by Gail Cleare
“Do I hear a little dissatisfaction in that voice? Are you getting bored?”
“Maybe.”
Bridget examined her sister’s face. “Nell, are you involved with another man?”
“No. Maybe.”
“My dear lord—I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“We haven’t done anything. Except hug. I’m married, and we’re just friends.”
“My dear lord, Nell hugged another man.” Bridget threw her hands up in the air, appealing to the sky and laughing. “And how was it?” she whispered and sidled up to Nell.
“Great,” Nell said, grinning and staring into space.
“Really. And who is the man? Some local lumberjack?”
“Adam Bascomb, the guy who’s been driving Mom back and forth to Maplewood.”
“Is he nice looking?”
Nell grinned. “What do you think?”
“Are you leaving your husband for him?” Bridget sounded hopeful.
“Don’t get carried away.”
“Of course not, Nell. You know I never get carried away.”
“No, really, it’s just a kindred-spirit thing, that’s all. So we hugged. No big deal.”
“Is he married?”
“No. But I am,” Nell said firmly, whistling for Winston and walking away.
She changed the subject to Bridget and Eric, and Bridget soon poured her heart out about recent events. She went on to deliver a humorous description of her last meeting with him, which kept them in giggles all the way home from the beach.
The two women showered and dressed and headed for the hospital in the red Jeep. They arrived at Mary’s cubicle just as the doctor was coming out. Bridget’s eyes were wide and solemn. Nell knew her sister must be shocked to see their mother’s tiny, translucent form lying in the tangle of tubes and wires.
The doctor looked concerned. “Mrs. Williams,” he said, shaking her hand. She introduced him to Bridget. “Let’s go sit down together for a minute.” He led them down the hallway.
“Ladies, Mary has contracted a secondary infection, and she hasn’t yet responded to the new antibiotics. We cultured her to identify the bug, and I changed the medication early this morning. She’s being fed and hydrated now through IV. Our options are limited at this point.”
Nell and Bridget held hands, squeezing tightly.
“We can intubate her again and put her back on the respirator,” he said, “or we can hope she continues to fight and the new meds work.”
“What are her chances?” Bridget asked, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Reasonably good. We can keep her comfortable, and when the antibiotics kick in, she may rally. Your mother strikes me as a strong woman. I vote we wait and see if she improves, but it’s up to you ladies. Nell, in particular, as health-care proxy.”
“I want to see her.” Bridget stood up. There was an emotional edge to her voice.
Nell realized that her sister would have to decide for herself, and she exchanged glances with the doctor. “We’ll discuss it.” Nell smiled her thanks.
The doctor nodded. “Page me when you’re ready. I’ll be here all morning.”
Bridget went in and sat down next to her mother’s bedside while Nell watched from the doorway. Mom labored for each rattling breath. Bridget carefully took her limp hand and held it.
“Mom, Mom. It’s me, I’m here.”
Mom’s eyes remained shut as she struggled for air. A little frown creased her forehead. Nell came into the cubicle and stood behind Bridget while Jennifer took Mom’s vital signs and wrote them on the chart. Bridget’s shoulders shook under Nell’s comforting hands. She was crying.
“She looks so… old.” Bridget’s voice trembled.
Nell agreed. “At first she was getting better, but yesterday, she took a turn for the worse.”
“She’s pretty heavily sedated right now,” Jennifer said. “When she had trouble breathing a little while ago, she got panicky. The doctor had us give her something to calm her down.” Jennifer brushed Mary’s hair back from her forehead.
“They had her hooked up to a breathing machine when I first got up here,” Nell said to her sister. “It was horrible.” She and Bridget looked at each other.
“I remember the conversation we had about this,” Bridget said. “When we three went on that yoga retreat.”
“Yes. It’s what she wants. No machines.”
“Okay,” Bridget whispered, reaching out for Nell. They hugged.
“She should be more alert in a few hours,” Jennifer said. “You might have a chance to talk with her a little bit then.”
Bridget squared her shoulders and wiped her eyes with her hand. “Good.” She settled into the bedside chair. “I need to say a few things to her.”
Nell stood at the foot of the bed and watched as her sister stroked Mom’s hand. After a minute, she left the room to roam the hallways, leaving the two of them alone. It was Bridget’s turn.
Nell went to the little market and picked up what she needed for hamburgers and salad, plus a bag of charcoal for the grill on the back porch. Bridget wanted a few things that hadn’t been in the kitchen, so Nell browsed to see what she could find. People in the aisles smiled at her, and she recognized a few of their faces.
The man behind the meat counter asked about her mother. Someone had obviously told him who she was since her visit the previous day. It had been only a short time, but she was already starting to feel at home here. People were friendly. They seemed to care about each other. It was very different from her other home.
Not only was her New Jersey town jam-packed with human beings, but most of them came and went in a flash. She could count on one hand the number of houses in her neighborhood where the owners had been in residence as long as she and David—nearly seven years at that point.
