s life, but the distance between theory and reality is very wide. I know what your life was like when she was growing up. I know how hard you worked to secure the future for the two of you, the sacrifices you made, but sometimes I think you felt staying home would have been the bigger sacrifice.” She hesitated, searching Rose’s eyes for encouragement. “Help me out here, Rosie, will you?”
Rose sighed and reached out for her sister’s hand. “Life is funny, isn’t it, Lucia? Somehow it always gets the last laugh.” Lucy had wanted to be a mother from the time she cradled her first doll in her arms while Rose never gave it a thought until they handed her a squalling baby girl named Maddy and said “Good luck.”
“You’re right. They weren’t all sacrifices,” Rose said. “I enjoyed being out there in the world much more than I enjoyed being home watching Sesame Street.” How many times had she ditched a recital or a PTA meeting—she couldn’t count that high. A heavy workload . . . unexpected meeting . . . a closing three towns over that couldn’t be postponed. Oh, there was always some handy-dandy excuse she could pull out of her Filofax, always someplace she needed to be.
“I love her,” Rose said with a touch of defiance. “I have from the first moment.”
“She knows that,” Lucy said. “But she has Hannah now and she’s trying to make sense of things. She’s trying to find her own way, but to do that she needs to understand yours.”
“She knows I loved my work. I’m proud of my accomplishments. I tried to instill that in her from the very beginning.” That a woman could take care of herself. That work was a good thing. That you didn’t have to be afraid of being alone. “I did a good job,” Rose said angrily. “I raised a good woman.”
“So tell her.”
“I have told her.”
“Tell her again.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
Rose pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’m going to see how Hannah is doing.”
MADDY WAS IN the office saying goodbye to Jim Kennedy when her mother walked into the room.
“So how much of that did you hear?” Maddy asked as she hung up the receiver.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, Maddy.”
“I canceled the radio interview.”
“Oh, Maddy! You didn’t.”
“I can’t leave Hannah.”
“But the interview—”
“I understand and applaud your devotion to business,” Maddy said, “but my first responsibility is to my daughter.”
“You don’t understand how important that interview was.”
“You’re already booked solid for the next two years.”
“I’m thinking of the future,” Rose said.
“And I’m thinking of Hannah.” She moved past her mother into the hallway and headed toward her daughter’s room. “She’s feeling worse, by the way,” she said over her shoulder.
“That’s what I intended to ask you about.” Rose sounded both angry and embarrassed. “We got side-tracked.”
Maddy was proud of herself for letting the twenty or thirty biting retorts that presented themselves remain unspoken.
Hannah was sleeping when they entered the room. Her hands were outside the covers. Her fingers worried the Aladdin blanket, twisting a portion, then releasing it. Over and over again.
“Does she have a fever?” Rose asked in a whisper.
“Not to speak of.” Maddy placed the palm of her hand against her daughter’s forehead and frowned. “She still feels clammy.” She met Rose’s eyes. “What do you think?”
Rose placed her lips against her granddaughter’s cheek, then her forehead. “She’s cool enough, but I agree. She’s a little clammy.”
A sudden surge of terror rose up inside Maddy and a small sound escaped her lips. Rose reached out and placed a hand on her arm.
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Rose said, “but why don’t you give the pediatrician a call just to put your mind at rest.”
Good Samaritan Hospital
The red-haired nurse smiled at Aidan as she finished entering data into the computer terminal adjacent to Irene’s bed. “Your grandmother has beautiful hands,” she said, with a rueful shake of her head. “They put mine to shame.”
“My daughter has the same hands,” he said, grateful for the small talk.
“Lucky girl. So far that’s the one thing you can’t buy at your local surgeon’s office.”
Aidan watched as Irene’s fingers tugged repeatedly at the blankets, the railing, the paper-thin skin of her wrists and forearms. “Is she in pain?” he asked. “She keeps plucking at things.”
A shadow passed across the nurse’s face. “She’s not in any pain,” she assured him. “That restlessness is one of the signs we see as a patient moves through the process of letting go.”
Which was, they both knew, a euphemism for death.
“We have some very informative booklets on the shelf near the nurses’ station,” she went on. “You might want to browse through the one on this subject.”
