81. Henry
Chapter eighty-one
Henry
T he clatter of footsteps and cheerful conversation faded as the kitchen door swung shut behind Henry. Thoughtful of Alice and Jay to recognize he needed a moment to compose himself; inspired, really, that Jay had suggested everyone go upstairs to look at bedrooms while Henry imposed order on the multitude of meal options for dinner.
The kitchen had always been a refuge for him. Lina was often found there, and Father never was, which made it an excellent hideaway.
He all but emptied the refrigerator onto the counter and began heating the oven. Several of the sides would fare better warmed. Christmas dinner had been in the dining room, but that had been a more formal affair, and this evening would be—
A casual family dinner.
His ankles rocked, tipping forward and back, his body as uncertain about the notion as his mind. Mother needed family around her for her recovery and beyond, and it simply could not be him. Not just any family would do—Jay and Alice had certain blood relatives unfit to care for a houseplant, let alone a medically fragile family member. No. Whether created or biological, the family caring for Mother must be dedicated and supportive.
Brooke had gotten taller. Of course she had; the last he’d spent significant time with her, she’d just finished kindergarten as he graduated from prep school and returned home for a final summer before his college studies. Now she was a grown woman with a teaching career and two daughters nearing kindergarten themselves. His mother and her health would never be Brooke’s top priority.
Lina had apparently couched the relocation as a Christmas surprise, but that did not guarantee that Brooke saw it as a positive change. Moving could be exceptionally stressful, and doing so on a short timeframe more so. He and Alice and Jay had been undertaking a move without two small children to account for. How hard had Lina worked to persuade her daughter to return to this house?
If Brooke changed her mind, what warning would he have to secure new arrangements for Mother? Would Mother inform him, or would she conceal any strain out of fear that he would charge in and take over once more? How devastated would she be if this plan collapsed? The possibilities—
The oven sent out a loud beep, announcing the end of its preheating cycle. And well it should; he’d been catastrophizing without reasoning through his fears. Opening the door, he slid in the first of the side dishes, leaving room for a second beside it. “Much appreciated, you old workhorse. I was letting my thoughts run away with me when I ought to be considering how to fill bellies.”
The kitchen door groaned, the wood dry in the winter air. How well Alice and Jay were looking after him. One would have stayed with Mother, certainly. He backed out from the oven and closed the door. The Brussels sprouts could handle rewarming; the heat would reinvigorate the fat in the bacon and the sweetness of the cranberries. “You’ve come just in time to save me from—”
Neither Alice nor Jay stood by the door.
“Lina.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t need saving from me.” She patted his shoulder as she passed him, surveying the counter before confidently sliding open a drawer and pulling out several serving spoons. “But I know how your thoughts get away from you—”
Lina had known him years before he’d learned to school his expressions and conceal his thoughts from Father. Like Mother, she could read him through the mask.
“—and we haven’t had a chance to discuss this scheme of your mother’s, you and I. So.” She handed him the dish of spiced sweet potatoes, and he clutched it awkwardly to his chest, the refrigerator’s chill sinking through his light sweater. “Mia will love the texture of these; she’s in a soft foods phase. Shall we make dinner while we reassure each other that this solves complications for all involved?”
The potatoes settled nicely beside the Brussels sprouts. The oven door closed with a gentle bump. “I’ve been reading some of Father’s journals today.”
Those weren’t the words he’d prepared. He’d had a quite complimentary sentence about Lina’s many years with Mother and the strength of their bond.
“She decided to share them with you, then?” Lina grunted approval, her moon-silver braid bobbing with her nod. “I haven’t read them myself—your father was a private man, and I don’t think he would’ve appreciated me nosing about in his business—but I expect they might answer questions for you that I never could.”
“It’s clear that he relied heavily upon your care and support for Mother.” But what complications would returning solve for Lina and her daughter? He shuffled dishes, a delaying tactic that produced no polite lines of inquiry for the question urgently blaring above all others, louder than the oven timer in his mind. He’d skipped whole years of Father’s life in his reading. If Father and Lina had—if Brooke was his half-sister—Mother would know, surely? The story of Lina’s summer fling with a friend of a friend might be entirely fiction. “The three of you must have grown close over the years. All that time with Robert and me away at school.”
