“So soon?” I said. “Are you sure you can’t stay? Have dinner with us? Say hi to Mark? He should be home in a bit.”
He shook his head and said he had a long list of things to do, including packing up some artwork at the house for an upcoming gallery show. My mother sat up, began barking orders at him: “Don’t forget this,” and “Tell Cheri that”—and he diligently jotted them all down on his phone.
He turned to me. “The show is a retrospective—a look back at your mother’s development as an artist. They’re including early paintings and sketches, notes.”
“Don’t forget the sketchbooks I’ve got tucked away in the big black file cabinet in my studio,” she said.
“I’ve got it, Mavis,” he promised. “I know where everything is—the sketchbooks, the journals.” I imagined him back at the house, unlocking the heavy black front door, stepping into the hall—did my mother still have the dark-red runner? Did the house still smell of lemon furniture polish and grief? Did she still keep all the curtains drawn tight, refusing to let in a hint of light? It made my throat feel tight to think of it, to realize that Paul knew the house better than I did now; that he belonged there, knew where my mother kept all her things.
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Paul said to her. “I’ll be back at the end of the week. If you think of anything you need from home, you call or text and I’ll make sure to bring it.”
He leaned down over the bed, gave her a quick, gentle hug, and whispered something to her. She whispered something back and he jerked away as if her words had burned him. He straightened up, then seemed to remember that Olivia and I were there in the room. He turned toward us with a lopsided, forced smile. “It was lovely to meet you, Olivia. And to see you again, Alison.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I said.
When we got to the driveway, I said, “Are you sure you have to hurry off? Can’t you stay a little longer? Please?” There it was. The hint of desperation I was unable to keep in check. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be alone with my mother. Not just yet. I wanted a little more time with him here, as a buffer—he knew her so well. He knew when she was in pain, when she was tired and thirsty; he knew everything she needed, and got it for her before she even had a chance to ask.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t.” He looked determined. But there was something else. He looked shaken. Scared, even.
Was my mother’s illness taking its toll on him? Or her increasing demands? Or was it something I couldn’t discern?
He must have seen the worry and apprehension on my own face, how I was fighting the urge to grab him by the lapels and demand that he not leave me with her like this. He gave me a sympathetic look and touched my shoulder.
“You’ll be fine,” he promised, smiling ayou’ve got thissmile as he climbed into the driver’s seat of his black SUV. “Call me anytime if you need anything. I’ll be back at the end of the week.”
He shut the car door and backed away with a quick wave that was more like a salute.
A COUPLE OFhours later, we’d all finished dinner. My mother hadn’t been hungry but had managed to have a little soup I’d brought in on a tray.
I was in the kitchen cleaning up when someone grabbed me from behind, and I jumped.
“Sorry,” Mark said as he wrapped his arms around me, whispering to the back of my head. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m a little on edge, I guess,” I said. “And I thought you and Olivia had already left for dance rehearsal.”
“We’re on our way in a minute. Olivia had to run back upstairs for her sweater.”
Mark’s arms around me, usually comforting, felt too tight. I didn’t like being constricted, trapped, not able to move. I fought the urge to claw at his arms and pull him off me.
“Olivia’s quite taken with your mother,” he said.
“Mmm.” I remembered how worried I’d been to leave the two of them alone. But it had been fine, of course. Better than fine. My mother had been so sweet with her, so tender and kind.
“And maybe it’s all the medication she’s on, but she seems… almost nice. Funny, even. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of her.” He kissed the back of my head. “This is going to be okay. We did the right thing.”
I tried to relax my body and mind, to tell myself that he was right. But I couldn’t shake this sense that something was off. That there was something I was missing.
“Dad?” Olivia called from the front hall. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”
“Back soon,” he said, squeezing me tighter before finally letting me go.
Izzy was at Theo’s. She’d gone in and greeted her grandmother before dinner, been polite, but couldn’t seem to wait to get out of the house.
It was just my mother and me at home. I finished up in the kitchen, then headed for the guest room to check on her.
I took a deep breath, like a diver getting ready to go under, and stepped into her room.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, making my way over to tidy her bedside table. I gathered up a teacup and water glass, carefully avoiding the stone, which sat right in the center. It seemed to radiate cold, to be pushing me away from it with icy fingers. But surely that was my imagination. It was just a rock. A silly rock that I’d invested with too much power and meaning when I was a kid.
