Chapter 16

Christine tapped on the door of Sarah’s office. “I don’t think your mother looks well this morning,” she said when Sarah waved her in. “She seems awfully weak.”

“Where is she?”

“She went back to bed after breakfast. I tucked her in.”

“I’d better go see her.” Sarah put a sticky note on the page of figures to mark her place and jumped up.

Hilda slept on her back, her slight form barely lifting the covers. Sarah watched for a few minutes, overwhelmed by love and pity. And anger, she thought. Yes, at some childish level she was angry that her mother couldn’t hold off old age. Couldn’t keep on hearing and seeing and thinking clearly. Couldn’t keep on being the grown-up.

And the room smelled. Unpleasant. Bad, in fact. Like a nursing home. Sarah went into the bathroom and emptied the wastebasket into a plastic bag from the stack in the towel cabinet. Having to wear the adult diapers caused such shame that Sarah tried to make the process as transparent as possible. She went back through the bedroom. Her mother did look worse. Tired and pale. She wrinkled her nose. And she needed a shower.

Later. This afternoon, when it was warmer, would be time enough.

Sarah went back downstairs, put out the trash, and settled to her work. At least there was work coming in now, and the money helped lift some of the worry. Maybe Mr. Macklin had done her a favor at that. It would be brutal to have to spend all day every day away from her mother at this point.

Not that it wasn’t brutal spending all day every day watching her mother’s physical decline, and the fine mind crumbling into senility.

By the time she finished work, it was time to fix lunch. Miranda and Violet came in from wherever they’d been, and Christine came yawning out of her room, just as Sarah got to the kitchen. “I don’t do anything but sleep these days,” she said. “Let me help with lunch.”

“I’ve got it,” Sarah told her. “I made soup this morning. Could you go make sure Mama’s awake?”

Christine nodded and lumbered toward the door, one hand pressing against the small of her back, leaning against the weight of the baby.

“Use the elevator,” Sarah ordered.

“As if I could haul myself up the stairs.”

In a few minutes Christine was back. “She’s getting up. I’ll set the table.”

By the time Sarah had soup and a tray of sandwiches ready, Hilda still hadn’t come down to the dining room. “You all start,” she told Christine, Violet, and Miranda. “I’ll go help Mama.”

Upstairs, she tapped on the door and went in. Her mother sat on the side of the bed, an agonized expression on her face.

Sarah rushed to her side. “What’s wrong. Mama?” Panic made her voice high and squeaky.

Hilda shook her head and bit her lip. “I can’t get up.” She squirmed in what looked like pain.

“Mama?”

“I can’t get to the bathroom in time,” Hilda said, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “The minute I move...”

Sarah’s breath whooshed out. “Good Lord, Mama, you scared me half to death. I thought something was really wrong. Let me get some towels.”

“But Sarah, the mess.”

“Not a problem. Mama. We put a plastic cover on the mattress, remember? You have on that diaper and I’ll get some towels. It’ll be fine.”

Hilda hunched her shoulders. “The diaper is soaked.” The look of shame in her eyes tore at Sarah’s heart.

“It’s all right,” she said, and could see that the reassurance did no good. With the towels in place, she helped Hilda to her feet and dealt with the resulting mess.

Her mother wouldn’t look at her.

Sarah tried again. “Think of all the times you had to do this for me,” she said, trying to coax a smile, but the anguished embarrassment remained.

“Come on. Let’s go down to lunch,” she said when Hilda was cleaned up and dressed. “I made your favorite chicken vegetable soup this morning.”

“That’s nice.” Hilda gripped the walker and tottered toward the elevator. After a few steps, she stopped. “Do you think I could have lunch in bed, please? I’m just too tired.”

She was breathing hard, as though she’d run a few laps round the house.

Sarah looked down at the frail figure bent over the walker and the ever-present tears burned at the back of her eyes. “Of course, Mama.” And after lunch, the first thing she was going to do was call the doctor.

It was after dinner before he returned her call. “Yes, she’s been spending more and more time in bed. But today, she didn’t want to get up at all,” she told Dr. Burgess when he finally called.

Four minutes later, she slammed the phone down and sat glaring at it.

“I’d better get the fire extinguisher.”

She looked up and saw Rob leaning against the door frame. “Why?”

“You’ve got smoke coming out of your ears.”

That wasn’t a surprise, given the sizzle of temper. “You might not have noticed, but health care for the elderly in this country is a joke. Except when you’re caught up in the system, and then it’s a very sick joke.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, but his mouth was grim. “I’ve noticed. What now?”

