I turned around, then quickly walked away from him, not slowing down or stopping until I’d reached the front porch, oblivious to the sweat mixing with the tears running down my face. The wind chimes swayed and sang, their marred and stained surfaces, earned from tumbling about the ocean’s waves for years, strangely beautiful. They reminded me of something Loralee had said about our scars, and how we should be proud of them because they showed where we’d been.
Reaching up, I touched the bottom stone on one of the chimes, wrapping my fingers around it, feeling how hard and ungiving it was against my skin. You’re strong at the broken places. I let go of the stone and walked up the steps and sat in one of the rockers. Pulling out my phone, I dialed Maris’s mother to let her know I was coming to get Owen. After I hung up, I listened to the wind chimes while I tried to figure out how to tell a ten-year-old boy that his mother was dying.
chapter 30
LORALEE
Loralee lay back against the pillows propped up on the headboard of the antique bed. She still felt bloated and nauseated, but the pain had lessened so that she felt well enough to smile at the hospice nurse as she took her vitals and checked her medications. Her doses of pain meds had been significantly increased—way past time, according to Dr. Ward—but not to the point where she couldn’t think or talk or still be a part of life. She intended to do all three until her very last breath.
Owen said that he wouldn’t have known any different except that she spent a lot of time in bed. He spent most of his waking hours watching her with his father’s blue eyes, as if by being vigilant he might be able to prevent whatever came next.
She thought that way of thinking most likely came from his father’s side, seeing as how Merritt had been behaving the same way ever since Loralee had come back from the hospital, hovering like a fly over fried chicken at a Sunday picnic. Even now, she sat in the chair in the corner of Loralee’s room as if she didn’t trust the nurse to know her job.
But Loralee wasn’t going to find fault with Merritt, because she’d been the one who’d had to tell Owen how sick his mama really was. Loralee was grateful, because her little boy had been prepared and strong when Merritt had brought him to the hospital to see her, and that had given her heart comfort, had told her—as if she hadn’t already known it—that Merritt would make a terrific mama for Owen. It was at that moment that she’d allowed herself to not give up exactly, but to stop fighting so much. She wanted to leave this world the way she’d come into it—not in a Walmart parking lot, of course, but without a lot of fuss. Her own mama had been a good example of dying with grace. They’d been watching their favorite soap on TV, and when Loralee had returned from the kitchen with a glass of sweet tea, it had looked like her mother was sleeping. But she wasn’t. Loralee had seen enough of death to know when only the shell of a person was left behind. Sort of like a lightbulb that had just been switched off but was still hot to the touch.
“You’ve got a good bedside manner,” Loralee said to the nurse. “And such a beautiful voice. I like listening to you hum my favorite hymns while you work.”
The nurse took off her glasses and let them dangle from a long strand of colorful beads over her ample bosom. “Thank you. I do think it’s my calling, but it’s patients like you who really make it worthwhile. I must say, though, that I’ve never had such an accepting patient.”
The nurse, whose name was Lutie Stelle, and who Loralee had already discovered was recently divorced with two small children, and who lived with her mother, was about Loralee’s age, short and plump with warm brown eyes.
“Maybe because I’m not afraid of dying.”
“Loralee,” Merritt said with reproach as she stood and walked to the bed.
Loralee turned to the nurse. “My stepdaughter doesn’t like me saying that word, but I’m all right with it. We’re all dying. Some of us are just lucky enough to know when.”
The nurse considered her for a long moment. “You’ve got a strong faith. I also think you are wise beyond your years. I hope you’ve figured out a way to share all your thoughts with your son.”