Twenty-one
Trinity
T he automatic doors sweep open with a hushed whoosh as I step into Lakeview Assisted Living. I’m here for my daily lunch ritual with Mom, but the pit in my stomach tells me something is off even before I reach the front desk. The receptionist greets me with a hesitant smile that does nothing to ease my tension.
“Hi, I’m here to see my mom,” I tell her.
“Of course,” she says. “But, Ms. Blaine, your mother has been moved to the memory care unit,” the receptionist informs me, her eyes sympathetic yet guarded.
“Moved? Why wasn’t I told? I was just here yesterday. What happened?” My heart pounds, anger and fear knotting in my chest.
“Your mother has been wandering at night,” she explains. “We don’t have enough staff to watch her constantly.”
“And no one thought to call me?”
“Well, Frankie would be the one to discuss this with you, but she’s on her honeymoon. She’ll be back next week.”
I nod stiffly, the information doing little to quell the turmoil inside.
She directs me to Mom’s new room, in the specialized care unit. The corridors here feel different—more sterile, less welcoming. When I finally reach the right place, the sight before me tightens the vise around my heart. The flowers from the wedding I delivered to her yesterday sit cheerfully on her side table, but Mom paces the room, her face lined with confusion and distress.
“Mom?” I approach cautiously.
She turns to me, but there’s no recognition in her face. “I need to speak to someone! They’ve locked me in, and I can’t find Ellen!”
“Mom, it’s okay. I’m here,” I soothe, though my throat constricts with emotion.
“Ellen?” Hope flickers across her features, a heartbreaking glimpse of vulnerability.
“Yes, Mom. It’s Ellen,” I lie gently, guiding her to sit beside me. It feels wrong to deceive her, but right now, I’ll do anything to calm the storm in her eyes.
A nurse enters, carrying a small cup with medication.
I instantly bristle. “Is this necessary?” I demand, my gaze locked on the clear plastic revealing its tiny chemical payload.
“Doctor’s orders. It’s just to take the edge off,” she assures me.
“Off of what? Her dignity?” I want to scream, to protect my mother from this invasion, but instead, I watch helplessly as she accepts the medicine, her tears spilling over.
“Mom,” I whisper, taking her hand. “I’m here, okay? You’re safe.”
Her sobs ebb slowly, replaced by a drowsy resignation that’s almost worse to witness. I sit with her, Ellen in name only, until the sedatives pull her into an uneasy sleep. My own eyes sting with a sorrow too deep to name.
I slip out into the corridor, my heart pounding from the ordeal. I navigate back toward the front desk, searching for the acting director. When I find him, I don’t even start with a greeting or an introduction. I just march over, trying hard to control my anger. “Why didn’t you or Dr. Tuck call me?”
“Who’s Dr. Tuck?” he asks.
“Dr. Camille Tuck is my mother’s doctor. Who prescribed my mother a sleeping pill if it wasn’t Dr. Tuck?”
He pauses a moment, then types into the tablet he’s holding. “Our records show that Greyson Paradise was her admitting physician.”
“He was, but he’s an emergency department doctor. You should be dealing with Dr. Tuck.”
“I’m sorry. The information we have lists Dr. Greyson. If you want to change that to another doctor…” He walks over to the reception desk and pulls out a stack of paperwork. “You’ll need to fill this out and make the new doctor aware of the change.”
I hold back my climbing level of frustration. “She’s not a new doctor. She’s my mother’s GP.”
When the acting director just shrugs, I rub my temples and take a breath so I don’t explode. “Thank you,” I say through gritted teeth. I need to talk to Greyson, and it can’t wait until after his shift. I get in my car and drive straight to the hospital, though the short trip isn’t enough to dissipate my anger.
I park and head into the emergency department, where I see Greyson talking to a member of the staff.
“Greyson,” I say, catching his attention.
“Hey.” His face changes when he sees mine. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom…” My voice falters, but I push through, recounting Lakeview’s actions, the medication, her tears. It pours out in a jumbled stream, my frustration barely contained .
“Hey, I approved that medication,” Greyson interrupts gently. His hands are steady, professional, but his eyes hold a warmth exclusively for me. “It’s to help her settle after the move. She’ll be less afraid once she relaxes.”
“Less afraid? She shouldn’t have been moved without me knowing!” I want to shout, to demand answers, but his pager chirps, slicing through our moment.
“You’re absolutely right. She shouldn’t have been moved without consulting you. But it was a safety issue, and while Frankie is out, they’re a little overwhelmed.”
“She shouldn’t have been moved. And why are you still listed as her doctor?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s clear things aren’t exactly as they should be, and I’m sorry about that. But I feel confident your mother is safe. Can we talk about this more tonight?” He leans in, pressing a swift kiss to my forehead. “I’ve got four patients waiting. Sorry.”
“Fine,” I say, though it’s far from how I feel. I watch him stride away, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving me adrift in the busy hallway.
