Colleen had just started on the roast beef when Edward Copeland broke into a fit of desperate coughing. In the mahogany-paneled dining room with opaque globe lights on the walls, he clutched at his throat, gasping. His eyes bulged.
Colleen shot up out of her chair, her silverware clanking on bone china, and rushed over to help. Harold, the butler, who had been standing quietly in the corner, quickly left the room.
“Father just needs his oxygen,” Alexandra Copeland said to Colleen, taking a sip of red wine before setting the glass down on a white lace tablecloth. “Harold’s gone to get it.” She stood up, strode over to her father, put a hand on his shoulder.
“Deep breaths, Father. You’ve got this under control.”
“I’m trying, damn it.” He seemed to be sucking in nothing. His face was the color of alabaster.
“Soldier up, now.” She patted his shoulder. “Harold’s on his way.”
Footsteps came pounding down the hallway, approaching the dining room. Harold appeared, holding a small green oxygen tank about two feet long with a length of plastic tube that ended in a facemask. He dashed over behind the table. Colleen and Alexandra moved aside. He set the tank down as Mr. Copeland eyed him, wheezing.
Alexandra took the plastic facemask from Harold in a business-like manner. “Head up nice and straight, Father.” She fastened the mask over her father’s face as Harold twisted the valve. The hiss of oxygen stiffened the tube. The red needle on the canister shot up.
Edward Copeland closed his eyes, leaned back in his wheelchair, and breathed deeply. His hands, which had been trembling on his thighs, relaxed. Color returned to his face. Harold fastened the tank into a bracket on the back of the wheelchair, came up with a nosepiece fixture, handed it to Alex. Mr. Copeland took a deep breath while Alex removed his facemask and replaced it with the nosepiece, which she slipped over his head and fastened into place, gently inserting the two cannulas into his nostrils.
“Is everything all right?” Colleen asked, feeling helpless standing by.
“It is now,” Alexandra said, returning to her seat, sitting down. Pulling her chair in, she took a sip of wine.
Harold returned to the corner of the room, folded his hands behind his back, and looked straight ahead, as if nothing had happened.
“I’m extremely sorry about this, Ms. Hayes,” Edward Copeland said in a rasping voice.
“Absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” Colleen said, returning to her seat. “I can’t help but feel my visit had something to do with it. Dredging up the past.”
“It’s the past we need to come to terms with,” he said. “So I can leave all this behind in peace.” He glanced over at Alex, picking at her food.
“Perhaps you should keep that oxygen tank on the back of your wheelchair at all times,” Colleen said.
“He normally does,” Alexandra said, looking up at Colleen. “He wanted to impress you.” She raised her eyebrows.
Mr. Copeland gave a quick accusing glance at Alex before he spoke to Colleen. “I didn’t want to play on your sympathies, Ms. Hayes.”
“You’re just a fool for a pretty face, Father.” Alex took another measured sip of wine, set her glass down, picked up a fork. She looked at Colleen, giving her a sly wink before she cast her eyes back down and returned to teasing her food.
That look sent a small, illicit thrill through Colleen.
The hiss of oxygen pulled her back to the present.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hayes,” Mr. Copeland said, adjusting the nasal cannula of his oxygen feed. “But it means you might have to work a little faster than we thought.”
“I’m prepared to do whatever it takes,” Colleen said.
“Glad to hear that,” Mr. Copeland said. “Let’s drink to it. Harold, bring the brandy and snifters.”
“See?” Alex gave Colleen a droll smile. “He’s still trying to impress you. Boys will be boys.”
And girls will be girls, Colleen thought.