“That’s extremely kind, but you don’t have to feed us.”
“Yes, Harry told me you’ve been trying to deal with everything by yourself. Utter nonsense, of course.”
Nonsense? Felix opened his mouth, but Eudora continued talking. “I’m a darn good cook, and I have no one to cook for since my Dahlia passed. If accepting the occasional meal puts you at a social disadvantage, you can lend me your son from time to time to help with projects around the house.”
“That’s extremely generous. Thank you.” He glanced back through the sliding doors. Harry and Sammie had disappeared. Were they still folding laundry, or had they retreated into Harry’s bedroom for who knew what? Like everything else in his life, the open-door policy had fallen apart. On the way back from Home Depot, he’d bought condoms and left them out on the counter in Harry’s bathroom.
“You’re welcome to join us for supper. Since you cooked, it seems only fair.”
“Don’t look so terrified, son. I don’t bite.” Her eyes twinkled. “Thank you kindly for the invitation, but I must decline. For now.”
She expected to be invited again? This was why it was easier to refuse offers of help. Just say no.
The sliding door opened again, and Sammie appeared. “My mom’s here to pick me up. Bye, Eudora, and thank you for having me, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“You’re welcome, although I think it’s time you called me Felix.”
Sammie grinned and ran off.
“Lovely girl,” Eudora said. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Dinner. I sense you and Harry need some alone time. The poor child has so many worries about his mama, and bless him, he doesn’t want to keep troubling you. But before I go, maybe a quick drink? You keep bourbon in that wooden liquor cabinet of yours?”
Felix glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. “It’s a bit early for me.”
“Son, you need to learn to be a good southerner. Slow things down a bit.”
“At this point, Eudora, I’d settle for simply making it through this week.” He picked at his fingernails.
“What’s making you so nervous, son?”
He didn’t have to answer. He had already shared too much; he really didn’t need to make it worse, tell her the one thing he was scared to verbalize. A pair of cardinals flitted in and out of one of Ella’s camellias and flew off together. Did cardinals mate for life like swans?
“What if she comes home as an invalid? What if she stays that way until the transplant? How on earth will I cope?”
“Honey, I think we both need that bourbon.”
EIGHTEEN
“And that’s everything the cardiologist told you?” Harry picked up his fork, then put it down for a second time.
They were sitting at the dining room table, two half-eaten plates of shrimp and grits between them. Shrimp and grits were a rare treat, but Felix had no appetite—even for illicit carbohydrates. He pushed his plate away; Harry mirrored him.
“You know everything I know. Your mother is in class three heart failure, and she’s on the transplant list. Dr. Beaubridge is optimistic that medical therapy will allow her to come home in two weeks, but she’s going to be weak.” Felix patted his mouth with his napkin. “And probably in a wheelchair. Any physical activity will exhaust her.”
“This changes everything, Dad. I have to see her.”
“No, Harry. Your mother was adamant.” Felix picked up their water glasses. “Please clear the table.”
Harry stood and started jiggling. “Class three heart failure, when there are only four levels? How can that be good? Anything can happen. Anything. I have to see her. Please.”
“Your mother made me promise, Harry.”
“Then break your promise!” Harry’s voice cracked, not with a vocal tic, not with anger, but with raw desperation.