“No,” I said. “Really. I’m fine. I’ve got this.”
“You look tired,” he said.
I bit my lip to keep from saying,You do too, Paul.
And honestly, I was tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well. All night I tossed and turned, listening to the static on the old baby monitor, imagining I heard things in it: whispers, buzzing, the far-off cry of a bird.
“It’s been… a difficult adjustment,” I admitted. “But we’re in a routine now. And really, we’re doing fine. You’ll see.”
“And Mark, the girls, are they okay with all of this?”
“Yeah, they’re fine. Better than fine, actually. Mark finds Mother quite charming. Olivia’s in love with her. Even Izzy’s warmed up to her. She’s been interviewing Mother, making a video diary.”
“A video diary?”
“Mother seems to be enjoying it, being interviewed and filmed.”
His face twitched into a smile. “Your daughter will have to tell me her secrets. I’ve been trying to get Mavis to do interviews for years.”
He looked from me to the house.
“We should go in,” I said. “She’s been waiting for you. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
His eyes were fixed on the front door, and for half a second, I was sure he wasn’t going to come in. That he was just going to hand me the papers and take off. His expression told me that going into the house to see her was the very last thing he wanted to do.
And again I found myself wondering, was it the grief and horror of her illness and impending death that scared him, or was it something more?
“PAUL,” SHE SAIDwhen he walked in.
“None other,” he told her. He went to her bedside, leaned down, andkissed her cheek, the skin pale and delicate as tissue paper. “It’s good to see you, Mavis,” he said.
“If it’s so good, why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked.
I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or genuinely upset. Maybe a little of both?
“Because we agreed on Friday.” There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Did we?”
He nodded. “I was at home tending to the enormously long list we’d made. I got all of the paintings, sketches, and journals off for the Toronto retrospective. And sent the new pieces to Ravenwood in New York. I started going through the things you asked me to, closing up the house. I’ve been quite busy.” His voice faltered. Paul, who was normally so sure of himself, so in charge, seemed to be struggling. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something more, but no words came.
“Good,” my mother said. “Nice to hear you’re earning your keep.”
Paul seemed to wince a little, then forced a smile. “I’ve got a small pile of things that need your signature and a few questions. Are you up for it?”
“Of course.” My mother sat up, looking suddenly very alert.
“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” I said. “I’ll go make a pot of coffee. And I’ve got some fresh cinnamon rolls.”
“Sounds perfect,” Paul said, rummaging through his bag and pulling out a file folder.
In the kitchen, I put the coffee on and popped the cinnamon rolls in the oven to warm them. Then I loaded a plate with the warm pastries and approached the room.
“Please,” I heard Paul saying. “It can’t be true.”
I stopped short, then stepped off to the side in the hallway, listening.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know all along,” my mother said. “You’re one of the cleverest people I know, Paul. The truth has been staring you in the face and you’ve just refused to look at it.”
