“You think tomorrow’s the last day?” Joanne asked.
“Where Eleanor had us stop reading and what she told us before we left, I’d say we’ll hear about Daphne’s death tomorrow.” Bailey attached three pages of notes to her e-mail and hit Send. “You should get an e-mail on your end in a couple of minutes.” She leaned back in the chair. “It’ll be tough reading this last part.”
“You knew it was coming,” Joanne said with a note of exasperation. “I mean, that was the whole purpose in your going there. To talk about this woman’s partner who’d recently died.”
“Christ, Joanne, can you be any colder?” Bailey didn’t try to hide her anger.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get as many interviews in Los Angeles as I thought I would. Talking to someone over the phone to tell them you’re flying in to interview them and actually getting them to open up are evidently two different things. I knew Hollywood could be secretive, but I thought I had a shot. She quit working years ago.”
“Daphne DeMonet was well respected and very much loved. The people within the industry didn’t care who she slept with. She was a damn fine actress, and what she did with her AIDS foundation spoke volumes about who she was as an individual.”
“You really admire her, don’t you?”
“So much that I thought of asking you to keep Eleanor out of the book. At least not all the details that she’s given us.” Bailey waited for the explosion on the other end of the line and wasn’t disappointed.
“Come on. I sent you there to do a job, and Eleanor Burnett agreed. She knew what she’s having you read will end up in a book about her lover. She’s not naïve, and as you pointed out to me, she’s not senile. Do you think she would have shared all this with you if she didn’t intend on having me go forward with the book? Or Chelsea, too, for that matter?”
Bailey slid her index finger up and down the side of her bottled water. “No, I guess not. It’s just that…”
“It’s just that what?”
“This has been like listening to a fairytale, Joanne. Chelsea feels the same way. There aren’t too many marriages, let alone same-sex relationships, that last this long.”
“And I will do my best to convey their love in my book, Bailey.” Joanne’s tone had softened. “I’ll not tarnish her memory. You know me better than that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Listen, I’ll let you go. Give me a call when you’re done there. When do you plan on coming home?”
Bailey suddenly realized she hadn’t shared her news of moving back to Bloomington. She told Joanne about their plans.
“I guess you two really are back together. Will you live there with Chelsea or buy another house together?”
“She rents this house. We’re not sure yet what we’re doing, but we’re in no hurry. That we’re back together is what matters.”
“I’m happy for you, Bailey.”
“Thanks, Joanne. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
Bailey hung up and clicked on her notes to read what she’d sent. One thing was clear to her. Daphne DeMonet’s and Eleanor Burnett’s longtime relationship made one hell of a story.
* * *
Bailey rubbed her fingertips against Chelsea’s bare shoulder. “How’s it coming along for you?”
“Hmm?” Chelsea felt so languid after their lovemaking, she wasn’t even sure what Bailey was talking about.
“The book. How’s all that coming together?”
“Oh, that. It’s going okay. I got a lot done at the office this afternoon while you were working.” Chelsea leaned back on the pillow. “I think my approach to this biography has changed from what I saw it being at the beginning.”
“How so?”
“Yes, it’ll be about Daphne DeMonet’s Hollywood career. But more than that, it’s the love story between Daphne and Eleanor. That’s the core of the biography right there. I’m not sure if…”
“I think I know what you’re going to say. It’s what we talked about before. You’re afraid it’s an invasion of privacy even though Eleanor freely opened up to us as much as she has. I had this same conversation with Joanne earlier.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d do her best to convey the strength of their relationship in the biography.”
“Joanne’s a damn fine biographer, Bailey. You need to keep that in mind. She’s very good in writing about the private aspects of her subjects’ lives.”
“You’re right.” Bailey continued with her soft stroking. “You think you’ll be okay tomorrow?”
“Not really. It’s like the end of a great movie, you know? One that’s been happy, that’s had you laughing and crying. But you still know the closing scene is the death of one of the leading actresses.”
Bailey kissed her. “I feel the same way. Let’s get some rest. It’s going to be an emotional day tomorrow.”
* * *
Bailey got out of the Jeep and walked around the back to meet Chelsea as she stepped down. “Ready?”
“As much as I can be.”
Bailey pressed her thumb against the doorbell and listened again to the theme music from A Sheltered Heart. Eleanor opened the door. She looked lovely in a peach cotton shirt tucked into a pair of navy blue slacks.
“Let’s sit out on the patio, shall we? It’s where we started our journey. I think it should be where we finish it.”
