“Well, I think it’s good to have one role to concentrate on. Then you can work hard and be the very best mouse.”
Olivia nodded.
“When I was a girl, I took ballet.”
“Really?” Olivia’s eyes grew wide.
“You did?” I jumped in. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I,” Paul said. “Somehow I can’t quite picture it.”
I couldn’t either. The idea of my mother in a crowd of other little girls, following a teacher’s directions, taking corrections—it seemed absurd.
“Oh yes,” Mother said. “It was a lot of hard work. And in the end, I didn’t practice as much as I should have, so I wasn’t very good. But you”—she looked at Olivia—“I can see that you take practicing very seriously.”
“I do!” said Olivia.
“That’s the only way to get better at a thing. To practice and practice.”
Taking the advice to heart, Olivia did a spin across the room.
My mother applauded.
Olivia sat on the edge of my mother’s bed and told her all aboutThe Nutcrackerand dance classes and her teacher, Ms. Perez.
“I’ve got some paperwork to go over with you,” Paul said to me while my mother and my daughter bonded over ballet. “Should we go into the dining room where we can spread out?”
I nodded, trying to quell my anxiety about leaving Olivia alone with my mother, but surely it would be all right. I was only steps away, and Paul was here, and my mother seemed so charmed by my younger daughter.
We went out to the dining room, where he pulled some files from his leather messenger bag. I kept listening to Olivia chattering away in the guest room, her voice bubbly and bright.
“Do you want some coffee? Tea?” I asked, trying to act like a normal host, to not give away my unease.
“No thanks,” he said, pulling out a printed list of my mother’s medications and their dosages—he’d even made a color-coded chart to help me keep track of when to give each of them. Another folder contained all the paperwork I was supposed to hand over to the nurse from Kingdom Hospice, who was coming first thing in the morning—plus all my mother’s medical records. “I’ve already sent electronic copies of all of this, but it’ll be good to have backups,” he said. I nodded, once again amazed by Paul’s organizational abilities—the folders he handed me even had little printed labels.
A third folder held legal documents, including a living will saying that there would be no heroic measures to keep her alive—no intubation, no CPR. He flipped through the papers, showing me everything quickly. I nodded as if I were taking it all in, but my head spun. I wished Mark were here. He was good at paying attention, at remembering details. Paul must have seen the glazed-over look in my eyes. He shut the folder and put a hand on my arm. “I know it’s a lot, but you’ve got everything you need. And I’m just a phone call away.”
Back in the guest room, Olivia giggled at something my mother said.
“Shall we go see what’s so funny?” he asked, and I agreed, eager to be away from the piles of paperwork, the records that proved my mother was dying—and the certainty that I was going to be responsible for her as she did so. Besides, the curl of worry in my stomach about leaving Olivia alone with my mother hadn’t quite abated.
Olivia was listing all the girls in level five who’d gotten pointe shoes. “Ms. Perez has to choose you and tell when you’re ready. She says if you start too early, it can hurt your feet and body. Someday I’ll have pointe shoes. You have to go all the way to Boston or New York to get fitted, that’s what the level five girls do.”
My mother nodded, but her head was back against the pillows. I could tell she was worn out and the pain medicine was kicking in.
Paul seemed edgy, keyed up. He pinballed around the guest room,adjusting things, and then went out to the car for the third time to make sure everything had been brought in. He declined yet again my offer of coffee or food. “At least take a seat for a little while,” I said. He sat in a chair in the corner of the guest room, fidgeting like a little boy.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back soon, Paul?” my mother said.
“Yeah,” Paul said, standing. “It’s a long trip.”
Was it my imagination, or had he been avoiding eye contact with my mother all afternoon?
Was he upset with her? Upset that she’d chosen to be here and not stay with him?
Or was it something else?
And now it seemed almost as if she was dismissing him, sending him away.
