Season of Gifts (Neighborly Affection #8)

38. Henry

Chapter thirty-eight

Henry

T he wedding photos brought real 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 mouthed Robert to 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 resounding no from 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 facade 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 murmuring adagio, adagio, adagio as 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?

“Ah, but I’m not ready to hear frail yet, Henry.” A tremor slipped into Mother’s voice, a haunting lilt of sincerity in what she’d likely intended as a joke. “Now, what can we do about my goal?”

He had no answer; perhaps no answer would assuage the hypervigilance assailing him. Though naming the foe was an excellent first step. He could acknowledge his, ahem, perhaps overzealous protective instincts. “Another goal might be a better test case upon which to quiz Nurse Alden, Mother.”

“No, not at all.” The nurse gestured with both hands, a delightful bit of symmetry. “That’s actually a very common request. In this case, I would think fulfilling it would be fairly uncomplicated—hiring a full-time, live-in caretaker is usually sufficient, and you’ve wisely embarked on that plan.”

“Have I?” Mother’s eye twitched.

He ought to have discussed the situation more extensively with her prior to the interviews. “There are, of course, many options—”

“Nurse Alden, I do apologize, but could we continue this at another time?” Mother politely covered her mouth as she credibly induced a yawn. “You’ve been wonderful, but I am a bit worn out. Life is an endless series of naps, I fear.”

And so he ushered out their second prospect, one who’d been doing quite well until that point.

“A full-time, live-in nurse?” Hands clenched into fists in her lap, Mother tracked him with her eyes as he returned and occupied the seat so recently vacated by their would-be aide. “I am not an invalid, Henry. You’ve heard everything from the medical team that I have. If I take my medication, eat healthy meals, and undertake light exercise in moderation, I will have no more trouble now than I did before this accursed attack.”

He had heard all she had heard, yes, and more, and likely digested more of it at the time than she had. No more trouble, pishposh. The survival rates for patients with heart failure began looking less and less rosy five years on. Gambling with her health now would be foolish. Unconscionable. “They also said you ought not live alone.”

She dismissed his fears with a wave of her hand, quick as a startled bird abandoning a perch. “I have no need for a constant nursemaid. My condition is not so advanced. A simple companion will do. A few hours a week.”

Simple. The companion need only be strong to lift Mother if she grew dizzy and fell. Gentle to help her with balance and bathing. Have training in nutrition and emergency care. Be persistent enough to persuade Mother to take frequent breaks rather than standing for long painting sessions. Be forceful enough to insist upon carrying the watering can for Mother’s daily rounds in the conservatory. Be patient and socially astute enough to accompany her to various meetings for philanthropic causes and social clubs. Simple, of course. An emotional support cat would suffice, undoubtedly.

“That will not be enough, Mother.” Managing the house would put her out of breath in minutes. A shower could make her dizzy; a bath would leave her struggling to stand. Her social circle would close, her daily life grow small and dim, her mood shift like a stormy sea. “How will you manage?”

“I suppose I will manage as I have done these years since your father’s passing—with the sturdy Bennett backbone I was born with.” Shoulders squared, voice hoarse, she pinned him under the new growth of spring in her eyes. “I am not inviting a stranger to count my breaths every hour, Henry. I won’t have it.”

“Nothing so intrusive.” Composure faltering, he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Had she grown tired of him watching over her? He must push on to show her the importance of a full-time aide, but an argument would risk more strain on her heart. His own had been pounding for minutes. Her medication would be keeping hers partially in check, but a raging storm would overwhelm it all the same. “What of everyday tasks? Your watering can for the garden, your seeds for the bird feeders—the milk for your tea. You’re not to lift anything strenuous, and the medical team’s definition of strenuous is a gallon of milk, Mother. Eight pounds at most.”

Breathing slowly and deeply, she smoothed her slacks and plucked a white hair from the fabric. “I could hardly drink a gallon of milk before it went off, Henry. I’ll buy a quart and be just fine.” She pushed off the settee and stood before he could reach her to assist. She nodded with a quiet hmph, her eyebrow defiantly raised. “Now, when is Robert coming by for tea? Let’s put a tray together.”

The table had been set in the conservatory when Robert arrived. Mother had insisted on taking part in the preparation, though she consented to allow Henry to carry the dishes from kitchen to table.

Leaving her ensconced in a cushioned seat, he greeted his brother at the door. “It’s been some time. I look forward to seeing how the boys have grown this past year.”

“It’s astonishing how fast they age.” Robert shook out his coat and hung it in the closet, tucking his scarf around the hanger and his driving gloves in the pocket. “Though I suppose we grew equally fast. Mother said at Thanksgiving that you married the man you’ve been seeing—and a woman as well?” He straightened his tie, his teatime attire far more formal than Henry’s open collar and marine blue knit vest. “This must be a strain, being apart as newlyweds. I’m sorry we missed the happy day.”

Mother hadn’t mentioned that conversation. Though perhaps she would only have thought to tell him if she hadn’t informed Robert. His sister-in-law hadn’t said anything on their calls, but those were tightly focused on Mother’s health and the best timing for the family’s Christmas gathering. “I—yes, we—”

“Are we in the conservatory today? Or the music room?” Robert swept out of the entryway and into the hall.