Kelly had come with him to the hospital, but after five minutes she had run from the room crying. He had never fully understood why Kelly loved Grandma Irene the way she
did. He would be the first one to admit Irene had given the girl next to nothing in return for her affection, but that didn’t seem to matter to his daughter. She loved unconditionally. No strings. No expectations. The way she loved her mother’s memory. Her cousins. Claire. Himself. And now Seth. He wished he could take credit for her kind heart, but he couldn’t. Her kind heart was a gift from her mother, but in every other way she was her own miracle.
The Candlelight
“Maddy’s upstairs with Hannah,” Rose said as she ushered Kelly O’Malley into the warm kitchen and sat her down at the table. “Is there something I can do to help?”
How lovely she was with her strawberry blond hair curling around her face and her cheeks so bright with color. And those blue eyes! They reminded Rose of Hannah’s, and for the first time all day the tiniest bud of fear began to blossom inside her chest.
It was clear the girl was in a highly emotional state.
“It’s all right if you’d rather talk with Maddy,” Rose said. “I understand.”
“No, it’s not that.” Kelly made an effort to pull herself together. “It’s just—” Her eyes filled with tears she didn’t blink away. “Grandma Irene is dying, and I was wondering if maybe I could borrow that samovar just for an hour or two. I’d like to take it to the hospital and let her see it.”
“Are you talking about the samovar Maddy won at the auction?”
Kelly nodded. “It’s exactly like the one Grandpa Michael gave Irene the year before he died. I thought maybe if she—” More tears spilled from her big blue eyes, and Rose’s heart was quite simply undone.
She went upstairs to fetch the samovar.
THE PEDIATRICIAN CALLED back a little after two o’clock. She listened to Maddy’s description of Hannah’s symptoms, then chuckled kindly.
“I’d say we have a common head cold building. I’m a little concerned about the clamminess, but that could simply be her body’s way of dissipating a fever before it sets in. Continue doing what you’re doing and call me again around six o’clock and let me know how—”
“Something’s wrong,” Maddy said. “I know the symptoms don’t add up to much, but—”
“You have a feeling. I know all about those feelings, Maddy. I’m a parent myself. I respect those feelings. But in this instance I believe we really don’t have anything more than a cold to be concerned about.”
“You don’t think I should bring her into the office?”
“No, I don’t. Not at this point. Let’s talk again at six.”
Click.
She supposed she should feel grateful for the privilege of speaking to the doctor and not one of a squad of “health-care professionals” hired to take the burden of actually dealing with patients off the shoulders of the poor beleaguered MDs, but at the moment she didn’t feel anything but worried. She couldn’t help feeling that this was one of those times when the whole was truly greater—and maybe more serious—than the sum of its parts.
Good Samaritan Hospital
Aidan stepped out into the corridor and flagged down a passing technician. “Did you happen to see a pretty, blond-haired girl in the lounge?”
“Just a couple of old men with hearing problems,” the technician said and kept on walking.
Damn. It wasn’t like Kelly to just take off like that. The Jeep wasn’t in the parking lot, which meant she wasn’t out there taking a walk around the block. Where the hell had she gone?
He checked the cafeteria, the lounge, and the gift shop, and was on his way back to Irene’s room when he saw a door marked Chapel. On a hunch he stepped inside.
The small room featured a raised altar with a crucifix on one side and a menorah on the other. An open Bible rested on a small wooden stand on the left. A guest book and pen rested on the right. A nondenominational stained-glass panel dominated the room, fierce reds and yellows, tranquil blues and greens.
Kelly was sitting in the first pew on the right. A shopping bag rested next to her. Her head was lowered, and if she heard him approach, she gave no indication. He slid into the pew next to her.
“You okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Feel like telling me where you were?”
She met his eyes. “I went to the Candlelight and got the samovar.”
“You stole the samovar?”
“I asked Mrs. DiFalco and she gave it to me.”
“Rose doesn’t own the samovar. Maddy does.”
“Maddy was upstairs taking care of Hannah.”
He registered the information about Hannah and Maddy and tucked it away for later.
Kelly grabbed the shopping bag and put it on her lap. “You’re not going to say I can’t do it, are you?”
