Surfside Sisters(89)
Keely nodded. “I’d like that, Isabelle.”
“Good!”
Isabelle made a quick rustling move. For a moment Keely hoped and feared that Isabelle was going to hug her. But Isabelle stood up, adjusting her books and bag.
“I’ve got to get home to put Brittany to bed. I’ll drop my manuscript off to you tomorrow, okay?”
Keely rose. “Okay. Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”
They strolled for a while, occupied with their thoughts.
“Sebastian told me you two are together now.”
Keely couldn’t help smiling. “He said we’re together? Those exact words?”
“Those exact words. And I’m happy for him, and for you, Keely.”
Keely wanted to say so many things, how now they’d see more of each other, be in each other’s lives, talk about clothes and movies and books like they used to…but she held back. Their renewed friendship felt fragile and this was a difficult time for Isabelle.
“I’m happy, too,” Keely said.
They turned down Oak Street and crossed Federal to Isabelle’s waiting car.
“You still have the Jeep,” Keely said, reaching out to caress the curved door, remembering all the times she’d ridden with Isabelle to parties and games and the beach.
“I want to keep it forever.” Isabelle dumped her books in the passenger seat. “But I have to admit, it’s different now.” She gestured to the child’s car seat in the back.
“How do you like being a mom?” Keely asked.
Isabelle clasped her hands together and smiled like an angel. “Brittany is the sun in my universe.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime.”
“Sure. Come over—wait. Scratch that. Don’t come over. Let’s make a date to meet somewhere for lunch or on the beach.”
“Fine. And you’ll bring me your book tomorrow.”
Isabelle squealed, “Fingers crossed!”
Keely looked up just then to see Janine walking down the street, looking at her and Isabelle with wide eyes. By tomorrow, everyone Keely had gone to high school with would know that she and Isabelle were friends again.
Keely woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. She padded into the kitchen in her boxer shorts and T-shirt.
“Mom! What are you doing up so early?”
Eloise smiled. She was already dressed in a loose sundress, and she had put on lipstick and blush. “I’m going over to the Maxwells’ today.” She checked her watch. “I said I’d be there at eight-thirty. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I thought you might enjoy a nice breakfast for a change.”
Keely munched on a piece of bacon while she poured herself a mug of coffee.
“Also,” Eloise continued, “I’d be grateful if I could run these pages off on your printer.”
“Good grief, Mom, have you taken up writing, too?”
“Not novel-writing, no. I’ve made a list of helpful hints for the Maxwells. I know the hospital gave them literature, but that can be overwhelming, and they’ve probably already misplaced half.”
“Let me see the list,” Keely asked.
“It’s on the table. Next to your plate.”
Keely munched bacon and eggs as she read the list.
Stick to a schedule. Routine is comforting.
Encourage Al to respond. Be gentle and patient.
Don’t expect Al’s responses to be what you want.
Smile. Speak softly. Hold his hand.
If he falls asleep when you’re speaking to him, don’t take it as an insult. Sleep is a great healer.
Believe that Al will recover completely. Let Al know you believe that.
Don’t be afraid to repeat what you say. We don’t know what Al’s brain is capable of comprehending.
We’re only at step one. We have a long way to go. Don’t despair.
Keely looked at her mother. “I don’t think the Maxwells have a schedule.”
“They don’t,” Eloise said. “We’ll make one this morning. Al needs as much routine and gentle stimulation as he can get. The first few weeks after a stroke are a time of significant improvement.”
“Put me down for an hour or two in the afternoon.”
“Mmm, no, sweetie, I’m not adding you to the list.”
“Why not? Al knows me.”
“You need to write, and when you’re not writing, you need to have a normal life. Al has a family and plenty of friends, his staff at his office, for example, who are closer to him than you are. Don’t be insulted. I’m trying to protect you. The Maxwell family is going to suck up everyone’s energy for quite a while.” Eloise smiled. “You can help the most by keeping Sebastian happy.”
“Mom, how can you do this? How can you be so kind to Mr. Maxwell when he was so mean to you? When he sat behind his rich man desk and refused to help us find money for my college tuition? And the way he acted? As if he didn’t know you and me. As if we were nothing at all!”
Eloise sank down onto a kitchen chair. Reaching over, she took Keely’s hand. “I’m a nurse, Keely. What Al Maxwell said or did or was or is doesn’t matter. He’s ill. I know how to help him. It’s that simple.”