Twenty-two
Trinity
I t’s been a few days now, and Mom is less agitated about her new living situation. But I’m determined to make sure everything is right with her care, so I’ve been in touch with Dr. Tuck’s office. That’s why today, Lakeview’s shuttle is idling at the curb, waiting for Mom and me. My visit is different this time. Before our lunch, we’re heading to Dr. Tuck’s office. I’m not just here as Joy Blaine’s daughter. I’m here as her advocate, her memory when hers fails.
“Bye, Ellen,” Mom murmurs to me as she shuffles off the shuttle, her tone distant.
She’s done it again, mistaken me for her sister. It tugs at my heart, fraying my composure. “I’m going with you, Mom.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you.”
We walk side by side into the clinic, her hand resting lightly on my arm. Despite the warmth of her skin, a cold current of concern flows through me.
As we wait in silence for Dr. Tuck, my thoughts drift to Greyson. Despite our occasional hiccups, he’s the tender touch that soothes my furrowed brow after long days. It’s nice to have a partner in all of this. Could I stay in Paradise a while longer? The idea blooms.
But ambition is a relentless force, and it soon pulls me back to reality. This project is difficult to manage entirely remotely, and then there’s my vision of someday leading a hospital, shaping healthcare. That dream requires more than remote work or a job in a small town. It demands a claim staked firmly in the ground of boardrooms and policy debates in the city.
A moment later, my mother’s name is called, and a nurse guides us into the office. We’re settled in a room, and just moments later, Dr. Tuck appears.
“Joy, Trinity, nice to see you both,” she greets us, her bright glasses a splash of color against the clinical backdrop. She’s upbeat, but I can’t help wondering if it’s just the precursor to bad news.
Dr. Tuck motions for me to take a seat behind Mom, her eyes soft as she turns back to face my mother. “How are you feeling today, Joy?” she asks, notepad at the ready.
Mom sighs, the sound heavy. “I’m fine,” she insists, but there’s a tremor in her voice that suggests otherwise. “I miss my condo, though. It’s too loud at Lakeview.”
“What kept you busy yesterday?” Dr. Tuck’s question is gentle, coaxing.
Mom nods eagerly, brightening a bit. “I got Trinity off to school,” she starts confidently. But then her assurance crumbles like a cliff’s edge into the sea. “I read a book most of the day, did some light housework, and then I made dinner for…” She trails off, her eyes clouding over, searching the room for a name that’s slipped through her fingers.
“Before making dinner for…?” Dr. Tuck prompts.
“Ah, it’s on the tip of my tongue. I can’t remember his name.” Mom’s hands flutter like trapped birds.
From my seat, I catch Dr. Tuck’s glance. I give a small, involuntary headshake. None of those things happened yesterday, and my heart aches for her, for us.
“It sounds like you had a good day,” Dr. Tuck comments.
Mom relaxes and nods.
“Why don’t I listen to your heart and lungs?” Dr. Tuck guides Mom to the exam table, and the stethoscope moves gently across Mom’s chest, listening to stories only hearts can tell while her lungs whisper secrets with each breath. Dr. Tuck’s professionalism is a blanket of calm, but beneath it, I sense her concern.
“Your heart and lungs sound good, Joy. You can go back to your chair now,” she says.
As Mom returns to her seat, her gaze suddenly finds me, surprise on her face. “Trinity, when did you get here?” she asks as if seeing me for the first time.
“Just now, Mom,” I lie smoothly, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste.
“Fit as a fiddle,” she declares, turning to Dr. Tuck. “I’m ready to go home.”
Dr. Tuck nods, acknowledging the spirit behind the assertion. “You’re close, Joy. But I’d like to try a new medication to help with your memory.”
“Long as I write things down, I manage just fine,” Mom counters.
“That should work well with this treatment,” Dr. Tuck assures her, and I can see Mom relax slightly, her need for control met with understanding.
I watch them, these two women—one fighting to preserve her mind, the other working to mend it—and I’m caught in the crossfire of hope and reality.
“Okay, Joy, you’re all set for today,” Dr. Tuck says, scanning the charts one final time.