I return to my car, and after sitting for a moment, I drive myself to a nearby coffee shop and order the biggest chocolate mocha they have. Then I sit down and read through all the paperwork they gave me at Lakeview.
I take a break and look at my work email, which is suddenly exploding with questions. I shut my eyes. What am I going to do? Clearly I need to get back to Vancouver, but I can’t leave my mother.
Back at Lakeview, anger fuels my steps as I march straight to the administration office. The receptionist looks up, seeming startled by the intensity of my presence.
“Dr. Greyson is no longer part of my mother’s care team,” I inform her, setting the papers on the desk. “Dr. Camile Tuck is her physician, and any future consultations or changes are to go through her. Here is the paperwork all signed. Understood? ”
“Uh, yes, Ms. Blaine,” the receptionist stammers, tapping feverishly at her keyboard. “The records will reflect Dr. Tuck as the primary contact moving forward.”
“Make sure they do. And I would like to be made aware of any changes to her housing or care immediately.” I can’t help the protective fire that rages within me. The receptionist nods again, and satisfied with the administrative capitulation, I turn on my heel and exit. I’ve got other fires—ones that pay my bills—to get settled.
Once back in the solitude of Mom’s condo, the day’s events crash over me like relentless waves. But there’s no time to drown. Work needs me, and I have promises to keep, battles to wage. And somewhere in the mess, I need to figure out where Greyson fits into it all or if he even should. I don’t understand how he can just cut me out of the decision-making entirely.
My fingers tremble over the keyboard, each tap echoing my frustration and disappointment. Greyson had no right to make those decisions without me. If I’d been there when they’d moved her, when they uprooted the fragile world my mother clings to, I could’ve softened the blow, could’ve held her hand and told her everything would be okay.
I try to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, but the numbers blur into a jumbled mess. I can’t work like this, not with my mind replaying the day’s events on a torturous loop.
“Dammit,” I mutter and open my email, my message to my boss short and lacking any pleasantries. I need to take the afternoon as a personal day . Send. Just like that, my cursor blinks mockingly, waiting for a response I’m not sure I want to read.
When it arrives a few minutes later, I wince. My boss’s words are terse, his concern evident even through the digital divide. He might as well have typed his disappointment in bold letters. Are you falling behind? Do you need a break? I can bring someone in.
No, no, no . This project is mine. We’re nearly at the finish line, and I won’t let anyone else touch it. Just today , I type back fiercely, I’ll be back at it tomorrow .
I push away from my desk, the chair rolling back with a squeak of protest. Today was meant to be productive, successful, a continuation of the high after Penn and Frankie’s wedding. Instead, I’m fighting battles on too many fronts and trying not to lose myself in the process.
I pace the length of the living room, turmoil boiling inside me. Sometime later, the doorbell rings, and I fling it open to find Greyson.
“Trinity, I’m sorry,” he starts, stepping inside. “I should have talked to you about your mother’s medication, and Lakeview should have made you aware of the move. I didn’t know you were at Lakeview when the request for medication came in.”
His words do little to douse the flames of my ire. “And what about her being moved to the memory care unit?” My voice cracks. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
He hesitates, a telltale sign that there’s more to this than he wants to admit. “Frankie mentioned it before she left,” he confesses finally, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They should have called you to discuss her wandering and the move, but it seems to have fallen through the cracks. I’m sorry. Frankie usually does that, and it was obviously missed.”
“Missed? Fallen through the cracks?” I echo, incredulous. “I visit Mom every single day, Greyson. Why didn’t someone say something? I should have been consulted.” I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “And Dr. Tuck, her actual GP, should have been the one to sanction any changes to her care.”
Greyson’s face tightens, the lines around his mouth deepening. “I understand why you’re upset, but overall, this is a minor miscommunication,” he says, his voice rising slightly. “I believe the move is the right call. Your mother is getting excellent care, Trinity.”
“Excellent care doesn’t excuse the fact that I was left out of the loop,” I shoot back .
He takes a step closer, his blue eyes searching mine for understanding. “I deal with a lot at the hospital, Trinity,” he explains softly. “I make it a point not to discuss patients outside of work to protect their privacy. I’m sorry the facility didn’t communicate with you. They should have.”
I want to melt into his comforting embrace, to let go of all the tension and fear, but there’s too much at stake. My mother’s well-being hangs in the balance, and I need to be her advocate, even if it means standing against Greyson.
“Privacy is one thing,” I say, my voice firm. “But this is my mom. I should have known.” I sigh, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. We don’t disagree here, so there’s no point in continuing to say the same things over and over. “I’ve updated the paperwork to make Dr. Tuck the primary contact for Mom’s care. That’s as it should be. So promise me, Greyson,” I insist, locking eyes with him. “No more weighing in. You’ve got connections at Lakeview, and I appreciate that, but she has a doctor who knows her medical history. And then you won’t feel conflicted about her privacy.”
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration I’ve come to recognize. “I promise, Trinity. Dr. Tuck will handle everything from here on out. And again, I’m sorry.” His apology lingers in the air, the earnestness softening the anger in my chest.