People were always moving because of their careers or because they traded up to bigger, better houses. The town was constantly growing as more people came to work at new technology and research companies that had sprung up in the area. Despite all that togetherness, people somehow still managed to be cold and impersonal, uninterested in each other unless they had gathered for a business party or an organized social event. There were so many newcomers that someone coming into town for a few days was unremarkable. Nell had only been in Vermont for less than a week, but already, she had friends there. Perhaps enemies too, she thought, remembering her encounters with Jake.
She came out of the market and put her grocery bags in the back of her car, which was parked in one of the diagonal spaces along the edge of the town green. Beyond the sidewalk that edged the wide lawn was a row of ancient maple trees, enormous in diameter, probably hundreds of years old. Huge gnarled roots rippled across the sandy dirt, and the lower tree limbs were thick as an elephant’s leg.
Nell had noticed the townspeople gathering on park benches in the shade of the maples to gossip and read the paper. Small boys played with their toy trucks among the twisting roots. Adventurous teens climbed up into the broad green canopies and carved their initials into the bark. The trees on the green were the center of a vibrant social network, the beating heart of Hartland.
She bought a newspaper and sat down on a bench to flip through it. As her mind went numb, her imagination dissolved the view into a dream of living quietly in Hartland alone as Mary had done. Running by the lake in the sunshine, breathing in the lovely air, watching the clear colors of nature throb with life. No responsibilities.
But Mom didn’t have a husband like David, who was always trying to help in that anxious, managerial way of his. When Nell came home, he’d want to read her journal and discuss each epiphany. Then he’d show her the towers of neatly folded, spanking-clean laundry he’d produced during her absence and say how easy it had been thanks to
his new high-efficiency system. Just helping out, baby. I emailed you the flow chart.
Nell wondered whether her father had known about the cottage. Had Mom been planning to leave him? Back then, Nell had been distracted by finishing high school and choosing a university, but she did remember thinking Mom seemed mad at Thomas for quite a while after Bridget caved in and put her baby up for adoption. Mom had been even more upset than Bridget. She seemed to take it personally for some reason.
Did the diagnosis of his illness stop her from leaving him? The timing seemed right.
Is that what kept her tied to him? She’d been unable to abandon Thomas in his time of need even while she yearned to escape to her new home, the house she kept in her back pocket like the photo of a secret lover, pulling it out to sneak a look when she needed cheering up.
Nell knew that she’d probably have to tell David about the cottage before long, and he’d want to come up and bring the kids, and it would turn into a family vacation spot. The kids would swim at the town beach, and David would get a little sailboat. He’d go fishing with Ben at dawn every day, and they would bond. The kids would buy popsicles from the ice cream truck that stopped at the beach parking lot on summer afternoons, and Lauren would make friends with a gaggle of little girls. Nell would still get to go running by the lake, but she’d spend most of her vacation cooking and cleaning and taking care of everyone as usual. The house would be full of laughter and the sound of running feet. At night in Mom’s old room, her husband would kiss her, and they’d make love in the soft light of the moon shadow that glowed darkly in the garden window.
But not yet. At the moment, it was still Mom’s place and Nell’s and Bridget’s. Their private retreat. Perhaps if the sisters both really wanted to, they could arrange their lives so that every once in a while, they could sneak off together or alone and enjoy the stillness, the solitude.
After all, men had their hunting cabins, their fishing camps. Their wives knew about them, but they certainly didn’t want to tag along and interfere. It was Man Land.
She might be able to tell David she just needed some time to herself. She might say, “Don’t call. I’ll be back in a week or two. I’m going to write some poetry.”
Nell imagined the look that would come over his face if she ever said that.
“I still love you,” she’d say. “It’s not about you.”
And his eyes would fill with panic. A wife who vacationed alone for weeks at a time was not part of his picture of the ideal marriage. No, David would not find this idea easy to handle.
But for the moment, Nell sat on the park bench and basked in the feeling of independence.
Driving through town to bring the groceries home and let the dogs out, Nell experimented with a few logical shortcuts and found herself in familiar territory. She saw the antiques barn coming up on her right. Adam was in the driveway, unloading furniture from his pickup truck. His back was turned to the street, and she saw his broad shoulders ripple under the blue work shirt as he lifted a table up in the air. She beeped the horn, and he looked up, breaking into a smile.
“Hey there.” Nell pulled into the parking area, rolled down the window, and slowed to a stop.
Adam came over to the side of her car. “Hey yourself.”
She smelled the lemony scent of his furniture polish. “How are you?” Relieved for a moment, her anxiety level plummeted. He seemed to have that effect on her.
“Sad.” He leaned on the car near the open window. “Stopped by and saw your mom again early this morning. She wasn’t doing so well.”
Nell forgot to pay attention, and her foot slipped off the brake. The car rolled an inch or two before she stopped it, and they both laughed, a tight nervous sound.
“Well, yes,” she said. “She’s asleep again now, and they’re trying a new medicine. My sister is here.”
“Aha, the elusive Bridget finally appears. Can’t wait to meet her.” He grinned and nodded.