They followed her to the patio and took their customary seats. Niles appeared, as he always did, at the exact moment Bailey was about to pour the coffee. After he poured Eleanor’s tea, she dismissed him with a smile.
“You can have the rest of the day off, Niles. I’ll be fine with my friends. After we read, I’ll take a nap.”
He looked concerned. “Are you sure, madam? I can stay.”
“No. You rarely have a day to yourself. I’ll be fine.”
He left them alone.
“Sometimes I think that man fusses over me more than Daphne did. But I love him for it.” Eleanor gave the diary to Bailey. “You should read today because I have a feeling our Doctor Parker might get a little too emotional. Am I right, Chelsea?”
“I won’t deny it.”
Bailey wasn’t sure she’d get through it, either.
“I’ll let you know what leads up to the final entries. It’s May of this year, and Daphne’s health has deteriorated even more since 2003. The doctors told me it was only a matter of time before she suffered another massive stroke. One that she probably wouldn’t recover from. We moved back to Bloomington permanently in 2004. I made sure Daphne still received the best of care. Bloomington Hospital has a certified acute stroke center, so I knew she’d be in good hands.” Eleanor motioned to the diary. “Let’s read.”
Bailey opened to the marked passage. “Friday, 20 May 2011. It had stormed all afternoon, casting a pall over my already dark mood. I had a sense of foreboding, and it grew stronger with each thunderclap…”
* * *
We were in the solarium. Remarkably, except for omitting the swimming pool, the builders had exactly duplicated our California home. I fed Daphne Jell-O as she sat in her wheelchair and looked out into our backyard. She couldn’t eat solid food anymore, and her weight had dropped drastically these past several months. I tried to pretend she wasn’t wasting away, but I knew better.
She shook her head when I offered her the last bite.
“Sure?” I asked, holding out the spoon.
She nodded and continued gazing at the rain trickling down the glass. The thunder and lightning had let up, but the rain hadn’t finished its assault. The weather reminded me of England. I felt a twinge of sadness as I sometimes did when thinking of home. But I looked at Daphne and knew I was right where I wanted and needed to be.
I touched her arm and noticed how cool it was.
“You’re freezing. Let me get your sweater, and we’ll move into the living room. How does that sound?”
Daphne didn’t acknowledge my question, but I left for the sweater anyway. I picked it up off the back of the sofa.
“I remember when I bought you this,” I called out as I approached the solarium. I fingered the soft wool. “It was that quaint shop in Studland Bay, remember? The one run by that adorable elderly man and his daughter. Listen to me. ‘Elderly.’ I’d say I’ve reached that age, wouldn’t you?”
I stopped short in the entryway. Daphne lay on the floor.
“No!” I ran to her and turned her onto her back. “Daphne?” She was unresponsive. I hit the button on the device around my neck that would summon the paramedics. As I waited for the arrival of the ambulance, I held her in my arms, petted her soft hair, and begged her to hold on. “Not yet. I’m not ready, God. Please not yet.”
Within minutes, the paramedics arrived and put her in the ambulance. Niles was there and got the car to drive us to the hospital. We followed the ambulance to Bloomington Hospital, pulling directly behind them in the roundabout in front of the ER.
“You go ahead,” Niles said. “I’ll park and meet you inside.”
I hurried into the entrance, but a hospital attendant stopped me when I tried to follow Daphne into the examining area.
“You need to wait here,” she said. “You are?”
Without hesitation, I said, “I’m her partner, Eleanor Burnett.”
“Do you have health care power of attorney?”
“Yes, as well as general power of attorney.”
“Please take a seat. We need to get her medical information.”
I sat down with my pocketbook clutched to my chest and tried to stop the piercing ache in my heart as I answered the questions. She clicked the keyboard with quiet proficiency.
“I see Ms. DeMonet’s in our system.”
“She’s been a patient in your stroke rehabilitation facility.”
She typed a few more keystrokes and told me to wait out front until they called me back. I eased into a vinyl chair, and Niles soon joined me. He remained quiet as if he knew I was in no shape to talk. The wall clock ticked by minute by minute until over an hour passed. I was about to approach the desk, but the same young woman called me to the door.
“You can come back now, Ms. Burnett.”
On unsteady feet I followed her through the double doors to a separate room.
“Doctor Kalardi will be in soon.”
I said a silent prayer for Daphne. For us.
The door swung open. A tall, dark-haired man entered the room. “Ms. Burnett? You’re Ms. DeMonet’s partner?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I’m Doctor Kalardi.” He sat down on the chair beside me and met my eyes with an earnest gaze. “I’m sorry to tell you your partner has suffered a massive stroke and has slipped into a coma.”
