Chapter 46
Lola was waiting at the door when Traci got back to her cottage, giving her the kind of reproachful, guilt-inducing glare Traci hadn’t experienced since sneaking home after curfew as a sixteen-year-old.
The kitchen had a dog door that led into the backyard, but access wasn’t the issue with Lola. Her absence was.
“I’m sorry,” she told the dachshund, gathering her wriggling body into her arms and whispering into her floppy ears. “Very, very, very sorry. Did you think I’d abandoned you?”
She filled the bowl with dry dog food and then, as a peace offering, added a small scoop of canned wet food, the doggie equivalent of putting sprinkles on a cupcake. After Lola was done she leapt into her mistress’s arms and covered her face in kisses.
In the bathroom, Traci stepped out of the clothes she’d been wearing for the past twenty-four hours straight and stepped into the shower.
While she lathered her hair she considered how quickly Lola, who depended on her for everything, had forgiven her for leaving her home alone for an entire day.
And then she thought of Fred, whom she hadn’t visited in over a week.
Ric refused to tell her father-in-law that Parrish was dead, but as she’d pointed out, the old man was still mentally sharp. And he watched television most of his waking hours. Had he seen the news coverage of his granddaughter’s murder?
Resolving to find out, she dressed quickly. Lola was waiting expectantly at the door, whipping her tail back and forth in anticipation of a walk.
“All right,” she relented, grabbing her leash. “Just a quickie. Around the block and back.”
While they walked she scanned her phone for missed calls or important emails. They were all important—and of varying degrees of urgency.
It could all wait, she decided. There was a soft breeze in the air and it ruffled the Spanish moss hanging from the branches of the nearest live oak as she turned the corner onto a street that faced the river.
Lola stopped short and sat on her haunches, quivering with excitement. She was staring at a huge blue heron casually pecking at something among the exposed oyster shells on the near side of the riverbank.
The dachshund gave a sharp yip and the heron responded with an unconcerned “whatever” expression before it rose, flapping its wings and flying off to the other side of the bank, where there were no annoying small dogs.
The breeze picked up suddenly and dark clouds scudded across the sky, blocking out the sun. Now fat raindrops dimpled the glasslike river surface.
“C’mon, Lo,” she said, leaning down to scoop up the dog. “Let’s make a run for home.”
They made it back to the house just as the skies opened up. She toweled off the dog, refilled her water bowl, and tossed her a guilt cookie, then changed into what she thought of as her work uniform—slim-fitting pants, a silk tee, and a linen blazer. She fastened pearl studs in her ears, and at the last minute added a thin gold chain with a dangling gold heart charm. It had been a tenth- anniversary gift from Hoke.
She was sitting in the driveway of her father-in-law’s cottage, waiting for the rain to subside, but suddenly, Alberta was standing in the doorway, waving to beckon her inside.
“He’s real bad today,” Alberta told her as soon as she was inside the house.
“How bad?” Traci gazed down the hallway toward Fred’s room.
“Blood pressure’s down. He won’t eat. Just staring at the ceiling.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“His old doctor told me to call his new doctor, and the new doctor’s office says he’s doing rounds at the hospital. The PA told me to up his anxiety meds. And the morphine drip.”
“Did you do that?”
Alberta crossed her arms over her bony chest. “No, ma’am. He don’t want nothin’ else. He’s made it clear. He’s ready to go.”
“Have you talked to Ric?”
Alberta’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Tried calling him, left a voice mail, but his assistant called back and said he’s not available. At a meeting up in Savannah.”
“What about Madelyn?”
“That heifer ain’t been here in months,” Alberta said.
“Okay,” Traci said. “Let me go see about him.”
She tried not to look shocked at how dramatically the old man had diminished in just over a week. His eyes were sunken into his head and they followed Traci’s movements when she entered the room.
“Hey there, Fred,” she said, but there was no reaction from the old man.
Alberta stood watchfully in the doorway.
“Why is his television turned off?” Traci asked.
“Mr. Ric told me to leave it off because of you-know-who,” the caregiver said.
Traci found the remote control on top of a dresser crowded with medical supplies and clicked it on.
“It’s the only damn thing he can enjoy,” she announced. “Let’s leave it on, and you can tell Ric I overruled you, if he asks.”
“All right then,” Alberta agreed.
The old man’s eyes flickered, his gaze resting briefly on her, but returning to the endless scroll of the stock market coverage. Traci chose to believe he was thanking her.
She pulled the only chair in the room alongside the hospital bed and leaned over, so that her father-in-law could see her. She took his hand. It was cool and paper dry to the touch.
“Fred? Would you like to listen to some music?”
His eyelids blinked rapidly.
