Peony Street (33 page)

Someone came in through the front door and several people greeted him.

Her father called out, “Ed! Where ya been, buddy?”

Claire recognized Ed Harrison, Scott’s best friend, who owned The Rose Hill Sentinel. He made his way over to their table and Claire got up to accept a hug. He sat down across from Ian and seemed to instantly gauge his agitation level.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Ed told Ian. “We got back so late last night we both overslept; we almost didn’t get to the office in time to meet the Pendleton paper delivery.”

“We were late,” Ian said. “Claire couldn’t get out of bed this morning; she’s been staying out all hours of the night.”

“It’s true,” Claire said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve let everyone down. I’m so sorry.”

Ed winked at her and said, “You’ll just have to try harder in the future.”

“Why didn’t Scott bring me?” Ian asked, for the fifth time that morning.

“His mother’s really sick,” Claire told him, and Ed nodded to show that he knew about it. “He needs to be home taking care of her.”

“His mother?” Ian said, again very loudly. “Delia’s his mother. Is Delia sick?”

“No, Dad,” Claire said. “Scott worked for you when you were chief of police; he’s not your son.”

“I know that,” Ian said. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I forget things, too,” said Ed. “All the time. It’s no big deal.”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Ian told Ed, and there were tears in his eyes.

Claire felt tears spring to her eyes as well.

“Oh, Dad,” she said. “It’s going to be alright; I promise.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Ed reassured him. “Claire and Delia will take good care of you, and all your friends will help.”

“That’s good,” Ian said, and was immediately cheerful again, while Claire felt like she’d been put through a wringer.

Ed smiled at her in a way that felt like a pat on the head.

“You and I need to talk,” Ed said. “I guess I missed all the excitement.”

“I’m not sure Sean will let me talk about it,” Claire said.

“About what?” Ian said.

Claire couldn’t think of a lie quick enough, but Ed didn’t hesitate.

“Claire’s movie star was here in town,” Ed said. “I wanted to take her picture with Claire.”

Claire gave Ed a grateful look and he smiled again. She hadn’t remembered how attractive he was; a little nerdy but very appealing. Maybe he was improving with age.

While her father talked to Ed, Claire studied him. Ed and Scott had been friends all their lives, had played baseball and wrestled on the same teams. Ed had been studious and always got perfect grades; Scott was more athletic and cared more about baseball cards than books. Ed had always been quiet; had always hung back or watched from the periphery of what was happening; observing, analyzing, and recording. These skills made him a natural as a reporter; he had attended one of the best journalism schools in the Northeast and worked at a Philadelphia paper after he graduated.

When his father died of a heart attack Ed came home and took over The Rose Hill Sentinel, the paper his grandfather had started. His wife Eve, whom he’d met in journalism school, had not factored a small town weekly paper into her career plans, and they broke up.

Ed started losing his hair at a young age and was now almost completely bald; what hair he did have was buzzed close to his scalp; Claire bet he did it himself with clippers; no nonsense and cheap. He wore glasses now, the wire and black plastic ones that were a throwback to the fifties; they suited his face, which no one would call handsome, but Claire thought it was actually kind of nice. When she thought of him as a character to cast she realized he was already exactly who his character would be.

“Where were you?” Claire said. “On vacation?”

“Kind of,” he said, and didn’t say anymore, so Claire let it drop.

“Where’s your young man?” Ian asked him, and Claire’s curiosity was piqued.

“Tommy had to catch the bus to school,” Ed said. “He goes to Pine County Consolidated.”

“Rose Hill has a perfectly good school,” Ian said. “You ought to send him there.”

Claire started to say Rose Hill High School had been closed years ago and made into a community center, but Ed gave his head a quick shake and spoke first.

“You know these kids, Ian,” he said. “They want to do what they want to do.”

“Liam will go to Rose Hill High School,” Ian said. “I won’t stand for any of that nonsense from him.”

It had happened almost every day since she came home, but it still felt like a kick to the stomach. Ed looked at her in concern but she shook her head.

Phyllis brought Ed his breakfast: oatmeal and bacon.

“The bacon giveth the cholesterol,” he explained to Claire, “and the oatmeal taketh it away.”

“So it’s a balanced breakfast,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Who’s Tommy?” she asked.

“You know Tommy,” Ian said. “He’s Mandy’s boy.”

“I’m afraid to ask who Mandy is,” Claire said under her breath.

“I’ll tell you later,” Ed said under his.

“Do I still drive the school bus?” Ian asked Ed.

“Nope,” Ed said. “You’re retired now.”

“I am tired now,” Ian said. “But Claire’s making me do all the work.”

Claire was puzzled by this statement but Ed just smiled.

Phyllis set a huge plate of beige food in front of Claire. She looked at the two halves of a gigantic biscuit covered in sausage gravy, and decided if it weren’t for how heavenly it smelled she could convince herself not to eat it based on appearance alone.

For several years now she had subsisted on a steady diet of steamed vegetables, poached chicken breasts and grilled white fish, with only a semi-annual chocolate cupcake cheat-a-thon to reward her. She decided one bite wouldn’t hurt; she’d get back on the wagon tomorrow. Before she knew what had happened, however, the entire plate was bare and Ed was staring at her in amusement.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought,” she said.

“Phyllis can bring more if you need it,” Ed said, smiling. “I guess those five-star establishments you’re used to don’t dabble in the country-fried food genre.”

“They do, they just call it sauce instead of gravy,” she said.

“I bet it’s not the same, though.”