As Mom shuffles back to the waiting area, Dr. Tuck grasps my elbow, drawing me aside. Her voice lowers to a confidential murmur. “Trinity, I’m concerned about your mother’s memory. It’s not rebounding as we’d hoped after the stroke, and I think it’s wise that’s she’s receiving the added support of a memory care unit.” She pauses, assessing my reaction. “I’d like a neurologist to evaluate her—Dr. Luke Dunham is excellent. And as I said, we’ll try a different NRI medication. It may provide more benefit than the current one.”
A knot forms in my stomach, but I manage a nod. “Should I start preparing for…for her to stay at Lakeview permanently?”
Dr. Tuck places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Not yet. Let’s see what Dr. Dunham advises first.”
“Thank you,” I muster, grateful for her blend of compassion and candor.
Exiting the office, I find Mom sitting patiently, a faint smile gracing her lips. She recognizes me instantly, and something warm flickers inside me. “Ready to go home, Mom?”
“Always ready when you are.” Her voice is stronger now that she’s free from the weight of medical scrutiny.
The shuttle ride back to Lakeview is quiet, but just as I settle into the rhythm, my phone vibrates. Greyson’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey, how did it go with your mom?” he asks when I answer.
“Dr. Tuck is switching her meds, and we’re getting a consult with a neurologist too—Dr. Luke Dunham.”
“Luke Dunham? He’s top tier. Your mom’s in good hands.” Greyson’s assurance lifts a weight off my shoulders.
“Thanks, Greyson. That means a lot.” I watch as Mom gazes out the window, lost in thought or memory.
“Let’s grab dinner after my shift ends,” Greyson suggests.
“Sounds perfect. Six thirty?” I’m ready to enjoy the evening with him.
“Six thirty it is. See you then.”
I hang up and turn to Mom. The sun casts a soft glow over her features. Today has been kinder than most, and for that, I am thankful.
Back at Lakeview, I ease Mom into a chair at a table in the dining area, ensuring she’s comfortable before I join her for lunch. The murmur of other residents and the clinking of cutlery form a familiar soundscape as we eat. Mom’s more present today, her eyes bright and focused on me; it’s a small win that buoys my spirits.
“Trinity, this is nice,” she says. “We don’t get to do this very often.”
I smile, swallowing the lump her words bring to my throat. “Thanks, Mom. I agree.” My heart hurts. We do this every day.
Still, I savor the warmth between us, pushing aside thoughts of medications and doctor’s appointments. As lunch wraps up and Mom’s attention begins to drift, the reality of my situation creeps back in. I kiss her forehead and promise to visit tomorrow, leaving her with one of the caretakers.
Back in the solitude of her condo, I fire up my laptop, the screen filling with a barrage of unread emails and unfinished tasks. Before I took Mom to Dr. Tuck, I managed to tick off only a fraction of my to-do list. Now, with Greyson’s impending visit as my deadline, I hunker down, fingers flying over the keys, determined to make a dent in the workload.
The hours slip by in a blur of spreadsheets and conference calls, the afternoon sun casting shifting patterns across the wooden floors. A glance at the clock tells me it’s nearing six, and I can almost feel Greyson’s presence, his easy smile and the way he instinctively knows how to ease the tension from my shoulders.
My phone pings with an incoming text, and I reach for it, expecting the usual message confirming our dinner plans. The words that greet me are a jolt back to reality.
Greyson: Big boating accident. Not sure when I’ll be out. Don’t wait up.
I stare at the screen, disappointment a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet concern for him and the victims quickly pushes my feelings aside.
Me: Stay safe. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. We’ll catch up later.
Setting the phone down, I refocus on the task at hand, diving back into the endless stream of work. Each report, each email, is another step toward the future I’m building for myself, and I know it will make a difference for countless others.
Yet even as I use this extra time to further catch up on our impending transition to electronic medical records, part of me longs for the simplicity of a shared meal with Greyson, for the chance to forget, if only for a moment, the weight of ambition and obligations resting on my shoulders.
The phone’s ring cuts through the silence of the condo. I hesitate, the number unfamiliar, but I’ve learned that calls from Lakeview often come cloaked as unknowns for privacy’s sake. I swipe to answer.
“Trinity Blaine speaking.”
“Hey, it’s Tarryn Paradise,” comes the unexpected voice on the other end, not a resident or nurse from Lakeview, but Greyson’s sister. “Greyson told me he’s swamped at the hospital and you’re buried in work. He asked me to stage an intervention.”
A laugh bubbles up. “That sounds like him. But really, I’m okay. There’s just so much to do.”