Relating the day’s incidents raised her blood pressure a few more notches. “And then that self-satisfied idiot told me to get a wheel chair or put her in a nursing home. That there wasn’t anything he could do. He said, ‘Only to be expected with geriatric patients,’” she fumed. “He hasn’t even seen her in months. Something might be really wrong.”

“Aw, Sarah, that’s rough.” Rob patted her shoulder. “Want me to go beat him up?”

A small giggle bubbled up in spite of her black mood. “Yes. Him and every other unsympathetic, overpaid...never mind.”

“Want me to pick up the wheelchair tomorrow?”

“I’d love it, but it’s not going to be that easy. I have to get a prescription for it, and then Mama should be there to try it on. And I have to go clear to Susanville for it. I don’t think she can manage that trip.” Her voice got more and more desperate.

“Deep breath, Sarah. And drink this.” He poured a splash of brandy into a small snifter, a leftover from the days when her office had been a gracious library for her father, and handed it to her. “We can handle this. Tomorrow you get the prescription. You measure your mom, and I’ll pick up the chair when I go to the lumber yard.”

He made the solution sound so easy. And with him in charge, it would be. Rob to the rescue. As always. She tossed back the brandy. “That would be wonderful,” she wheezed through the burning in her throat. “What would I do without you?”

****

“Mama, just try,” Sarah pleaded a few days later. “Just put your hands here, and here, and push the chair along.”

“It’s too hard,” Hilda said, in a voice that was as close to whining as Sarah had ever heard. “And I’m tired of trying.”

“All right. I’ll push.” Sarah guided the wheelchair along the hallway and into the elevator. As the car creaked its way down from the second floor to the first, she looked down at her mother, at the bits of pink scalp that showed through the thinning hair, and the claw-like hands gripping the armrests, and her own hands tightened on the handles of the chair. Sometimes it felt like this person wasn’t even her mother anymore.

Rob had cleared one side of the table so there was space for the wheelchair. Sarah set a plate with a sandwich and some fruit in front of Hilda, and fixed a cup of coffee with sugar and cream, just the way she liked it.

“Thank you, dear.” That sounded like her mother, but the next minute, she was spilling coffee down the front of the blouse Sarah had just helped her into.

The meal lasted forever. The moments of lucidity didn’t.

After she’d helped her mother back upstairs for a nap, Sarah trudged down the stairs to her office. She had a pile of work to do, but the weight of watching the disintegration into senility didn’t leave her much energy to get it done.

She understood now why so many people put aging relatives in nursing homes. It wasn’t the physical work, exhausting as that was, or the relentless worry. It was the pain of watching the slow moldering away of humanity that was unbearable.

The scent of roses cut through her musing, and she noticed a vase of fragrant blossoms on the corner of her desk, the special Damask roses that were her mother’s favorite.

“Christine?” she called.

Christine poked her head out of the dining room. “Here. What do you need?”

“Did you put the flowers on my desk?”

“Oh, yes. Your mother asked me to. I got her to go out in the garden for a few minutes this morning, and she noticed that they were blooming. She asked me to pick some for you.”

Sarah sat at the desk and ran a finger across one of the soft, pink-edged petals.

Oh, Mama.

****

Beth gave a push that set the old porch swing moving gently. “Love these late summer evenings. Love the smell of fresh-cut grass. Hard to believe winter’s coming.”

Winter’s coming. More like hard times coming. Sarah shivered in spite of the heat.

After a minute, Beth said, “But boy, things sure have changed around here. Do you miss your old life a lot?”

“No.” The word popped out without thought. Sarah realized with surprise that it was true. “No, I don’t.”

“But you never do anything anymore. And you never see anyone except old people.”

“And you.”

“And me. But only when I come over here.”

True. “I know. I’m sorry, Beth. I really value the times I get to visit with you.”

“It’s okay. Friends have to know when to give each other room.”

Sarah smiled over the rim of her wine glass. “You’re a good friend. And I see Christine. She’s not old. And Rob.” Yes indeed, Rob. He had become the anchor and foundation of her life. “And the more time I spend with Mama, the more I see how really sweet she is. It’s something that transcends mental competence.” She leaned forward and refilled Beth’s glass.

“You’re really lucky. I guess. I couldn’t do what you’re doing. I’d rather die.”

Sarah looked at Beth. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Why don’t you try to make it up with your mother?”

