The Perfect Son

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the nurse muttered.

“Felix, I’m in good hands. One of Harry’s teachers”—Ella closed her eyes—“had heart surgery here. I know you’re trying to protect me, Felix. But I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Could she please stop staying that? Every corner of his being told him things were not fine. They were far from fine.

“Call Katherine. Go home. She’ll tell you everything. Later.” Ella’s chest rose and fell. Her mother had died of a heart attack at forty-seven; Ella was forty-seven. Had nature’s bullet hit the genetic bull’s-eye painted on her chest? He tapped his palm with ferocious speed.

“I need to talk with the doctor.” His voice split. “I need to . . .”

“I know you do,” she said quietly. “I understand.”

Ella always understood—just as Tom had.

“But we have to . . . think about Harry. Take him . . . home . . . before this becomes . . . too much.”

Too late.

Harry’s elbow flapped, then his right arm shot out, nearly catching on one of Ella’s tubes. Felix and the nurse rushed forward. Harry’s arm flung out a second time, and Felix jumped back before he got walloped.

“Maybe you should listen to your wife, sir,” the nurse said.

“Maybe you should get the cardiologist so I can find out whether my wife is going to die.”

“Felix!” Ella tried to sit up, suddenly massively alert for someone shot with what had to be horse tranquilizers. He couldn’t imagine anything else keeping her down when Harry was in this level of distress.

The nurse eased her back. “Ella, you need to lie flat. You”—she glared at Felix—“are upsetting your wife, and I cannot allow that.”

Harry, huddling against the wall now, continued to tic. “Mom, I’m sorry. I—”

“Shhh, baby,” Ella said. “I love you, my amazing son. Everything’s fine. But you guys shouldn’t be here. It’s going to upset . . . both of you . . . for no reason.” Ella wheezed and closed her eyes again. “Felix, please.”

Chaos, he was surrounded by chaos, and no one was doing what he needed them to do.

Felix looked down at his hands, clawed and ready to inflict pain if he didn’t get what he wanted. On his pinkie was the family signet ring that had belonged to Pater and Grandfather. And Tom. Every day it connected him to Tom. He raised his fist to his mouth and caught the family crest in his teeth. He would not be a monster; he would not be his father’s son.

He moved up the bed, blocking out Harry and the nurse with his back, trying to collapse the world to him and Ella. Despite the sedative, her eyes widened with the truth. I’m afraid, her expression said. The false bravery had been for Harry’s benefit.

“I love you so much, Ella Bella,” he whispered into her ear. Don’t leave me.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

I love you too, she mouthed.

He pulled back. “Say good-bye to your mother, Harry. We’re leaving.” Felix placed Ella’s hand on the bed and walked to the door.

Behind him, Harry’s voice, small and childlike: “I love you, Mom.”

Felix kept walking. How many times had he told Ella he loved her? Not enough. He’d never expected a woman to love him back; he’d certainly never expected the woman of his dreams to vow to love him for all eternity. After they met and she left London to be near her father, he had never dared to hope for a different outcome. When she left the second time, after returning five years later, it was as if a part of him had died. And he knew, without doubt, that if she left him for a third time, he would not recover. Without Ella, he could not exist.





FIVE





Barbara Claypole White's books