The fire sizzled and popped as Ella leaned toward the faded board that was part of their fifty-year-old English Monopoly set. It had belonged to Tom. The guys had dragged the sofa over to the fireplace for her, and she was tucked up with more layers of bedding and blankets than a little old lady in a nursing home. Truthfully, she felt like a little old lady in a nursing home. Even the simple act of moving a game piece exhausted her.
Eudora, who had complained of not feeling well, had opted out and was asleep in the guest bedroom. Since she had seemed fine before dinner, this rapid-onset illness had to be a ploy to allow them a family evening. An extremely generous ploy, since their elderly friend had willingly forgone the warmth of the fire. Every other corner of the house crackled with cold.
Ella held the small metal top hat over the board. Felix had chosen the iron, Harry the old boot. If she landed on Mayfair, which Felix had covered with hotels, she would be sunk. She threw the dice and counted out spaces.
“No,” she groaned, and landed on Mayfair.
“Just you and me, Dad,” Harry said. “Prepare to lose!”
Her breath tightened. One of the candle flames guttered and went out.
“Mom? I think you need to lie back.” Harry was at her elbow in a flash. “You’ve gone pale.”
Felix squatted in front of her, hands on his knees, and those eyes locked on hers, those eyes that had always made her heart spin like a flamenco dancer. She tried to smile; he tried to smile. Harry tried to smile.
All God’s creatures try to smile.
She was definitely losing it. Even armed with a daily antidepressant, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that followed her from room to room. A shadow of fear.
Ella watched the reflection of the fire in the stone of her beautiful new ring.
“Darling?” Felix said.
She practiced her deep, slow breathing the way the ER nurse had shown her after the panic attack. “Just a bit dizzy. This has been a wild and crazy night for me. More activity than I’ve had in weeks. And look. Still up at ten o’clock.”
“Baby steps, Mom!”
“I know, but swallowing my own advice sucks. I’d much rather swallow more of that delicious lobster.” She’d barely tasted the lobster—so much chewing involved—but she had forced herself to eat an amount deemed acceptable by Harry.
Felix gave her a sexy, intimate smile; Harry coughed loudly.
“Dinner was fabulous,” she said. “Thank you.”
After much discussion with Eudora, they had opened the fridge and packed the contents into coolers with Ziplocs of the one thing they had plenty of: ice. The coolers now sat on the patio, where the temperature rivaled that of a freezer. Felix had grilled on the barbecue; Harry had been the sous-chef.
“You sure you’re okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine. You guys need to stop worrying about me every time I sneeze.”
Harry cleared his throat multiple times. On school days, the house seemed to ring with his absence. She missed his tics, his noise, his energy . . . Felix retrieved her cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and draped it around her. He squeezed her shoulder, and she reached up to lay her hand over his.
“Do you need to go to bed?” Felix said.
“In a bit. I’m not ready for this evening to end. Not yet.”
“Are you sure?” Felix said.
She nodded. “Cross my heart and hope to—omigod.” The laugh rippled out. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, guys. That”—she laughed—“that was completely inappropriate.”
Harry held it in for a moment, but then his giggle exploded. Harry’s giggle had always been infectious. Even Felix joined in.