Lina hmm ed noncommittally, a stack of plates curled in one arm. “Should we eat in the kitchen? I see you’ve the leaf in the table and plenty of seats.”
“I thought so, if you approve.” Thick slices of goose with gravy went into the oven to warm. “Robert and his family left after breakfast this morning, and we’ve not set the kitchen to rights yet.” Though the leaf might remain now that Mother wouldn’t be living alone. The beverage selections for children, though—that hadn’t made the shopping list this afternoon. He perused the refrigerator once more. “Do the girls take milk or juice with dinner? I expect you’d prefer I not offer them coffee, tea, or wine.”
“The uncaffeinated fruit teas you tried to serve your mother would be fine with a bit of ice and sweetening.” Chuckling, Lina rested a hand on his back, taking the sting from her tease. She had a sturdier build than Mother, broad shoulders that came to his biceps.
He allowed the refrigerator door to close, sealing away the cooled air, as she nudged him toward the table. The plates rested in the center, undistributed. Lina glanced at them as she sat. “Helen says your husband enjoys setting the table, so I thought I might get the process started but not usurp any roles.”
Wry warmth spread across his face. She’d known him all thirty-nine and three-quarters years of his life; of course she would have sensed the sticking points. “This is where you tell me that you caring for my mother does not signify in any way a failure or abdication of my responsibilities as her son.”
“Actually, this is where I reassure you that Brooke is not your sister.”
He dropped harder than intended into the seat beside her. “Lina, I would never pry.”
“No, I know you wouldn’t. But you’re wondering; don’t try to tell me you aren’t.” Lina folded her hands in front of her, one eyebrow raised as if she were about to inquire whether he had actually folded the laundry she’d left for him or merely stuffed it into his dresser. “I would be genuinely surprised if your father’s journals suggested anything of the sort. I don’t believe that in the length of his entire life he grew close to anyone but your mother, not even you boys. I’m not entirely certain he knew how.”
“That is the impression I carry as well.” He spoke in a quiet tone more suited for the library than the kitchen table. The soft yellow glow from the light fell in an arc around them. Memory tossed a floppy lavender cat at his feet. A cherub-cheeked toddler stretched her hands over the edge of a playpen for a taste of his initial attempt at raspberry chocolate eclairs under her mother’s guidance. “I hadn’t thought of the possibility until today. I know how devoted you are to Mother, but I’ve no sense of what might draw Brooke back to this house. You retired to be a grandmother—”
Lina raised a single index finger. Her hickory-brown gaze narrowed. “I retired because Brooke’s fiancé decided to abandon her with a six-month-old baby and a second on the way because he wasn’t ready for that responsibility.” She ground her teeth in a low growl. “I love my daughter, and I love my grandbabies, but your mother and I still talk on the phone nearly every night, Henry. This”—she swung one hand up in a semicircle—“was never just a job for me. We have, pardon my language, been through some shit together.”
He ordered his body to stillness, to watchfulness. If he breathed too deeply, he might disrupt her truth-telling.
“After everything she’d been through, I know Helen would have preferred to never see the inside of that hospital again.” Lips pressed tight, Lina shook her head. She blinked rapidly. “But she was right by my side, coaching me and holding my hand, when Brooke was born.”
“I didn’t realize.” He’d been off at school, with Mother relaying the news of a healthy baby girl over the phone. He’d rapidly changed the subject lest melancholy overtake her. “That must have been a complicated time for you both.”
“We had our miscommunications—”
The kitchen door inched open, and Brooke slid into the gap. “Talking about me?”
“After a fashion, yes.” He might as well be candid. The more honesty at the outset, the better prepared they would all be for however this proposal unfolded. “Should we anticipate an influx of hungry diners any moment?”