Beth set her glass down so hard Sarah glanced to see if it had cracked the table. “I don’t believe there’s anyone within the town limits who doesn’t think I should make up with my mother,” Beth said. “But you all don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want anything to do with her, and that’s that. Live with it and get off my back.” She retrieved the glass and gulped the contents.

Sarah refilled it. “Sorry,” she said.

“So what do you get out of all this catering to your mother?” Beth demanded.

Whoa. Beth was really angry. Sarah tried to find an answer that would soften the moment. “Grief. Love. Satisfaction. I’ll never know if Mama knows how much I love and appreciate her, and that grieves me. I know the end is inevitable. But oh, Beth, you have no idea how precious this time is.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wanted to take them back. Of course Beth had no idea. She hated her mother so vehemently she probably couldn’t imagine giving up so much as a used tissue to help the woman. Poor Beth. But the words had poured fuel on the fire of Beth’s anger.

“Satisfaction. Sure. It’s been really obvious for the last year that you get more satisfaction,” Beth drawled the word with what sounded like real malice, “from being at her beck and call than from your friends.”

Why, Beth was jealous. “I thought you liked my mother.”

“I do.”

“Then you can’t want me to abandon her when she needs me.”

“Of course not. What kind of person do you think I am? I just don’t think you should give up your whole life.”

“I haven’t done that.”

“Of course you have. How long has it been since you called me to go to a movie or for a hike or...or anything.”

“Well, yes. But we see each other. We talk. It’s not like I never took time for myself.”

“It is like you never take time to do anything with me. Think about it. We used to have lunch at work.”

“Before I got fired.” Sarah couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Beth plowed on as though she hadn’t spoken. “We had lunch and you talked about your mother. I helped you fix up the house for your mother and you didn’t talk about anything except her health. I helped you distribute fliers when you went into business and you talked about your mother some more.”

“Well, I’m sorry I was so boring,” Sarah exclaimed, stung by the truth of Beth’s words. “But I went dancing with you.”

“That wasn’t your idea. I practically had to put you in handcuffs and drag you out there. And you’ve never let me forget what a disaster the evening was.”

If she were honest with herself Sarah would have to admit she’d been unforgiving about that evening, mainly because she felt so guilty about not wanting to spend all her free time dealing with and worrying about her mother’s problems. “True. I apologize.”

“And we haven’t done anything social since then.”

“What happened to ‘friends have to know when to give each other room?’”

“For a whole year? It’s all been about your mother, or Rob’s mother, or Miranda, or Christine. There’s never anything left for me.”

Why should there be? Beth was a big girl. She ought to understand. “I think you’re being a little out of line here, Beth. Calm down, hey?”

“Why?” Beth slammed her glass down again and straightened in her chair, leaning toward Sarah. “Why should I be calm when I’m angry as hell? Why is it okay for you to do and say exactly what you want without thinking about me, but I can’t say a single word? Or need anything.”

Sarah felt as though the chair had dropped out from under her. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“That’s because you haven’t been paying attention. You’re busy hovering over your mother and you’ve got Rob here and you don’t need me, so I never see you unless I come over.”

Sarah’s shoulders sagged and she just wanted to put her head down and sleep. Or cry. Beth was right, but there was a limit to what any one person could do.

“And what about Rob? He’s pretty much in your pocket. What does he get out of this whole thing? Are you rewarding him somehow?” She raised an eloquent eyebrow at Sarah.

“No. Don’t be offensive.” Fatigue and defeat swept over Sarah.

Apparently Beth misinterpreted what must be her stunned and guilty expression, because she shot to her feet. “I’m sick of this, Sarah. You don’t need a friend, you need someone to trot in your footsteps and lick your boots. Well, it ain’t me, babe.” She stamped down the stairs and across the lawn to her car without looking back.

“Goodness, what was that all about?” Violet tiptoed out onto the porch. “I could hear shouting all the way up in my room.”

“The girl is envious.” Miranda was right behind Violet, taking charge in her usual I-know-everything manner. “She’s always wished for a mother like Hilda.”

“She’s angry because I haven’t been much of a friend this last year.”

“Young people are selfish,” Miranda stated firmly. “Look at the way she refuses to see her own mother.”

“She’ll get over it,” Sarah said. “Or she won’t. I just don’t have the energy to fix it right now.”

“Fix what?” Rob joined what was beginning to seem like a crowd on the porch.

“Oh, Beth was yelling at Sarah and went stamping off in a temper,” Violet told him. “It was very exciting.”

