The next few days passed in a fog. By the time the hospice workers set up the hospital bed in her bedroom, Lise was too ill and weak to do much more than issue a faint protest.
The nurses tended Lise and instructed Greer on what to do in between visits and what to expect next.
“The most important thing is to stay ahead of the pain,” emphasized Sue, a dark-haired plain-speaking nurse who arrived on the first day. “Yes, it will make her feel doped up, but believe me, you do not want her to experience a violent pain episode.”
“Lise never liked drugs,” Greer said.
“She’s never had end-stage cancer before,” Sue said.
Greer slept fitfully on the sofa in the living room, waking every couple of hours to check on her mother, leaving the apartment only briefly while the nurses tended Lise.
CeeJay texted and dropped in to check on her, as did Sean and Luis, but for the most part, by her own choice, Lise’s apartment was so eerily quiet Greer could hear the ticking of the mantel clock and the whir of the ceiling fan. And the shallow rattle of her mother’s uneven breaths. Lise slept for long stretches, eating little, only taking sips of water through a straw.
On the third morning after Sue had come and gone from the apartment, as Greer was reading in the chair beside the hospital bed, Lise awoke and looked around the room.
“We need to talk.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Greer was on instant alert, slipping a pillow beneath her mother’s head, grabbing for a glass of water. “What’s wrong? Do you need more meds?”
Lise shook her head. “No. About Dearie. Does she know?”
“She knows,” Greer said simply. “Do you want to see her? I guess we could carry her up the stairs.…”
“No!” Lise cried. “God, no. Listen…” She swallowed. “There’s money … enough … money.”
“I know, Mom,” Greer said, clutching Lise’s hand. Her skin was cool to the touch and paper dry. “Do not worry about Dearie. I promise, I will take care of her. She won’t admit it, but she likes Vista Haven. She has cranky hour with Elsie, and she’s playing bridge.…”
Lise’s eyelids fluttered. “Enough money. Dearie.”
“I know, Mom,” Greer repeated, stroking Lise’s long thin fingertips with her own. Lise’s skin was so dry. Greer reached for the bottle of moisturizing cream on the nightstand and slathered it over Lise’s hands, gently rubbing it onto her hands and sticklike wrists.
Lise’s breathing slowed. Her chest rose and fell and rose again.