Surfside Sisters(82)
Al’s eyes slowly moved to fasten on Keely’s face, but he showed no signs of recognition. Keely wasn’t certain that he even understood what she said.
“I’m so sorry about your stroke, but Sebastian assures me that you will be better soon. I guess we all need to let you rest, and I won’t sit here blabbing on and on like I used to.” She sat silently for a while, but his eyes remained on her, and she began again. “Do you remember the time you drove me and Isabelle to the Justin Timberlake concert in Connecticut and we were so excited we chattered away like a pair of monkeys and you told us we were driving you mad? You said you would pay us to be quiet for just five minutes. And you did!”
Keely laughed at the memory. Al Maxwell didn’t react.
What could she say that would interest him? She didn’t know what she was doing. Should she ask him questions? Or simply sit droning on and on?
“I’m having such a good time being back on the island. Spring is so wonderful here. I never knew Sebastian did scrimshaw. I was at a gallery opening with my mother a few weeks ago, and I was astonished by a display of the most gorgeous scrimshaw, and—”
Nothing Keely said elicited any response, not so much as a blink, from Mr. Maxwell. In the corner of his mouth, on the side that drooped, a bead of saliva shimmered.
“I hope I’m not irritating you, blabbing on and on like this. Maybe you want to sleep? Are you comfortable? It must be odd to wake up in the morning and find yourself in the dining room. You look good, so that’s positive, right?”
She stole a glance at her watch. Not even ten minutes had passed. As she talked, Keely thought maybe he didn’t like being stared at constantly, so she let her gaze circle the room, spotting the familiar fireplace with the Victorian mantel and the marble clock. When she looked back at Mr. Maxwell, his eyes were closed.
She’d bored him right into sleep. Should she keep talking? Or let the poor man rest? Should she sit here with him? Was it necessary for someone to be with him at all times? Her throat was dry from talking. Rising, she tiptoed from the room, down the hall, and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was at the sink drinking when she heard Sebastian and his mother in the living room.
“…can’t go on like this!” Donna Maxwell was saying. “We had booked a cruise down the Danube! We were going to see Austria and Hungary! Now—now what do I have to look forward to? Taking care of an invalid all my life?”
Keely froze. She shouldn’t be hearing this conversation. But she couldn’t tear herself away.
“Mom, it won’t be for the rest of your life. And we’ll all help you.”
“All my life—all my life!—I have done nothing but take care of other people. Feed people, and with only the healthiest ingredients! I’ve always been the mother who helped on school trips. I baked probably three million birthday cupcakes! I’m fifty-eight years old! Do you think I wanted this when I was your age? When do I get to have something for myself?”
“Mom—”
“How can you possibly understand? You’re young. You’re beginning your life. I’m facing old age and white hair and wrinkled skin and arthritis. I want to have fun while I still can move without a fucking cane!”
Keely’s hands flew to her mouth to cover her yelp of shock. Mrs. Maxwell said fucking! For one weird moment, she thought: I can’t wait to tell Isabelle!
“Mom, let’s work something out. I mean, you should go on that cruise. We can hold down the fort.”
“Go on a cruise alone?”
“Well, take a friend. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Take Mary Ellen.”
“I can’t go on a cruise when your father is ill, Sebastian. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Donna Maxwell began to sob, great wrenching, hiccupping sobs so heartbreaking that Keely felt guilty overhearing them. Quietly she left the room, carrying her glass of water with her.
Al Maxwell was still sleeping. At least his eyes were closed. Keely sat in her chair. Should she continue talking? She’d heard that people should talk when someone was in a coma, that they could hear even if they couldn’t react. But Isabelle’s father wasn’t in a coma. Maybe he needed to sleep. Maybe she should hum very quietly, so he knew he wasn’t alone. Sebastian hadn’t given her sufficient instructions. Probably he didn’t know the perfect thing to do, either.
As Al Maxwell slept, saliva began to dribble out of the drooping side of his mouth, down his chin, and onto his pajama top.
“Oh, man,” Keely said under her breath. Now what was she supposed to do? The dribble continued. His pajama top darkened with moisture.
Should she dab at his chin? Even as a sleeping invalid, Al Maxwell intimidated Keely. Touching his face while he slept seemed too intimate an action for her. She quietly pulled some tissues from the box, patted them into a tidy square, and very carefully laid them on the pajama top to absorb the saliva. Her hands shook as she performed her small task. She was afraid she’d accidentally jar his chin and wake him. If he opened his eyes and glared at her, or worse, displayed shock at her leaning so close to him, she’d have a heart attack!
She settled back in her chair. For a few minutes, she watched Mr. Maxwell sleep. She wished she’d brought a book to read. If she had her laptop with her, would she be able to write? Would that seem offensive to Sebastian’s father or to Sebastian? And what about Donna Maxwell? It made perfect sense to Keely that after a lifetime of tending to others’ needs, Donna Maxwell craved some special time for herself. Still, Mrs. Maxwell had sounded so spoiled, so indignant that her husband had had a stroke that might prevent her from going on a cruise.