“She’s upset because I haven’t spent much time with her,” Sarah explained. “And she’s right. I haven’t been much of a friend this past year.”

“She’s jealous,” Rob stated flatly. “Jealous of you because you’re both friend and surrogate mother, and envious of your relationship with your mother. A real friend would stand by you, and for more than a year.”

He looked so certain, so strong, so dependable, that Sarah wanted to let everything go and just lean on him. Even just for a few minutes. How wonderful it would feel to let go and mourn, mourn for present and future losses. She tamped the sorrow of losing a friend into a dark corner of her mind and resisted the urge to put her head on Rob’s shoulder and cry. It wouldn’t be fair to turn into a clinging vine at this point. She could get through this without asking for more.

She could.

****

“Don’t want to get up.”

“All right. Mama. Shall I bring you supper in bed?” Sarah tried to keep fear out of her voice. It had been almost a week since her mother had been willing to get out of bed.

“Mm-hmm.” Hilda snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, Rob was at her side. “What’s wrong?”

“She won’t get up. Again.”

He grimaced. “I’ll referee down here if you want to eat upstairs with her. Again.”

“Thanks.” If he’d been openly sympathetic, she would have ended up crying all over him.

She carried dinner upstairs, coaxed Hilda to sit propped up on pillows, and pulled a chair to the bedside so she could feed her.

“What’s that?”

“Mashed potatoes. Beef stew. And custard. I made it the way you like it, Grandma’s recipe with brown sugar on the bottom,” Sarah said loudly.

“Nice.” But after only a few bites, Hilda turned her head away and refused more.

“Oh, Mama, you aren’t eating enough,” Sarah wailed, gripped by the helpless feeling that being with her mother seemed to cause all the time now. If only she could do more. But force feeding wasn’t on the agenda.

“So tired.” It was a barely audible mumble. “Tired.”

“All right.” Sarah removed the tray and settled her for the night.

“Thank you, dear.” Hilda folded her hands across her stomach and closed her eyes.

Sarah suppressed a gasp. She looked so dead that it was painful to see. “Good night. Mama,” she said, and bent to kiss her cheek. Something didn’t look right about her arms, so Sarah twitched the sheet away. “Oh.”

Both of her mother’s upper arms were swollen. No, not swollen. They looked more like great bags of fluid, all wobbly and sloshy.

Stay calm. But she wasn’t calm. Not an emergency. No immediate danger. Just another problem. One more hurdle she could manage. She was shaking like an aspen in a wind storm. Time to stop kidding herself and call the doctor.

Rob was in the kitchen when she skidded down the stairs and grabbed the phone.

“What is it?”

“Urgent, not emergency.” She tried to punch in the numbers, but her hands shook too badly.

Rob took the phone. “Dr. Burgess?”

“Uh-huh. “

He dialed and handed it back to her.

“If he says this is ‘only to be expected with geriatric patients,’ the way he did last time. I’m going to do something violent.” She stopped to talk to the answering service.

Rob gestured toward the stairs, but she shook her head.

She wanted, no, needed, his comforting presence right here.

A few minutes later, she put the phone down and turned to him. “An ambulance is on the way. I’ll be upstairs. You let them in?”

He nodded, and she went up the back stairs to hold vigil by her mother’s bedside. Unnatural, frozen calm settled over her. It felt like being encased in a thin film of ice, like the packaged chicken breasts she had bought that afternoon.

Hilda woke when she came back into the room. “Sarah. Is something wrong?”

How to explain this without scaring her? “I just talked to the doctor. He’d like you in the hospital for a bit. Just for observation.”

Hilda struggled fruitlessly to sit, and Sarah raised her to put an extra pillow behind her. “But why?”

“Your arms.”

She looked, tried to raise each arm. “There’s nothing wrong with my arms. Oh, my. Yes. I hadn’t noticed. I suppose he’s right. Are we going now?”

“In a few minutes.”

“Will you comb my hair, please? I don’t want to look like such a wild woman in front of the ambulance people.”

That was her mama. Presentation was everything, even in the face of death. A strangled laugh, or sob, she couldn’t tell, escaped her, and she picked up the brush and began to smooth her mother’s tangled hair.

For the last time?

No, she was being overly dramatic, as Beth had once accused her. But that had been about money, and those worries seemed trivial compared with this.

She sat beside the bed, holding the thin hand. Every few minutes, her mother roused to ask, “Are you sure my hair is combed?”

“Yes, Mama,” she replied each time. “You look very nice.”