“Naw, you’ve got time yet. Aunt—” Brooke fumbled around the door and caught her heel as it closed. “I mean, your mom introduced the girls to the library, and they are absolutely enthralled. She’s reading them books about rabbits.” Her smile, cast toward the ceiling, might have been a touch wistful. “Your husband’s good with kids—he even got Riley to tell him her favorite animal, and she’s my shy babygirl.” Glancing from her mother to him, she blew out a hard breath. “Right, so, look, we all know I went through a whole phase about being the housekeeper’s kid in middle school—”
If by all she meant herself and her mother. He’d been enmeshed in his own life in Boston, fine-tuning his skills at the club, gaining a reputation for his private commissions, utterly out of sync with the day-to-day happenings at his childhood home. The complexities they’d experienced had thoroughly passed him by.
“—and bolted hard when I got into college, and maybe you’re gonna say that was only eight years ago and how can you know that I’m not going to be an ass to your mom.” She paced as she spoke, walking the lines of the kitchen tile. “Or you’re not cool with single moms, and you think this is a money grab—which it’s not, we do fine on my salary, and it’ll grow after I get my next certification—” Ducking her head, she huffed against her faded college sweatshirt. “Or you’re worried the girls will be too noisy, okay, sure, fine, they’re three and four, and three- and four-year-olds are noisy sometimes. Or—”
“May I ask a question?” He hesitated to halt the fascinating parade of her concerns, but that she’d voiced them at all boded well for transparency around expectations in this arrangement.
“Fire away.” Dark curls bounced as Brooke pulled out the chair on the far side of her mother and sat. The curly hair must have come from her father; Lina’s hair was pin-straight except for the waves when she took down her braid. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? The interview?”
A soft tch flew from Lina’s mouth. Standing, she cupped the back of Brooke’s head and pressed a kiss into her curls. “I think you’ll quickly discover Henry isn’t his father, honey.” Her gaze found Henry, the quirk of her mouth proclaiming an amused apology. “What were we saying about miscommunications? You two chat. I’m going to get the rest of dinner in motion.”
He was the host; the responsibility was his. Mother was inviting Lina as her friend and companion, not as an employee. “Lina, please don’t feel that you must—”
“I don’t.” She studied the cupboards, ran her hand along the edge of the counter, and pulled a potholder from a drawer. “Everything in this kitchen is where I left it. Your mother hasn’t changed a thing. Warming a few dishes here isn’t a hardship, Henry.”
“Thank you, Lina.” He conceded with a nod, returning his attention to Brooke. Wary eyes watched him. A touch of fear? Had he given her cause—perhaps, if she believed his would be the final say in whether her family came to live with Mother. “I suppose I do have questions, Brooke, but this is not an interrogation. You needn’t justify yourself to me. My mother wants you here. I wish to be certain that it is also what you want.”
Lips parting slightly, Brooke canted her head. “You do?”
He’d surprised her. Excellent; truth often spilled more easily from an off-balance subject. “You stopped yourself from using ‘aunt.’ Why?”
“I mean…” Brooke spread her hands flat on the table, one atop the other, fingers crossed in a grid. “I would never have called her Aunt Helen in front of your dad, because he was an uptight guy, no offense.”
He could hardly take offense at the truth. “He seemed as much to me, as well. I took a somewhat rebellious pleasure at times in thinking myself a disappointment to him.”
She scoffed and tucked her lips tight too late to hide it. “Sorry. I guess between you and your brother, you would be the rebel.” Her skeptical tone suggested the choice might be akin to choosing which khaki pants were the most punk. “But Aunt Helen is who she is to me. My girls picked it up from me, because whenever Mom says she’s going out, I tell her to give Aunt Helen a hug for me.”
Ah. He’d been operating with a substantially incomplete portrait of the situation. Mother carried no qualms not out of naivete, but because she knew Brooke’s heart far better than he did. “My mother is family to you.”
“I’m not stealing your mom from you. I have an amazing mom—” Brooke craned her head over her shoulder toward the stove. “Don’t listen, Mom, I’m talking smack about you.”
Lina tapped a spoon thrice against the bowl of stuffing as she stirred. “What’s that? Can’t hear a thing over all this noise.”
