“Jamison. Take a shower. I’ll leave you some pyjamas on the end of the sofa. Take it easy now, son. You’re safe here and I love you.”
He’s sleeping like a baby fifteen minutes later; like a baby with a three-day growth, snoring like a man, but his body the same shape beneath the throw rug, curled up.
Were we too soft on him? Or too tough? Did he reach too high with Capital Plus Investments? Any job would do, to live a good life.
Millie’s not here to discuss it with. I head to the whisky myself, just for one, as the sun sets, and I wonder for a moment what Lucy is doing. She’s mentioned troubles with her own daughter, Phoebe. Until now I haven’t truly appreciated her concerns.
Jamison asleep is no longer a grown man. He’s still curled on his side, shrunken, like his softened form as a boy and baby – often all I ever saw of him after my own long days of labor, with patients, at all hours. Did I not spend enough time with him?
Then a memory comes back to me; of not so long ago. I’m on the settee in Franklin, after Millie died. I’m staring at the wall, and Jamison comes in, alarmed to find me so still, so quiet. It must be midnight. It’s cold. I don’t care about anything anymore.
It’s Jamison who brings a rug to me. He wraps it around me and sits close by. He phones Dee. In hushed voices they talk about me as if I’m not there – decide to move me closer to them. I go along with it. When they find the Brighton Court penthouse for me, I don’t argue. I’m done with Franklin. Gradually I find my feet again. I’m still finding them, still working out how to live without Millie, without my crazy job, without quite enough to do – but at least I’m my own free agent again, no longer in limbo.
One thing I know. I will do anything for Jamison, as I would for Dee and my grandchildren. I will never stop loving him, no matter what.
So next morning, when he wakes, when he’s showered and shaven and dressed, and we’re eating a decent breakfast of bacon and eggs and cinnamon toast – his favorite – I know exactly what to say.
“Jamison. I’m neither ignorant nor indifferent, and I know I might project confidence, because I’m an old white male, but I’ll be the first to tell you that most people – me included – we make it up as we go along. You’re not alone in feeling lost sometimes. My patients got better by themselves, apart from the obvious things, like needing stitches or settings for broken bones, or antibiotics. And as for your mother – nothing in my power could save her, so how do you think that made me feel ...
“But know this, son. You can’t stop trying. You can’t stop doing your best. And if you don’t believe in yourself, who will?”
“But ...”
“No buts. You’re safe and you’re welcome here, but not indefinitely. I have my own life.” I’m not yet ready to tell him about Lucy, about how I’ll want my own space, my own privacy, to see where time with Lucy might lead.
“Lick your wounds, Jamison. Rest and recover. Then you get back out there. You’ve got a brain. You’ve got a top education. Use them. Do your research. Retrain if you have to.”
I don’t tell him what else I’m planning. This is no time to go soft on him.
Chapter 41
Lucy
I’ve cleaned and restockedthe other two places. One’s two streets away and the other is up the hill. I can’t put off going into Dirk’s apartment any longer. I have just two hours to vacuum, dust and tidy his place, clean the bathrooms and kitchen and prepare him a meal – all without him knowing it’s me. Pretty sure he’s out. Hope so.
I take a deep breath for courage as I knock on his door. There’s no answer. Good.