After four or five exchanges, Hilda said, “I’ve asked that before, haven’t I?”

Sarah smoothed a hand across her cheek. “Yes.”

“I feel so stupid. I’m so sorry, Sarah. I know I’m losing my mind.”

The lost, confused look in her eyes was a heart wrencher for sure. Every mean thought and cruel word Sarah had ever thought or said rose up in her mind to accuse her now. If only she could wrap her mother in enough love and tenderness to keep her from the pain of knowing her failures.

“You’re not losing your mind. Mama. It’s just a little short-term memory problem. It doesn’t matter.”

Hilda closed her eyes, and Sarah sat in silence that was finally broken by the whine of the elevator. She hadn’t heard any sirens. Well, this probably didn’t count as an emergency, so that made sense.

Rob came into the room, followed by two EMTs with a gurney, and Sarah had to swallow the sudden fear that her mother was being taken away forever.

****

A week later, a week that passed in a blur of pain and seemed to last forever, Sarah tiptoed into the hospital’s intensive care ward. A technician armed with a fierce display of needles and vials stood planted by her mother’s bed. “The doctor ordered a blood test, Hilda,” the woman said. “And I’m going to need to draw some blood.”

“Please, no,” Hilda said, her voice thin and despairing. “Please.” A tear ran down her cheek as the woman picked up her thin arm.

This was her mother, Sarah thought, and a slide show of the hundreds, thousands of times her mother had stood by her, supported her, protected her, flashed through her mind. “Wait,” she said.

The technician turned to her, eyes angry.

“Could you come back later, please?” Sarah said, willing the woman to leave with every atom. “Just let us have a moment.”

It worked. The woman left, pulling her cart of torture instruments behind her, displeasure radiating in an almost-visible aura.

“Mama,” Sarah said. “Are you feeling better today?”

“No.” Her mother grasped Sarah’s arm with surprising strength. She looked up at Sarah with an intensity Sarah hadn’t seen for months. “No. I’m not getting better, Sarah. And they just keep doing tests and drawing blood, and they’re hurting me so badly. Sarah, please, I beg you, get me out of here. Oh please, please.”

Sarah looked at the thin hand on her arm, at the pleading face with its lines of pain and resignation, and knew she had no choice. “I’ll talk to Dr. Burgess, Mama.”

When she reached the nursing station, she leaned against the counter for a helpless, hopeless minute. So this was the end. She’d known, she’d seen that her mother was getting weaker and weaker, despite the days in intensive care. And she knew that the hospital considered three days a maximum stay for this ward.

The duty nurse hustled back to the station. “Hilda’s not feeling so happy with us today,” she said, her eyes full of sympathy.

Thank goodness this was the kind nurse who had told her about hospice care. “I think it’s time, Bonnie,” Sarah said. Her voice cracked.

Bonnie nodded. “You’ll have to speak to Dr. Burgess.” Her mouth flattened. “And good luck. He doesn’t approve of hospice care.”

“But why? He told me Mama’s not going to get better, and everything you do just hurts her. This is terrible.”

“I agree. But he’s never permitted it before.”

Determination surged through Sarah. She couldn’t save her mother’s life, but she could damn sure see that she was kept comfortable. “He’s going to agree this time. How do I get to talk to him?”

Bonnie nodded again. “I’ll page him for you.”

Twenty minutes later, Sarah faced Dr. Burgess across a battered desk in an unused office. After determined questioning, he’d finally admitted again that Hilda’s condition was deteriorating. “I want her released for home hospice care,” Sarah said bluntly.

“I can’t do that. Miss Gault. I have principles. Hospice care, administering unlimited amounts of morphine, is tantamount to murder.”

Sarah met his gaze, and hers hung tough. When he looked away, she said, “Keeping my mother in the intensive care ward and running tests on her is torture, plain and simple. How do your principles feel about that?”

He shook his head.

“You know I’ve devoted the last year to my mother’s care. She’s hurting so much. She’s begging to go home. Please, please, Dr. Burgess.”

“I can’t.” He turned and gazed out the window.

Sarah held her breath.

“But I have seen your care and devotion,” he said slowly. “I’ll transfer her to Dr. Fayad as soon as I get back to my office. He touched Sarah’s arm. “You’re a brave woman, Miss Gault, and a dutiful daughter.” He rose and left the room without looking at her again.

Four nerve-wracking hours later, Sarah stood at her mother’s bedside, once again fending off the now-determined technician with her needle. “Well, go check again. The order’s been cancelled. Mother is going home.”