“Thank you,” I murmur, allowing just a hint of warmth back into my voice. It’s difficult to stay mad at him when he shows genuine remorse.
Greyson shifts on his feet. “I hate arguing with you,” he says, a pained look crossing his features. “Would you… Would you come upstairs for dinner? Just give me a chance to make things right.”
My stomach twists, not with irritation, but hunger. I realize I haven’t really eaten today. “What’s on the menu?”
“Anything you want,” he replies, hope in his eyes. “I’ll order whatever you’re craving.”
“Anything, huh?” A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “I could go for some Thai food. Extra spicy.”
“Done,” he agrees as he reaches for his phone, ready to make good on his promise.
“Okay,” I say, my stomach growling in agreement. “But actually, I haven’t eaten all day, and maybe extra-spicy food is a bad idea. I think I’d like to go out for dinner. How about the Paradise Grill?”
He looks surprised, then pleased. “That sounds perfect.”
I gather my things, and we head downstairs to the garage, the tension between us now giving way to a fragile truce. We drive over to the vineyard and walk into the warm glow of the Paradise Grill. He leads me to the family table, tucked away in a quiet corner.
“Nice choice,” I comment, taking a seat.
“Only the best for you,” he replies with a smile.
Before I can fully relax, the server arrives, pad in hand, ready to take our order. Greyson glances at me, then turns to her. “The salmon special looks good this evening. Perhaps we’ll have two of those.”
A flare of irritation sparks inside me. “Greyson, I can order for myself.”
He holds up his hands. “Sorry, force of habit. The salmon is really good.” He winces. “It’s like I haven’t learned anything today.”
I’m too hungry and worn out to argue further. “Salmon special will be fine,” I tell the server, my shoulders slumping. She nods and retreats.
“Trinity, I—” Greyson begins, but I shake my head.
“Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?” I suggest.
Greyson leans back, his gaze steady and patient. “Okay,” he agrees, though I see the concern in his eyes. For now, it’s enough that we’re here together, trying to navigate the choppy waters of personal and professional boundaries. He reaches across the table to offer a comforting touch. “Trinity,” he says, bringing me back from the brink of my worries, “talk to me. ”
I hesitate but then relent. “I’m just… I’m swamped, Greyson. The project at work is slipping through my fingers, and I can’t afford to lose this job. But it’s hard to focus when things with my mother are so unsteady.” My words tumble out in a rush.
Greyson listens, absorbing every word like a sponge. “Starting tomorrow, we’ll work harder to respect your schedule,” he assures me. “Your work is important, and you shouldn’t have to handle all this alone.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “That means everything to me right now. But that doesn’t mean doing it for me. I just appreciate knowing you’re here.”
“Of course,” he replies. “You’re in charge.”
Light spills across the sheets as I kiss Greyson goodbye the next morning, the day’s possibilities bolstered by the remnants of last night’s comfort. The air is brisk as I step outside, my mind already racing with the tasks ahead. I can do this. I have to.
Back in the solitude of my mother’s place, I bury myself in work, the relentless tick of the clock marking the pace of my progress. I speak with Andy, getting back up to speed on the final phase of the project, and together, we navigate through meetings, steering toward elusive, calm waters.
Then the buzz of the front door pulls my attention. A delivery? I check the time. It’s nearly lunch, and I need to leave to go see my mother. I ride the elevator down, my curiosity piqued and stomach reminding me of its emptiness.
“Delivery from Paradise Grill,” announces the guy at the door, holding out a container that smells divine. It’s two green salads topped with roasted chicken, walnuts, goat cheese, and cranberries, with a side of balsamic vinaigrette. And then there’s a package, wrapped neatly and stacked on top.
“Thank you,” I say, taking everything from him. The delivery guy nods and departs, leaving me with these tokens of thoughtfulness that can only have come from Greyson.
Back upstairs, I set the food on the coffee table and turn my attention to the package. Unwrapping it feels like peeling away layers of concern, each fold loosening the tightness in my chest.
Within the paper lies a beautiful journal, its leather cover soft and inviting under my fingers. A nice fountain pen accompanies it, one I recall admiring last week at the vineyard’s gift store. I run my thumb over its surface, the cool metal grounding me in this moment of unexpected joy.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture and text Greyson.
Me: Thank you for the beautiful lunch and gift.
My chest tightens with unexpected emotion. Greyson heard me yesterday. He sees me, and he’s doing his best to be supportive in the way I’ve asked. And somehow that terrifies me, even as it’s a comfort.
I stand and gather my purse and keys, ready to go see Mom when my phone chimes.
Greyson: Happy you like them. Enjoy lunch with your mom. I’m looking forward to your appreciation tonight.
A laugh escapes me.
Me: Can’t wait.
The tension from earlier, the worry about work and my mother’s situation, they ebb as I look at the journal again, thinking of the intimacy and laughter that await me this evening. Everything feels a bit lighter when the burden is shared. I grab the salads and head to my car.