In a daze, I watched his lips move and tried to make sense of what he was saying.
“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do except make her comfortable. We’ve admitted her to ICU.”
“Is there any hope at all?”
His sympathetic expression told me all I needed to know.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Burnett.”
“How long…” I cleared my throat. “How long does she have?”
“We can’t be certain, but with a stroke of this magnitude, based on the brain images we’ve done, it could be a matter of days or hours. Or she could linger. You have medical power of attorney, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Does she have a living will?”
“No.”
“Then it may be up to you how long she’s on life support.”
His words hit me hard. That was such a huge responsibility.
“Can I see her?”
“I’ll take you there.”
He led me to an elevator, which we rode up to the third floor in silence. We walked past a circular nurse’s station. He acknowledged the staff as we passed them. We entered Daphne’s room. Her bed sat next to the windows on the far wall.
I staggered when I saw her ashen face. Doctor Kalardi held my elbow and steadied me. Her thin arms lay at her sides with IVs inserted in both hands. A bevy of hissing and beeping machines surrounded her. But they offered me no solace.
Doctor Kalardi picked up a chair and carried it to the head of the bed.
“I’ll leave you alone, Ms. Burnett. Is there anyone with you?”
“Niles Crawford is in the waiting area downstairs.”
“Do you need me to ask him to join you?”
“If you’ll just let him know I’ll be here for quite a while, I’d appreciate it.”
“You also need to get some rest.”
Only concern etched his young face, so I withheld my angry retort. “Doctor, based on what you’ve shared, I don’t think Daphne will make it. I am not leaving her side.”
He gave me a slight, respectful smile. “I’ll let Mr. Crawford know.”
After he left, I took Daphne’s left hand in mine. I lifted her hand and kissed each knuckle. “I love you.”
The machines emitted incessant sounds as they provided what she needed to cling to what little life she had left. Eventually, I drifted off, still holding her hand.
I startled awake when someone touched my shoulder.
“Ms. Burnett?” Doctor Kalardi stood beside me with a clipboard.
“Yes?”
“Could you come with me please?” he asked in a hushed voice.
I was reluctant to leave Daphne but had a feeling I knew what he wanted. He took me farther down the hall to a separate room with a table.
“You’ve told me you have medical power of attorney over Ms. DeMonet’s affairs. I know this is under dire circumstances, and, again, I apologise. But as I told you, the prognosis for Ms. DeMonet’s recovery is grim. I need to ask if you wish to sign what we call a DNR—a Do Not Resuscitate order.”
My fears as to his intent were well-founded. “That means they will make no efforts to revive her should the machines fail to sustain her?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you telling me this is what is best for her?”
“No, ma’am. I’m asking you if, based on Ms. DeMonet’s prognosis, you would wish to sign a DNR.”
I thought of Daphne’s drawn face. We’d never signed living wills, almost as if we were afraid by addressing the matter, we’d hasten our own deaths. But I knew without a doubt she wouldn’t want to linger if there was no hope. Still, the decision was heart-wrenching.
“I’ll…” I had to catch my breath as I struggled to say the words. “I’ll sign the form.”
He produced the document and pointed to a line at the bottom. “I truly am sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He led me back to the room and left as quietly as he’d arrived, almost as if he’d been an apparition.
Sunday, 22 May 2011. I’d gone home briefly yesterday to shower and change clothes. Niles drove me right back to the hospital. Daphne’s room was dark except for the panel of lights above her bed. I watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.
I drifted back to sleep, but at just after two-thirty in the morning, I awakened with a start and shook off my stupor.
I focused again on Daphne’s face as I shifted down the bedrail to sit beside her. I gently touched her face. “I love you, Daphne,” I choked out as tears slid down my cheeks.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open and focused on mine. Gone was the dull, watery stare from the past few months. Instead, her gaze was clear—as clear as the first time I’d met her. These were the eyes of a young woman flirting shamelessly with a frightened twenty-one-year-old.
I clutched her hand in mine. “Daphne?”
She tried to smile as she squeezed my fingers weakly with her own. Then the lucidity slipped away as fast as it appeared, and her eyes closed. Her hand became limp in mine, and a long breath passed her lips.
Daphne was gone. I didn’t need the strident beeping of the heart monitor to tell me what I’d seen and felt. Her spirit had left her. Left me.
I stepped aside as the nursing staff hustled into the room and unhooked everything.
The nurse who’d been so kind to me while I sat vigil touched my shoulder. “We’ll let you have a few moments alone with her.”