Her mother’s eyes popped open. “Home?” she said. “You did it?”

Sarah smiled down at her. “Yes, Mama.”

Bonnie came in with Miss Harkness, the discharge coordinator who had been so rude about Christine. “I need to ask you some questions before you leave, Hilda,” she said, pulling up a chair and settling a clipboard on her lap. “I see that your daughter has requested that you be released for home hospice care. Is that your wish?”

“Oh, yes,” Sarah’s mother said softly. “Yes, I want to go home.”

“You do understand that you will be given no further treatment?”

“Yes.”

“I must be certain that you understand the implications of that, Hilda. Without treatment, you will get worse. Do you understand that?”

Hilda nodded, a weak movement of her head.

Sarah gripped her hands together. Uncertainty gathered in her mother’s eyes, generating an answering anxiety in Sarah. Bile surged in her throat, and she couldn’t believe she was working to take her mother home to certain death, that she was afraid Miss Harkness would confuse her mother until she refused hospice care. Sarah couldn’t endure hearing her mother’s plea “no more pain” again. Massive self-doubts crashed down on her. Was she acting from selfishness or its opposite?

“Without treatment, you will die,” Miss Harkness said bluntly.

Sarah’s heart stuttered.

“I understand. I’m tired. I want to go home.” Hilda closed her eyes.

“We are going home. Mama,” Sarah said. “As soon as the ambulance is ready. You just rest now.”

“Thank you, Sarah. You’re a good girl.” A faint smile lifted her Hilda’s mouth. “A good girl.”

Bile rose in Sarah’s throat. A good girl?

A murderer.

****

Hilda settled against the pillows, her own pillows, even though the bed was an awful rented hospital one, and peered around the familiar room. Where was Eldon? Things were so confusing, she wanted Eldon. But no. He’d been dead for years.

She felt light, floaty, and thought she’d see him soon. That was nice. She was so tired.

The next time she opened her eyes, a strange woman stood by her bed. She tried to focus. Not a stranger. She struggled to put a name to the person, to...her daughter. “Sarah,” she said.

“Yes, Mama. I’m here.”

“I’m home.” The words warmed her. But Sarah looked so unhappy. “I’m glad to be home. Don’t be unhappy.”

“Oh, Mama.”

“It’s all right, dear.” She closed her eyes again, sorry she couldn’t help the child’s unhappiness, but the thought of being with Eldon again was drawing her away from everything, even Sarah.

“How is she?”

The whisper brought her awake again, and she opened her eyes to an enormous belly that almost filled her vision. She smiled. “Christine,” she whispered, feeling very alive, as though someone had given her back her mind again. “I wanted to see your baby.” But she supposed she wouldn’t now.

“You’ll see the baby, Mama. Christine’s going to have it right here at home, so you can see it as soon as it’s born.”

“Sarah. Good girl. I love you.”

Fred jumped onto the bed and curled against her.

Hilda put one thin hand on his plushy back, smiled, and closed her eyes again.

****

“Here, Sarah, let me finish that.” Christine nudged Sarah away from the sink.

Sarah pushed her hair away back with one hand. “Wow.”

“Like being bumped by an elephant? That’s what I feel like.”

Sarah forced a smile. It felt strange, as though she hadn’t found anything amusing in longer than she could remember. “You said it, I didn’t,” she said, just to hang on to the lightness for a moment longer. She dried her hands and her smile faded. “I’ll go up and see if Mama needs anything.” See if she’s still alive. She swallowed hard and headed down the hall.

The doorbell rang when she’d gotten halfway up the staircase. She sighed and went back down to answer. “I’ll get it, Christine,” she called over her shoulder.

When she opened the door she took a step back in surprise. “Beth? Well, um, this is a surprise.” The high, thin voice that didn’t seem to belong to her was a good indication of how completely flummoxed she was.

Since The Big Fight, contact with Beth had been limited to a few short, business-focused discussions that were as chilly as the weather, when Beth had called to ask about a client that had been Sarah’s. The loss of her best friend hadn’t been much more than a blip on the radar compared with her mother’s fading life, but now, face to face with Beth, Sarah realized how much she’d missed her.

“I—I—” Beth stammered, nervously brushing snowflakes from the sleeve of her Navy pea coat. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here. I heard about Miss Hilda.”

Disappointment made Sarah’s shoulders droop. Of course Beth hadn’t come to apologize. She’d always liked Hilda. She probably was worried, given that she’d spent the last year blocking out the seriousness of Hilda’s condition.

