“Don’t worry about that.” Loralee patted the pink Journal of Truths that was never out of reach those days, and which had only a few empty pages left. She’d already written in it that morning as she’d watched Merritt sleeping in the chair she rarely seemed to leave. You will never be truly happy if you keep holding on to the things that make you sad. And then she’d added, Hemorrhoid cream is the best cure for enlarged pores on the face and nose. Because beauty advice was always practical. Yes, the journal was intended mostly for Owen, to teach him things she wouldn’t have time to. But it wouldn’t hurt for him to know about beauty and fashion, too. The future women in his life would appreciate it.
Gibbes had come to visit Loralee every day since she’d come home, but Merritt always made sure not to be around. It seemed to Loralee that all the good things she’d seen happening between Merritt and Gibbes had been erased the day they’d rushed Loralee to the hospital. Merritt refused to talk about it, but Loralee could almost believe that Merritt was punishing herself for feeling happy, that she felt guilty for moving on with her life. As if she were personally responsible for her husband’s death and Loralee’s cancer. Or for the hurricanes and earthquakes that rocked the Earth on a regular basis.
The nurse packed up her things, said her good-byes, then left, seeing herself to the door, leaving Merritt and Loralee staring at each other.
Merritt gave her a tight smile. “Owen’s with Maris and her family today. They took a trip out to Hunting Island so Owen could climb the lighthouse. I gave him my iPhone to take pictures to show you.” She paused. “He didn’t want to go at first, but I told him it was okay, that . . .”
She stopped, her face horrified at the words she was about to say.
“That I wasn’t going to die today?” Loralee gave her a warm smile. “I’m glad he went. He needs to have as normal a life as possible. I’m glad he has a friend, and I think Maris and her family will be a good comfort for him.”
Merritt’s lower lip trembled as her face compressed in an effort to keep her emotions under control. There was so much of Maine still in the girl.
“You are going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t let yourself cry, Merritt. And then where will we be? Beaufort Memorial won’t know what to think if we both end up there again with you the patient this time.”
An unplanned laugh escaped from Merritt’s mouth. “Let me refill your water pitcher.”
“Actually,” Loralee said, taking a moment to gauge how she felt, “I’d like to go downstairs and sit on the front porch while I still can. It’s not so hot today, and there’s a nice breeze. I know that because the wind chime Owen had Gibbes hang outside my window is chattering like two old ladies at a church social.”
Loralee carefully sat up and slid her legs over the side, practically falling off the bed in her rush to put on her slippers—the ones that technically belonged to Merritt—before Merritt could not only get to them first, but slip them on Loralee’s feet.
“Do you need a sweater?”
Loralee looked at her stepdaughter, trying hard to have gracious thoughts, knowing Merritt’s concern came from the right place. “If I find that I need it outside in ninety-degree weather, I’ll be sure to let you know. What I do need is some lipstick.”
“I’m sorry. . . .”
“It’s all right, Merritt. We’re all learning right now.”
At least she’d convinced Merritt that she didn’t need to wear her stepdaughter’s hideous robe and instead was in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a cute royal blue T-shirt. Merritt grabbed a lipstick from the dresser and handed it to Loralee. “How about this?” she asked, holding up Loralee’s favorite shade, Hello Dolly.
“You’re a quick study.”
Merritt pulled off the cap and rolled the lipstick up—too high, but she was trying—then handed it to Loralee, who put it on without a mirror because she’d done it so often she could probably do it in her sleep.
Handing the lipstick back to Merritt, Loralee stood and put her hand on the corner of the dresser to steady herself, feeling slightly dizzy. “You can give me your arm. I think it’s the bird food that I’ve been eating, and the meds have made me a little weak. I’ll even let you help me down the steps.”
Out on the porch, Merritt settled her in a rocking chair and stood watching her for a moment, as if to see whether Loralee remembered how to rock. “Maybe you shouldn’t have quit your job,” Loralee suggested.
“It was only part-time, and it wasn’t really what I wanted to do anyway. This way I can be with you all day.”
“What about that job Deborah Fuller told you about?”
“The acquisitions manager at the art gallery? That’s not official yet—probably not until after the first of the year. It’s not a guarantee, but Deborah said she’d put in a good word for me.” With her gaze focused on the river, she said, “Although I don’t want to go to work full-time at first.”
Loralee knew she was thinking about Owen, and how hard it would be for him without his mother. She wanted to reach over and pat Merritt’s hand, but held back. Merritt liked to pretend that she was a lot harder and pricklier than she really was, and for the time being Loralee would go along with it.