“Come over. Elise and I are making pizzas, and we’ve got some excellent wine calling your name. It’ll be fun,” she cajoles, her voice warm and inviting.
I hesitate, weighing duty against the lure of good company and wine. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?”
“Perfect! See you soon!” She explains to me how to get to her house at the vineyard, and my excitement grows.
Ending the call, I stand, pushing back from the table with a decisive motion. Work will always be here. The prospect of unwinding with Tarryn and Elise—and the promise of wine—outweighs my professional goals, just this once.
I call a rideshare and step into the evening to enjoy the late summer air, still warm as it kisses my cheeks. The drive takes us up the hill at the vineyard to the address Tarryn gave me.
It’s a picturesque scene, a quaint cottage nestled amid the rolling expanse of vineyards stretching toward the horizon. The rich aroma of earth and growing things fills my senses as I step out of the car. Gravel crunches underfoot, making my arrival obvious even before the car pulls away.
“Hey, you made it!” Tarryn greets me as I reach the door, her arms open in welcome. “So glad you came.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” I return the smile.
“This is my place.” She sweeps her hand toward the cottage nestled among the vines. Then she points to another dwelling, half-hidden by trees. “And that one over there will be Elise’s someday. She’s staying with me for now until our fathers decide it’s time to retire.”
“Sounds cozy,” I reply, taking it all in—the serenity of the vineyard, the camaraderie waiting inside, the softening sky above us. For a moment, I let myself simply be here, present and untethered from my usual constraints.
“Come on in. Let’s get you that glass of wine.” Tarryn leads the way, and I follow, ready to embrace whatever the evening has in store. “Elise should be here shortly. She’s doing something with the cab vines and her father.”
A few minutes later, we settle on Tarryn’s back porch, the wooden planks warm beneath us as we face the sprawling vista of grapevines cascading toward Black Bear Lake. She grins, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and I can’t help but chuckle .
“Am I missing something here?” I probe. “Feels like there’s more to this than an impromptu pizza night.”
Tarryn waves away my question with a casual flick of her wrist. “Nothing at all. Just happy for some girl time without Greyson hovering,” she says.
But I remain unconvinced and file this away to ask Greyson about later. As the sky begins its slow transition to dusk, bathing everything in soft gold, I take a deep breath.
“Ready to make some pizza?” Tarryn pulls out dough and an array of fresh toppings from a cooler by her side.
We rise and stand before the granite counter in her outdoor kitchen, and I press and stretch the dough, the rhythm soothing, the aroma of fresh basil and garlic already filling the air. It’s therapeutic, the rhythm of kneading, and I lose myself in the simple task.
“Wow, you’ve got the real deal here,” I say, nodding to the pizza oven that radiates welcoming heat. “You must be serious about your craft.”
“Ah, this old thing?” Tarryn laughs. “My oldest brother, Kingston, installed it back when he lived here with his wife. Now, he’s divorced and living across the water in Black Bear, rattling around in that big house of his.”
“Sounds…lonely,” I murmur, sliding my margherita pizza onto a peel.
“Maybe,” Tarryn acknowledges with a shrug. “But I remain grateful for the improvements he made here. Tonight, we have good company and excellent food on the way.”
We slide our pizzas into the oven, and then I cradle my wine glass, feeling the smoothness under my fingertips as Tarryn pours a deep ruby wine to refill my drink. “This pinot,” she says, “is from our last good harvest. The frost this year was unkind to the grapes.”
I bring it to my nose, savoring the rich aroma before taking a sip. It dances on my tongue—notes of cherry and earth. “It really is incredible.”
Tarryn’s smile is wistful as she leans back against the porch railing, holding her own glass. “Enjoy it. This bottle is one of the lucky survivors.”
The conversation shifts then, as natural as the transition from day to dusk, and Tarryn’s gaze meets mine. “So, what’s going on with you and Greyson?”
I pause. “I’m here for my mom,” I explain, swirling the wine in my glass, watching it cling to the sides. “Once Mom’s settled, I’ll need to head back to Vancouver. That’s the plan, and I’ve always been good at sticking to plans.”
“But that doesn’t answer my question,” Tarryn presses, tilting her head. “About Greyson?”