“No,” he said, “but I’m going to remind you that she probably doesn’t even know we’re in the room with her, much less recognize an old teapot.”
“But I have to try,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” he said, “and I’m not going to try and stop you.”
Her shoulders began to shake and she lowered her head. Seventeen years and Aidan still didn’t have a handle on tears. He placed an arm around her and gave her a hug.
“I just want Grandma to know she’s not alone.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “It seems like the least we can do for her.”
“You make me proud, Kel.” His voice was choked with emotion. “Your mother would have been proud, too.”
“I love you, Daddy.” For a moment he thought he saw the little girl she used to be, but then he blinked and she was almost grown.
The Candlelight
Aidan called a little after three o’clock to see how Hannah was faring.
“There’s still no fever,” she said, “but I can’t shake the feeling something’s very wrong.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“‘Wait until six o’clock, then call me back.’ She was polite and kind and all of that, but I think she has me pegged as a hysterical single mother of an only child.”
“Call her back now.”
“She told me to wait until six.”
“Go with your gut,” he said. “Nobody loves Hannah more than you do, and nobody knows her better.”
“I don’t want to alienate her pediatrician.”
“Screw the pediatrician. There are other doctors out there, but there’s only one Hannah.”
She was silent, thinking about his words. Rocking the boat had never been one of her favorite pastimes.
“I’m right on this,” he persisted. “You know you won’t rest until the doctor sees Hannah, and she won’t see her unless you push hard.”
He was right and she knew it. She promised to call him back with the outcome, then hung up and dialed Hannah’s doctor.
THANK GOD FOR cell phones.
Rose almost cried with relief when Bill’s booming voice leaped through the wires into her heart.
“Talk to me, Rosie,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“No . . . yes—oh, God, Bill, I just don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have that—” She stopped. There were some fears that were better off remaining unspoken.
“It’s not your cancer, is it?” Bless him for not beating around the bush.
“No,” she said, although she would rather bear anything than see Maddy or Hannah unwell. “It’s the little one.”
She tried to explain the situation to him, but it sounded so ridiculous in the telling that she ended up apologizing.
“I sound crazy, don’t I? No fever. No nausea. Nothing I can point to and say, ‘Aha! That’s the culprit!’ But something’s wrong, Bill, I can feel it in my gut.” She told him how Maddy had been the first to suspect something wasn’t right and how her suspicions had seemed more and more on target as the day progressed.
“What did the doctor say?”
“She’s going to drive over on her way home and take a look at Hannah.” Which must be the first house call made in
Paradise Point since the Korean War.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
“Bill, that’s not necessary. You’ll be here for Christmas. Don’t cut your—”
“Rosie, don’t you know by now there’s no point to arguing with me when it comes to family? Sit tight. I’ll be there before long.”
She hung up the phone, then lowered her head and started to cry.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: 8 December
SUBJECT: Hannah
I’m not sure there’s any reason for you to worry, but Hannah isn’t feeling very well and I can’t pinpoint why. It started around three A.M.—she’s not feverish or vomiting, but she’s also not very responsive, either. Everyone thinks it’s a head cold, but where are the sneezes? The sniffles? Just a sore throat. She’s been asleep most of the day; no appetite, no conversation. And you know that’s not at all like our daughter. I called the pediatrician twice—finally got her to agree to stop by and see Hannah. Like I said, there doesn’t seem to be any reason for worry, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling very uneasy about this.
Hence this e-mail.
I’ll keep you posted.
Maddy
PS: I’m attaching two photos taken last night of H. playing in the snow with Priscilla. God, how I wish I’d kept her inside watching TV.—M.
Good Samaritan Hospital
It came as no surprise when Irene failed to respond to the samovar. Aidan had tried his best to prepare Kelly for the total lack of response, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of her great-grandmother lying still as a corpse in the hospital bed.
They rested the samovar on the bed next to Irene and lifted her hand to touch its sleek and shiny surface, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker of recognition or even curiosity from the old woman.
“You tried, Kel,” he said as they slid the samovar back into the shopping bag and placed it on the chair in the corner of the room. “That’s more than most people would have done.”
“She doesn’t even know we’re here,” Kelly said, her voice breaking. “It’s like we’re in different worlds.”
Shore Lights Page 32