“The conservatory.” Henry increased his pace to catch up. “And yes, you’ll meet Alice and Jay next week. They’ll arrive over the weekend; work has kept them busy. The distance has been a challenge, though I expect one you know well.”

Robert grunted agreement. “The conference timing was unfortunate, although—” He strode in among the greens, arrowing straight toward Mother. “I’m pleased to see you up and about.” Hugging her lightly as she gripped her chair with one hand, Robert kissed her cheeks. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to go ice skating tomorrow, and snowshoeing the day after that, hmm?”

“I’ll leave that to you and your boys, dear. Sit, sit.” Mother reclaimed her seat, waving them both down. “I shall enthusiastically sketch your adventures from a sleigh with heated blankets. My grandmother used to tell sleighing stories from her girlhood. But tell me about Constance and the boys.”

Robert dutifully updated them on the family while Henry poured boiling water from the electric kettle over the infusers in each cup. He’d weighted the food toward savory, as Mother wasn’t to be indulging in too many sweets.

“—the school break. Robert will be off to the academy in two more years, which seems impossible, and yet here we are. They’re both eagerly awaiting Christmas with their grandmother.”

“With the gifts Santa brings, I expect.”

“Constance has suitcases packed full of them, ready to smuggle into the car and deploy under the tree. Are we relocating this year? I didn’t see one in the music room on the way in.”

“We’ll be fetching a tree over the weekend.” The decorating would be a scramble to finish before Robert’s family arrived Tuesday afternoon, but Jay would be an immense help with that project. The work would be an excellent outlet for his service energy, and directing between naps could prove a valuable distraction for Mother. “Not to worry, all will be as usual for the holiday. We’re a bit behind schedule, as you might expect.”

Mother sipped her tea and grimaced. Lifting the infuser from her side saucer by its chain, she settled it gently back into her cup. “I ought to have let that steep longer, or added more leaves. I fear I’ve made a weak tea. It’s quite flat on the tongue.”

Henry shifted the small milk pitcher closer to her plate. “Try adding milk for the fat; that ought to improve the mouth feel. It’s decaffeinated tea, Mother.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You decaffeinated my tea?”

“Caffeine would interfere with the beta blocker your doctor prescribed.” A stroke of luck, really, that the local shop carried the decaffeinated version of Mother’s favorite and was willing to deliver despite not having an official delivery policy. He’d tipped the clerk quite well yesterday afternoon for stopping by the house. “I presumed you wouldn’t wish to switch entirely to herbal tea, although if you’d like, I also ordered a few hibiscus—”

“I will not sit in bed all day with weak tea and a constant minder, Henry. I unconditionally refuse.”

“The situation is temporary, Mother. Akin to the supplemental oxygen.” The tank sat beside her chair, as unobtrusive as a rolling metal cart and a green-tipped canister with gauges and a face mask could be. “You were in the hospital again just two days ago. Please allow for time to recover. We can discuss the tea with your care team tomorrow.”

“Then I will have my usual tea today.” She glared at him, every inch as stubborn as he. Society often said men married women like their mothers—no wonder he had ended up with a fiercely independent wife.

Robert rose from his chair, his hand pressed to his tie though he had a perfectly fine tie tack to prevent it dragging. “I’ll let you two talk.”

How very like their father Robert was, fleeing from emotions playing out in front of him, denying the evidence of his own eyes.

“No, no, stay.” Mother reached toward him and flat-handed the air, fingers spread, patting until he settled back down. “I’m being a cranky patient, and Henry has been kind enough to put up with me by himself for weeks now. I do love having company.” She poured a large splash of milk into her cup, holding the pitcher with two hands and shooting Henry an are you pleased, hmm? glance. “How was Frankfurt? Tell us all about your trip.”

Robert described the Christmas market and the baubles he’d picked up there—old-fashioned toys for his sons, a handcrafted ornament for his wife, the delicious goose he’d dined on. “You would have loved it, Mother.”

Goose. Yes, Henry would need to call about that as well, with the hope that Mother had placed the order with her butcher weeks ago. And plan the meal, and shop for the trimmings—all tasks that would be easier once he fetched Alice and Jay, though he would have to call Lina and ask if he might impose on her once more, as a temporary nurse would clearly not be the solution Saturday. So many things yet undone—including the markers of the holiday. The strolls he hadn’t taken with Alice and Jay under the lights. The treats they hadn’t made together in the kitchen. The experiences he’d planned so meticulously to balance the multiple aspects of their lives together, a first holiday season to set the tone for all the rest, for the years and decades to come.

Robert looked so much like their father now. He shared his name, his habits, his appearance. They’d formed a cordial sibling relationship as adults, far better than the treatment Jay had received from his siblings but falling short of the easy camaraderie Alice and her sister cultivated. But then he and Robert had not been tempered in the same crucible. Robert had been away at school; he had never lost his faith in Father’s wisdom, not in one crisp moment as Henry had.

Alice’s falling-out with her father had been a yearslong process, a slow destruction of her childhood. Her father seemed a man driven by his demons. One spot of luck in an otherwise ill-favored month—her work was keeping her too busy to go haring off alone to confront her past while Henry’s attention was elsewhere.