“Why does it feel so right?” Claire said. “I feel like I’ve been craving this food for twenty years.”

At 7:45 Ian insisted they leave. Claire tried to use her credit card to pay but it was declined.

“That can’t be right,” she said, embarrassed.

Ed quickly paid with cash, and said, “You can get the next one.”

“I’ve never had a problem before,” she said.

“It’s probably nothing,” Ed said.

But it wasn’t. After dropping her dad and dog off at Uncle Curtis’s service station Claire crossed the street to unlock The Bee Hive. Once inside she called the customer service number on the back of her credit card and was informed it had been reported as stolen. When she called about her other two cards she was told the same thing.

“Damn you, Sloan,” she said, and proceeded to recite all the curse words she knew, ending with the worst one she could think of.

“Excuse me,” someone said, and Claire turned around to find that, to her horror, Sister Mary Margrethe was standing in the doorway of the beauty shop with a look of shocked disappointment on her face.

“Oh, Christ,” Claire said, which didn’t help matters.

Scott woke up spooning Maggie in his childhood twin-size bed. She was awake, reading a Hardy Boys mystery from the collection in the bookcase headboard.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he said, as he stretched and then reached for her again.

“You only got about three hours of sleep,” Maggie said. “I thought you needed a little more.”

“I need a little more of this,” he said, and pulled her even closer.

“Stop that, I’m reading,” she said. “I never knew Frank and Joe were such badass detectives.”

Scott laughed and kissed her neck.

“Don’t start that,” Maggie said. “I’m leaving.”

She put the book back in the shelf and got up.

“Where are you going?” Scott said. “It’s still early. Come back to bed. I promise to behave myself.”

“I’ve got businesses to run,” Maggie said, as she put on her shoes. “Plus I don’t want Sister M Squared to catch me here.”

“It’s Delia who’s coming this morning,” Scott said. “She’ll be thrilled to see you here.”

“Oh no,” Maggie said. “Then the smug smiles will start. I don’t think I can stand it.”

Scott got out of bed and grabbed her by the hand before she could get away. He pulled her into an embrace.

“You can tell them all to go to hell,” he said. “I don’t care if you’re nice to them or not, just don’t let it change your mind.”

“That’s good to hear,” Maggie said. “Cause you know I don’t have a sweet bone in my body and I’m not likely to develop one this late in the game.”

“Oh, I think there’s some good stuff in there,” he said. “You just save that for me.”

Maggie kissed him and held him close for a moment. Then she smoothed his hair back from his forehead and looked into his eyes.

“I’ll be back,” she said.

Later that morning Scott sat at his mother’s kitchen table with the referral nurse from Hospice and answered all her questions as well as he could. There was the Hospice paperwork for his mother to sign, and several other documents spread out on the table, including her insurance papers, her Medicare card, the advance directive, the medical power of attorney, and the “do not resuscitate order” that Doc Machalvie had signed. This, he reflected, was his mother’s fate encompassed in paper and ink.

Exhausted, Scott could hear his sister snoring in her bedroom and he resented it. He tried to listen to what the Hospice nurse was saying, but his attention was riveted to his mother’s labored breathing in the room down the hall.

“Do you have any questions?” the nurse asked him.

“The home health aide said she didn’t have much time left,” Scott said. “What do you think?”

“It’s hard to say,” the nurse said. “Some people rally and seem much better right before they take a turn for the worse; some people steadily decline; and some people can go quite suddenly; everyone is different. You’ll know when she’s actively dying from the signs I described to you; I’m leaving this booklet so you can identify the stages as they happen. Anytime you have a question or a concern you can call our number and someone will answer. If it’s the answering service you’ll have a call back from the on-call nurse within fifteen minutes. We can come out any time day or night if you need us.”

“Thank you,” Scott said. “I had no idea how much you all actually do.”

Scott saw her out and returned to his mother’s room, where she was now reposing on a hospital bed with an IV pole next to it. She was attached by IV to a pain medication machine; if she felt any pain she could press a button kept near to her hand and a dose of pain medication would be released into her IV. The nurse had assured Scott that the doses of pain medication were carefully measured and monitored; if his mother pushed the button several times she wouldn’t get more medication than was allowed during a certain time period.

The oxygen cannula was still draped around her head and clamped to her nostrils. Her arms were elevated on pillows and the head of her bed had been raised so that she was reclining at an angle rather than laying flat on her back. The cool air in the room was being humidified by one machine and cleaned by another.

Scott had been concerned that his mother’s color was not good; her face was pale and her lips and fingertips were faintly violet. The nurse had explained that it was from the meager amount of oxygen that was reaching her lungs due to the fluid building up, and subsequently starving her heart.

“We aren’t going to suction her lungs,” the nurse had explained. “It’s a traumatic, painful procedure, and our first priority is for her to be comfortable and pain-free.”

“What can I do for her?” Scott asked.

“Give her anything she wants to eat or drink,” the nurse had said. “But if she refuses don’t force her. She’s stated that she doesn’t want a feeding tube or a respirator. Your job is just to be her son and spend quality time with her. We’ll make sure she stays comfortable as we let nature take its course.”

Scott sat down in a chair beside her bed and leaned back. He decided he would close his eyes for just a minute, and immediately fell asleep.

Delia woke him up when she came to take her turn at the bedside. His mom was sleeping soundly so Scott motioned for her to come back in the kitchen with him. He made some coffee and sat at the table with her, drinking it

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked her.

“It was just a 24-hour thing,” Delia said. “Doc looked me over this morning and pronounced me fit enough to sit with your mom.”