“That means yes,” Alberta translated. “He used to like to listen to that Seriously Sinatra channel on the satellite radio.”
Traci found the app on her cell phone, downloaded it, then searched for the Sinatra channel. A moment later, the lush strains of the Nelson Riddle arrangement of “Strangers in the Night” filled the room.
“That’s real nice,” Alberta said approvingly. She nodded at the patient, whose rigid facial muscles seemed to have relaxed a fraction.
Traci glanced around the room, which was depressingly sterile and featureless. “Weren’t there some family pictures in here before?”
“There were a bunch of ’em,” Alberta said. “But Mr. Ric told me to put ’em away. He said they were germ catchers.”
“Tell me where they are,” Traci said, standing up. “I’ll bring them in. I think it will give him comfort to see the faces he loved, don’t you?”
“Sure do. But you stay here. I’ll fetch ’em myself,” Alberta said.
She returned with an armload of framed photographs, and Traci slid the hospital tray over the bed and the two of them arranged the family pictures so that the patient could see them from his prone position.
There was a color wedding photo of Fred and Helen Eddings, he with a thick head of dark hair, wearing a debonair white dinner jacket, gazing into the eyes of his bride, who wore a heavy satin ecru A-line gown and a fingertip lace veil. Helen’s hair had been teased and contorted into the ’60s bouffant style of that era. There were baby photos of Ric and Hoke, with Helen seated and the boys on her lap. Fred stood behind, his hands resting lightly on the shoulders of her dress.
There was a beautiful silver-framed photo of Helen that Traci had never seen before. Maybe it was her engagement portrait? There were candid photos of Fred and his teenaged sons, suntanned, shirtless, and relaxed, posing poolside at the Saint. There were high school graduation photos of both the boys, photos of Ric and Heather on their wedding day, and one of Fred and Hoke at the ribbon-cutting for the hotel renovation. But no photo of Hoke and Traci’s wedding day, she noted.
Traci’s throat caught when she spotted the last couple of photos. One of Helen, holding her infant granddaughter and namesake on her lap, and the most recent, a framed picture of Parrish, looking positively regal in a white formal gown and elbow-length gloves, posing on the arm of her grandfather, in black tie and tails, at Parrish’s debutante ball.
“There now,” Alberta said, when the last photo was tucked into place. “He’s got all his people right here with him.”
Traci looked down and saw a single tear glistening in the old man’s eye. She reached over with a tissue and dabbed at it.
“I’m gonna step out and fix us some tea, Traci,” Alberta said.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
The stock market ticker continued its silent crawl across the bottom of the television. The Dow Jones was up slightly, the Nikkei was flat, and the NASDAQ had dropped, but Fred Eddings was no longer watching the fortunes of the financial world. His gaze was fixed on the family portrait gallery in front of him as Sinatra crooned about girls in summer dresses and broken hearts and flying to the moon.
Alberta returned with the tea and the two of them sat in companionable silence, while the storm continued to rage outside.
“The doctor’s office finally called just now,” Alberta said in a tone barely above a whisper. “He’s got emergency surgery and won’t be here for a while.”
“Just as well,” Traci said. “Anything from Ric?”
“He did call. On his way back here from Savannah, but there’s a bad pileup near Darien. Traffic’s moving slow.”
Traci took the old man’s hand again. His eyes flickered and his colorless lips moved slightly. He closed his eyes.
His breathing grew raspy.
“I think he’s ready to pass on now,” Alberta said gently.
Traci felt suddenly uneasy. Was there something more that should be done?
“Should we call someone? Like nine-one-one?”
“No, ma’am. This here is God’s will. His will too. We don’t need nobody rushing in here and ruining this old man’s peace.”
Traci sat back down, but the old man’s hand had grown colder.
Alberta placed her fingertips on his wrist. “He’s with Jesus now.” Gently, she pulled the sheet up over her patient’s face.
Traci had known that her father-in-law’s death was imminent, and she hadn’t been sure how she’d feel about it. He’d been civil to her while his son was alive, but had made no secret of his growing antipathy toward her in recent years.
In moments of weakness, she’d told herself she’d feel nothing at his passing. But that wasn’t quite true. She didn’t feel grief. More like pity. He’d been such a vigorous life force, but in the end, cruel Parkinson’s had reduced him to nothing more than a bitter, scheming shadow.
She picked up her phone to switch off the music, but the next song had Sinatra in a distinctly blue mood that seemed appropriate for the moment, singing about the wee small hours of the morning. So she lingered at the old man’s bedside until the song was almost over, until Alberta touched her arm.
“Mr. Ric just called. He’s at the gatehouse.”
“I’m gonna leave,” Traci said, standing and hugging the older woman tightly.
“Thank you for being here with him,” Alberta said. She began clearing away the photos.