Sarah should have been prepared for this. “She’s not seeing visitors.” She’s unconscious, you nitwit. Anger was easier than letting herself feel. “Is that all?” Sarah moved the door a few inches toward closed.

“Wait. I didn’t want to intrude,” Beth said. “I just stopped to see if you needed anything. Like errands. I thought you might not want to brave the before-Christmas crowds.”

True. All that holiday season happiness was a killer. If Rob hadn’t been taking care of errands, Sarah wouldn’t have been able to bear it. But Beth? She hadn’t been very ready to help last September, when they’d had the big fight. What had changed? “That’s very nice of you, but I think we have it covered.”

“I know. You have lots of help. You don’t need me.” Beth turned to go but spun back to face Sarah, her gloved hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry. That’s really why I came over, to apologize.” Her gaze met Sarah’s for the first time, and skittered away. “I didn’t mean all those things I said. I was so out of line. And, well, just, I’m really sorry.”

Of course she’d meant them. Sarah’s anger rose like a dragon’s tail and she wanted to lash out, to tell Beth how awful it had been, that outpouring of jealousy and hurt.

She suppressed the urge to scream and made herself think about how Beth must be feeling. Lonely for certain, cut off from her mother as she was. And Sarah was childish enough to hope Beth felt guilty for deserting a friend in need. Even as the thought crystallized, she realized that she was genuinely glad to see the girl, and her anger faded.

“Come inside. It’s cold out.” She stepped back so Beth could enter.

Beth stood awkwardly in the hall, pulling off her gloves and twisting them.

She looked miserable and small and alone and penitent. Sarah knew she should concentrate on that instead of her own chaotic feelings.

“I need to check on Mama. I’ll be right back.” Sarah abandoned Beth and ran upstairs.

“No change,” said the nurse. Hilda slept quietly in her morphine haze. Sarah bent and kissed her cheek, then turned reluctantly to go downstairs.

Beth still stood in the hall. “I should go. This isn’t a good time.”

“No, it isn’t, but there aren’t any good times right now.” The problem was just that all her feelings seemed packed in cotton wool. The dreaded, inevitable end was bearing down like a runaway train, and she couldn’t get past the stay-busy-and-don’t-think stage.

“Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”

Beth looked so miserable that Sarah’s heart melted, just a little. “Eventually,” she said, trying to lighten the moment. “Right now, I’m such a mess I don’t know what I feel. I’m just glad to see you. Take your coat off and come back to the kitchen. I’ll fix tea.” She gave Beth a hug and led the way toward the kitchen.

As they passed the office, Sarah saw the envelope on the corner of the desk. “Oh, I almost forgot. This came yesterday, but I’ve been a just a bit distracted lately.” Yeah, nothing like having your mother dying to distract you. She led the way into the room and motioned Beth to take a seat on the couch.

Beth’s gaze was hard and bright on the envelope, her expression stony. “Not a Christmas card,” she said. “Is that from my mother?”

Sarah nodded, and put out a hand to keep Beth from rising.

“You might hate me for saying this, Sarah, but you’re lucky.”

Funny. She didn’t feel very lucky right now. She clamped her teeth hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming. Why hadn’t she just let Beth go home, no matter how hurt and lonely and apologetic she appeared? “How can you possibly think I’m lucky right now?”

“Your mother loves you, and believes in you. I know I’ve been acting like a spoiled brat. You were right when you said I was envious and jealous.” She twined her fingers in an agitated cat’s cradle. “She’s going to get better, isn’t she?”

“No, Beth. She’s not going to get better. She’s dying. I’ve had to face it. Now it’s your turn.” Sarah almost regretted the blunt words at the stricken look on Beth’s face. Dear Lord, what had the silly girl been thinking for the past year?

“You’re right. I haven’t wanted to face it, but I guess I knew when I heard you’d brought her home.” Beth bowed her head, then looked up at Sarah. “I love your mother.”

“I know you do.” Grief clutched at Sarah and made her voice harsh. She’d never been sure if Beth thought of Hilda or Sarah herself as a mother figure. Maybe both. “Now stop blowing smoke and changing the subject. This came with a cover letter for me from her lawyer. It said that your mother wasn’t able to get in touch with you and that this letter is really important.” She handed it to Beth.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t care what she has to say.”

“Maybe not, but if you don’t, you’ll just make up all kinds of awful things. You might as well know the truth.”