“She can’t wait to meet you, and your father too,” Nell said. “Not that I’m eager to socialize with Jake. He’s been annoying the hell out of me.”
“Hey, don’t get your Reilly up.” Adam stepped back and raised his hands defensively. “I’m not responsible for the offensive things my dad does.”
“I know,” she said, mellowing. “He acts like a jerk sometimes without your coaching.”
“Nobody likes it when he gets obnoxious, you know. Least of all me.”
“Okay, sorry. Just letting off steam.” Nell unclenched her fists and took a deep breath.
They looked at one another in silence.
“Gotta go put some stuff in the fridge,” she said.
“Bye.” He stepped back. “Take care, Nell.”
She lifted one hand and waved, backing up to pull out into the road and continue on her way. Before she could change her mind, she stepped on the brake and leaned out the window.
“Adam.”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you come for dinner? Meet Bridget?”
He grinned and bounced a little like an eager puppy. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, definitely. Mom would want us to all be together. I feel it.”
“Okay.” Adam stood with hands on hips. “I’ll bring the wine if you promise not to get me drunk again.”
“No promises. Bring plenty. Seven thirty unless you hear otherwise.” Waving again, she drove off down the street.
Chapter 27
Bridget ~ 2014
Bridget sat next to the hospital bed all morning and watched her mother fight to pull air into her congested lungs until finally, in the early afternoon, Mom’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at her oldest daughter. A smile spread from her eyes to her lips. Lifting her arms a scant inch off the mattress, she reached out, and Bridget bent over the bed to thread her arms between the tubes and wires and fold her mother’s tiny body into an embrace. It was like hugging a bird.
“My girl,” Mom whispered, then she burst into a spasm of coughing, and Bridget drew back, grabbing for a tissue from the bedside table to offer it to her mother.
Jennifer came hurrying into the room and reached behind Mom’s back to lean her forward as she coughed in great rattling shudders. Pulling a sturdier tissue from a packet on the table, the nurse said, “Spit!” and Mom did, filling the tissue in Jennifer’s hand with dark-gray mucus. “Good girl.” Jennifer rubbed Mom’s back. “That was a good one.”
Mom smiled up at her weakly, beads of sweat on her forehead. She lay back against the pillows and took a shuddering breath.
Jennifer held a glass of water to her lips, and she sipped from a bent straw. “Better?” the nurse said.
Mom nodded, and her breathing settled into a quieter pattern.
“She can’t talk much,” Jennifer told Bridget. “It makes her cough. But she can listen just fine.”
Bridget took her mother’s hand, and this time she felt a squeeze in return.
“We’ll be okay,” Bridget said. “Thank you.”
Jennifer pointed to where the call button was clipped to the sheets near the pillow. She went back to the nurses’ station, saying she’d be in and out but to pay her no mind.
Bridget sat with her mother for the next few hours and talked about whatever came into her mind—memories of childhood, family trips, and mental snapshots from their years together. She’d been a wild teenager, and they had fought more than once over her bids for independence. At the moment, it all seemed humorous rather than dire. Bridget told her mother about similar incidents she’d gone through recently with Heather, saying that now she understood Mom’s point of view. She didn’t tell Mom about her decision to get divorced again. Her mother didn’t need more to worry about.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Bridget said. “There’s something
that’s been hard for me to say all these years.”
Her mother looked at her curiously, raising one eyebrow.
“You were right, Mom. I should have kept her.”
Mom’s eyes saddened, and she gave Bridget’s hand a weak squeeze. “I understand,” she mouthed.
Bridget laid her head down on the edge of the mattress, unable to meet her mother’s eyes for the rest of what she wanted to say. “I was so young and stupid. I never realized I wouldn’t have another chance. And I thought it would just be too hard to raise her by myself.” She was crying quietly, letting the tears roll off and soak into the sheets. “A few years ago, I started looking for her. I went to Catholic Charities, but they said the records had been lost. So I hired a detective and then another. Nothing. They couldn’t find her. I was too late.”
Bridget felt her mother’s hand on her hair, stroking it. She raised her head. “I should have listened to you, Mom. I wish I had.”
Her mother nodded. “Keep trying,” she whispered urgently.
“I will, I promise.”
The hours passed all too quickly as they leaned toward each other, arms intertwined on the edge of the bed, heads nearly touching. Bridget spoke in a quiet voice, and her mother whispered a reply now and then. Love surrounded them like a bright glow, filling the cubicle with an atmosphere of peace. The knot in Bridget’s stomach relaxed.
Her mind wandered off into a vision of her father the day he’d given her a driving lesson and she’d hit the gas instead of the brake, propelling the car off the road. She laughed out loud at the memory of his astonished, angry expression. Turning back to Mary, she found her mother’s eyes had closed, and Bridget realized the hand in hers had relaxed.
Jennifer came in to say that Mary would probably sleep for a few hours. She suggested that Bridget take a break and come back later. It was early afternoon, and Bridget hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She stood up and stretched, looking around for Nell. She asked at the nurses’ station, but none of them had seen her in several hours.