I moved again to Daphne’s side and brushed my fingers through her hair for what I knew would be the last time. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers.
“Good bye, love,” I whispered. “You’re at peace now.”
With one more caress of her cheek, I straightened and left the room.
* * *
Chelsea pulled a tissue from her purse and handed one to Bailey. Eleanor made no move to wipe away her own tears.
“Do you want me to go to the next marked page?” Bailey asked after a slight delay.
“Give it to me please,” Eleanor said. Bailey handed her the diary. Eleanor took out a pair of reading glasses from a glass case and slipped them on.
“Wednesday, 25 May 2011. Yesterday, they cremated Daphne. I’d done as she’d asked, but I planned to keep my promise, too…”
* * *
I’d find someone to take our ashes back to England and Studland Bay. I wasn’t worried. As I’d told her when we stayed at the Gentry House, God would send me someone.
Her ashes sat in an oak box on top of the mantel. I understood the logic. But the confines of the box couldn’t contain who Daphne was to me and who she was to so many others.
I approached our old stereo. After taking a vinyl record out of its sleeve, I placed it on the turntable. I set the stylus on the first song, turned up the sound, and swayed to “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” lost in the music. I could still feel Daphne’s body against mine as when we danced among our friends that night in 1963.
Tears slipped down my face. She’d been my best friend, my lover, my soul mate. But she really wasn’t gone. She was immortal, living on through the reels of film that had been her livelihood. And she lived on in my heart. I imagined her hand sweeping down to my hips and up my back, pulling me tighter.
I smiled for the first time in days, surrounded by Daphne’s love.
Our love.
* * *
“The End,” Eleanor said softly and closed the diary. “That is my last entry.”
They sat quietly as a breeze blew in and the wind chimes rang out their melodic song. Chelsea heard the whispering again through the tree branches and a hushed “Ellie” in the dying breath of the wind. This time, she didn’t need Eleanor’s acknowledgment to know what she’d heard was real.
“What you need to take from our readings is what a remarkable woman Daphne was for her day,” Eleanor said. “She didn’t accept the yearly salary doled out by the studio and chose instead to negotiate her own price for each film. It made her the highest paid actress in her time. Yes, she was demanding on sets, but when each filming finished, what you saw was the best possible performance she could deliver, no matter how long it took to get it on celluloid.”
Eleanor paused briefly, as if remembering everything Daphne meant to her. She pinned them with a sharp, blue-eyed stare. “I sense both of you are hesitant in sharing our story, that you’re somehow intruding on our privacy.” She awaited their response. “By your silence, I’m assuming I’m right. Well, I’m telling you don’t be. Bailey, take this crystal clear portrait of Daphne back to Joanne Addison and tell her to do her damndest to give her the respect she deserves. And, Chelsea, pay homage to the actress, the humanitarian, but especially to my life mate. When you write, think of Bailey and what she means to you. You’ll then capture what I want you to capture in writing about my Daphne.”
Eleanor slowly rose to her feet and winced as pain flickered across her face.
Bailey stood quickly and placed her hand under her elbow. “Eleanor?”
“I’m fine, my dear. Quite.” She straightened and warmed Bailey’s heart with an affectionate smile. “My young friends, I’ve enjoyed our time together. You’ve brought me much joy going through these readings with you. But the most joy I’ve gotten is seeing the two of you reunite. Daphne would be proud she had a part in it.” Eleanor pointed to the path. “Let me walk with you.”
They headed around to the front and stood by the Jeep. Bailey was reluctant for the day to end. She wished she could think of more questions to extend their time together, but she knew she had what she needed for Joanne’s book.
“Don’t cry, Chelsea,” Eleanor said. “This is a happy parting.”
“Sorry.” Chelsea blinked. “It’s just that—”
“No more tears. Bailey, take care of this young woman. Together, you have a long, joyful life ahead of you.” Eleanor shook her finger. “Don’t mess it up.”
Bailey chuckled. “Don’t worry. We won’t.”
“Good. Now, give me a hug.”
They each embraced her and got into the Jeep.
“We can come back to visit, can’t we?” Chelsea asked.
“You’re always welcome.” Eleanor squeezed her arm. “Be safe.”
Bailey pulled away and watched Eleanor in the rearview mirror. She waved. Eleanor raised her hand and folded her arms in front of her chest. She stood there until Bailey could no longer see her around the bend in the drive.
“We’ll visit again soon,” Chelsea said as she patted Bailey’s leg.
Bailey didn’t answer.