Page 82 of Tanner

With my hand in hers, she leads me through the rest of the downstairs. The dining room is large with a table fit for twelve. They must have a big family. Ours is this big but only gets used for the parties Missy throws. I have a feeling the Doyles’ gatherings don’t serve caviar.

To the side of the dining room is a study. Mr. Doyle is in there, putting a record on. The sounds of Johnny Mathis croon through the speakers.

“Is Mommy in the sitting room?” Harper asks her father, who’s snapping his fingers to the music.

“She’s in the den, settling in for her nap. I’m going to put on the pot. Do you want tea, Tanner?”

I reply quickly, “Yes, sir. Please.”

Harper curves a brow. “Since when do you drink tea?”

“Since my girlfriend’s father asked me if I wanted some.”

Mr. Doyle seems pleased with my answer. He walks past us into the kitchen as Harper and I go to a set of French doors in the dining room. We open them and step down into the den. There’s another fireplace in the back of the room, the second in the home, which means that’s probably how this house was heated a hundred years ago.

A woman is sitting in a recliner in the corner. A crocheted blanket is lying over her. Her eyes are open, but she looks lost in thought.

Harper takes a seat on the sofa next to her mother’s recliner. Where the photos in the living room showed a mother and daughter who looked very much alike, the woman sitting beside Harper partially resembles her daughter. The effect of Alzheimer’s not only impacts the mind, but the body as well. She is probably about fifty-five, but she looks much older; frailer.

Harper takes her hand, and her mother flinches at the touch but doesn’t pull back.

“Mommy, it’s Harper. I came to say hello and introduce you to someone very special to me. This is Tanner.”

I take a seat beside Harper. “Hello, Mrs. Doyle. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

Mrs. Doyle is staring. Looking forward. Her eyes blink slowly. “What do you want?”

Harper clears her throat. “I want to introduce you to Tanner.”

There’s a deep scowl on Mrs. Doyle’s face as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Did you bring the milk?”

“We came from the city. We’re having lunch with you and Daddy.”

“You know Nana needed milk for the cake. Benny’s birthday is tomorrow. She asked you to get it.” Mrs. Doyle’s words are harsh despite the fact that she’s talking about making a birthday cake.

Harper takes a stuttered breath. Her fingers clench around mine. “She thinks I’m her sister. She died before I was born.”

I rub Harper’s back. “She knows you’re someone she loves very much.”

She leans toward her mom. “I’m Harper. Your daughter.”

“I don’t have a daughter,” Mrs. Doyle spits as she pulls her hand away and back onto the afghan.

Harper sniffles. There’s a tear at the corner of her eye as she looks up and wills it back. I take her hand and lift it to my mouth, soothing away any pain I can.

I’ve mourned the loss of my own mother but with the notion that she loved me until the day she died. I never experienced the hurt of losing that love or having it look at me like I was a stranger. The feeling must be heartbreaking.

Harper is holding the copy of Pride & Prejudice in her other hand. I reach over and gently slide it from her palm. “May I?”

She nods, too emotional to answer me.

I lean back, taking Harper with me, and settle into the cushions of the floral couch. With one arm around her shoulders, I pull her in and nestle her into my side. I bend my leg and lay the book on my calf before opening it. I know it well, the first line being that a single man who finds himself in good fortune must want a wife. It makes me smile.

I ruffle through the pages for one of my favorite parts. Elizabeth is visiting her aunt and uncle in Pemberley. She is looking out the window at the grounds and the hill on which they descended. She is describing goodness of the landscape, yet I suspect she is really thinking about the prospect of marrying Mr. Darcy. I find it in chapter forty-three.

I read out loud to my girl and her mother. Mrs. Doyle seems to settle into her recliner, her shoulders slouching down and her head leaning to the side. Harper rests her head on my shoulder, listening as I finish the chapter. I decide to keep reading.

Mr. Doyle walks in with the mugs of tea and takes a seat in an armchair. He places a mug for me on the coffee table, but I let it cool as I turn the page.