Rob came through the door just as Beth extended a shaking hand. “What’s this?”

“Letter from her mother.”

“It’s Christmas. Maybe she wants to—”

Beth’s glare cut off the rest of his sentence.

Sarah looked at Rob and raised a questioning eyebrow. Did he agree that she was doing the right thing?

Rob shrugged and gave Beth a thoughtful look. He got her a brandy from the mini bar beside the desk. “You want us to wait in the kitchen?”

Beth grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone.” She pulled him down on the couch next to her. “Sarah?”

“Right here.” Sarah sat on her other side and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “With you all the way.”

“I’m scared.” She picked up the brandy and gulped. “Wow!” she gasped.

“Dutch courage,” Rob said.

“I don’t care what nationality it is. As long as it works.” Beth reached for the letter and tried to open it, but her hands shook so badly she almost tore it in half.

Sarah took it, ran a finger under the flap, and pulled out two sheets of paper. “Here.”

Beth took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. You guys read over my shoulder, okay?” She glanced at Sarah, who nodded, and Rob, who said, “If you want us to.”

“Okay,” Beth repeated, unfolded the letter and read the shaky writing of the first page.

Please, Baby Girl, be happy. Know always that you are a wonderful, worthwhile woman, the nicest, smartest one I’ve ever known. Please be joyful and certain in all of your choices, in spite of your mother.

Love my grandchildren lavishly, if there are any, because a child can never be loved enough. Believe in them as I failed to do with you, much to my regret.

I always loved you as much as I could. It’s not your fault I wasn’t a good enough person. You are. I know you can do anything as long as you don’t let my mistake chain you to the anchor of bitterness, even though you have every right to be angry and bitter.

With all my love, Mother.

Tears trickled down Beth’s face.

“Sounds like a pretty heart-felt apology to me,” Sarah said. She thought for a minute. Beth had never wanted to talk about the cause of the estrangement. Maybe it was time. “What did she do that was so terrible?”

“She didn’t believe me.” Beth’s voice was trance-like.

“About what?”

“My stepfather.” Paper crackled as she crumpled the letter.

Oh, shit. Sarah’s gaze met Rob’s over Beth’s head. Well, in for a penny... “What did he do?”

“He used to come to my room at night.” Beth’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The first time he raped me, I was fourteen. I didn’t know until I was sixteen that I didn’t have to put up with that. I told my mother, and she said I was lying. So I left.”

Sixteen. Alone and on the streets. Not a good combination. “Oh, Beth. Oh, baby.”

“I made it. I got through school, all on my own, and came to Crowley Falls, and made a life.”

Beth went up a notch in Sarah’s estimation. That hadn’t been easy, and probably explained the party-girl life style. It would have been either that or a complete retreat from men.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Rob said.

“I guess I am,” Beth said, and picked up the second sheet of paper. It contained only a few short paragraphs. When she had finished reading them, she turned a pasty greenish color and began to hyperventilate.

Rob clapped his hand over her mouth and pinched one nostril shut. “Take it easy, Beth. Slow down.” His voice was a hypnotic murmur, and in a few minutes her breathing had steadied.

“She’s dead,” Beth said, her voice flat. “I’ll never know if I would have forgiven her.” She stared at the letters with blank unfocused eyes. “I’ll never know.” Two huge, crystal-clear tears trickled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and began crying in earnest.

Sarah gathered her close and mouthed, “Get Kleenex,” to Rob.

He nodded and bolted from the room, returning with a full box of tissues.

Smart man. Sarah took the tissues, and mopped and patted and soothed until Beth’s gulping sobs lessened.

Finally Beth sat up, hiccupping but calm. “Thanks.”

Rob handed her the forgotten brandy.

She drank it in little sips this time. “Sorry to be so emotional.”

Sarah took her hand and squeezed it. “No need to be, honey. Crying when your mother dies isn’t wrong. This is rough, and rough is when you need your friends.”

“You’ve needed me all year, and I haven’t been there for you.”

“No guilt trips. Go wash your face. I’ll fix some hot milk, and find you a nightgown. I think you’d better stay here for a while. We can get your things tomorrow.”

Beth looked like she might start to cry all over again.

“Sarah,” a male voice called from upstairs.

“Mama!” Sarah dropped Beth’s hand and ran out of the office. She took the stairs two at a time. “What is it, Dan? Is she—”

“No, no,” the hospice nurse assured her. “She’s a bit restless. I don’t think she’ll wake, but you wanted me to call you if there was any change.