“Uh-huh, I just bet.” Exhaling slowly, Brooke lost her easy grin. Dark eyes, too old for the roundness of youth in her cheeks, studied him across the table. “But I’m also not some stranger looking to steal your mom’s medications or beat her so she hands over her debit card, you know? She’s a person I care about. A person I want in my girls’ lives.”
Such fears hadn’t consciously troubled him. But as she voiced them, a tightness in his chest eased. Regardless of how well he vetted care workers, he would always be three hours away if Mother needed him. He would know how she was faring only by gauging her words and making frequent visits to confirm her happiness and safety, alert to subtle signs of abuse unvoiced. Living with family—bloodlines aside—who loved her would be the most comforting option for all of them. “I appreciate your candor. Competent medical care can be hired; affection and loyalty cannot. I was uncertain how strong your commitment to this idea would be. That is all I intended to ask, Brooke. My mother’s life may depend upon making the proper choices.”
“All our lives will. It’s just more obvious with Aunt Helen, that’s all.” Hunching her shoulders, Brooke leaned over the table, her elbows a platform that raised her clasped hands. “How our lives turn out, those are all little choices after little choices that stack up, right? We don’t know how well we’ve built the stack until we hit one of those moments when it starts to topple. If you’re really lucky—” She stared across the kitchen, her trembling smile beaming at Lina’s turned back. “Really lucky, then those choices you weren’t thinking about at the time mean something’s there to catch you. Because of choices Mom made—to take this job, to have this incredible friendship with your mom—maybe I get to raise my girls in the house where I grew up.” She rubbed the table, her palm against the smooth grain. “I did my homework right here while our moms planned out dinner menus. They taught me how to plant flowers in the spring and put the beds to sleep before the snows came in the fall.”
He'd learned the same lessons at Mother’s side. Submitted his early artwork for her and Lina’s critique. Practiced math flash cards Lina held up for him while dinner simmered.
“I want that for my girls, Henry.” Brooke sat back in the chair, her chin lifted, her gaze unyielding. “Nobody’s childhood is perfect, but this was a pretty good one.”
“Yes, I see that it was.” They would all do well to remember the good along with the bad. Alice, certainly, seemed to find her happy memories more accessible as she worked through her own complicated childhood. He would craft a new homework exercise. Not only for Jay; this would be a repeatable task for all three of them, to share one pleasant memory from childhood and one troubling memory—troubling either at the time or in retrospect—and discuss how they might partake in new memories to lessen the lingering hurt. A cozy meal with a newly formed family would be an excellent start. “Shall we fetch everyone for dinner? We’ve a multitude of decisions to make if you mean to be moved in before your winter teaching break ends.”
Lina clapped her hands and pressed them below her chin. Smiling beatifically at them, she shook her head. “Don’t mind me. There was a fly in the house.”
“In December.” Brooke’s dry wit might match his own, if not for her rolling eyes. “Sure, Mom.” She pushed to her feet as he quickly followed suit. “Thank you, Henry. Guess I shouldn’t have been so nervous. You might have your dad’s outer shell, but you have your mom’s heart.”
His heart thumped merrily to think so.
“I trust you’ll keep her safe for me.” He bent his arm, offering Brooke his elbow, his own nerves well assuaged. “As she is your honorary aunt, that would make us first cousins. Welcome home, cousin.”
Her fingers tightened on his forearm as they swept through the kitchen door in search of the rest of the family. Alice, Jay, and Mother would undoubtedly be quite pleased with the outcome of their meddling. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Which of our relatives ought I thank for sending you down to check on your mother and me?”
Brooke snorted and covered her mouth. “Oh man, that was a whole team effort. Aunt Helen and your husband kidnapped and hypnotized my girls with a story. And when I was hemming and hawing, well—your wife is not subtle. She has a great classroom command voice.”
He pushed back against the natural inclination to suppress his smile, allowing amusement to run hot with pride and the tiniest pinch of smugness. He would have to insist Alice practice her confidence with Jay at home more often. How fortunate he’d been in his choices, to have spouses who would catch and save him from himself. “I suspect she’d be delighted to know it was so effective.”