My shoulders rise and fall with a resigned sigh. “We’re having fun. But there’s an expiration date on this…whatever it is.” At least, that’s what I keep reminding myself. When I think about leaving, the idea feels more and more like losing something I didn’t realize I wanted.
“Trinity, I think he likes you more than you realize.”
“That’s not possible,” I counter quickly, too quickly maybe. “It’s wishful thinking on your part.”
She nods, but I detect a knowing look in her eyes. “I’d love to see my brothers settle down, eventually. Might mellow them out a bit.”
I chuckle, and part of me wonders what it would be like with Greyson if there wasn’t an impending end date. But then I wonder if I’d be here at all. That’s not what I came for, and that’s not usually what I do. It’s not why I’ve let Greyson get close. In some ways, the end date makes this possible at all.
Elise arrives and pours herself a big glass of wine as she joins us.
“Everything okay?” Tarryn asks.
“Yes. Dad’s worried that he saw some aphids. We don’t see any sign of them on the vines, but he wants to plant some rose bushes to be sure.”
“What do rose bushes do?” I ask .
“The aphids will eat at the rose bushes first. Once we see them there, we’ll order ladybugs to eat them right away.” Elise takes a big sip of her wine.
“Wow, who knew there was a battle going on all the time,” I say with a laugh.
Elise raises her glass in toast. “Tell me about it.”
When the pizza’s ready, we shift gears to focus exclusively on that. As we eat, laughter breaks the silence of the night, a sound as rich and deep as the wine we’ve soon drained from two bottles. Tarryn’s collection is impressive, but it’s the company that makes the evening sparkle. She and Elise keep me laughing, and I feel more relaxed than I have in quite some time. As night falls, the air turns crip, yet the warmth of camaraderie keeps the chill at bay.
I reach for my glass, adding just a splash more wine, and set it gently on the table as I savor the remnants of flavor lingering on my palate. Stars begin to dot the heavens like pinpricks of light through a vast curtain.
“Is that Greyson?” Elise asks, peering into the darkness as headlights sweep across the vineyard.
The rumble of an engine grows closer, then dissolves into the click of a car door opening and closing. Moments later, Greyson emerges from the shadows, his presence like a final missing piece falling into place.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, pulling off a scrub cap to reveal disheveled hair, evidence of his hectic day at the hospital.
“Perfect timing,” Tarryn replies with a grin. “We saved some dough for you.”
Greyson rolls up his sleeves, revealing forearms toned by long hours of intense work. He takes the dough and shapes it into a perfect circle.
“Was the boat accident as bad as you expected?” I ask.
He spreads a dark sauce over the crust before layering on red onions, bacon, chicken, and cheese. While he works, he tells us about the chaos that hit his emergency department—too much alcohol, too many people. Two drowned, and several others will carry lasting injuries. Once his pizza is in the oven, he pours himself an Italian soda, then sits beside me, reaching for my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
”Greyson, how serious are you about Trinity?” Tarryn asks, going the direct route this time.
He glances at me, his expression softening in a way that makes my pulse quicken. “I’m serious enough to know I’m not ready for this to end.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, I’m not sure if I want to laugh, cry, or run. Usually, when a guy says something like this, I use that as my excuse to flee. But this time I don’t do any of those things. I just hold his gaze, letting the weight of what he said settle somewhere deep inside me.
“Trinity and I…” He starts, then pauses, searching for the right words. “We’re enjoying the time we have together.”
He looks at me again, and something unspoken passes between us. A recognition of the temporary nature of what we share, yet a connection that runs deeper than either of us expected.
“Tarryn,” I interject, feeling the need to manage expectations, “we’ve set boundaries. There’s an end date to this, but that doesn’t mean we can’t remain friends. I have to go back to Vancouver for a week or so for my job, but I’ll always be back until I know what my mom needs, until I have her stable.” My voice holds a note of finality, even as my heart quietly questions the truth of my words.
“Friends,” Greyson echoes softly, his gaze lingering on mine before he turns back to the oven. He slides the cooked pizza out onto his plate, and the aroma of melting cheese and barbecue sauce fills the air.
“Here’s to new friendships and moments we’ll remember.” Tarryn lifts her glass.
“Cheers,” we all say in unison, clinking our glasses together .
And as we sit under the starlit sky, the laughter resuming, I let myself get lost in the here and now, knowing that whether friendship or something more, what matters is the connection we’re creating, one slice of life at a time.