A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(37)

After a family dinner that Donna and Grace joined forces to cook, the women and kids sat around the great room with the DVDs playing on the big flat-screen, exclaiming over each jump, spiral, arabesque, axel and double axel. After just a few minutes, the men were on the deck with drinks, except for Mikhail, who was giving commentary on the skating. Pretty soon the little girls and Jess’s four-year-old son were twirling around the living room, making them all laugh.

Troy, Donna and Burt hustled everyone out of Winnie’s house before it was very late and Grace was able to help her mother get ready for bed.

“When we’re not in wedding mode, Lin Su will be able to settle me for the night,” Winnie said apologetically.

“I’m happy to do it, Mama.”

“I’ve had many reasons to resent this blasted condition, but I think tonight brought home to me the best reason to resent it.” She sighed. “I think you and Troy will have lots of children. I think you’ll be wonderful with them, even if you don’t have the stamina to turn them into great athletes.” She sniffed. “I hope heaven has a good window, Grace. I really want to watch them grow.”

“Oh, Mama...”

“We’re not going to snivel and drown in self-pity,” Winnie said. “Instead we’re going to get you married. You picked a good one. How you did that without my advice, I’ll never know.”

Grace laughed through sentimental tears. “It’s a wonder, isn’t it?”

“His family,” Winnie said. “Nice people. I think they like you.”

“I hope so.”

“They’re going to tell all their friends that you’re a champion,” Winnie said. “You’ll be a better mother than I was.”

“I’m not so sure about that...”

“Work on it, then. I was better than my mother, you’ll be better than I was, your daughters will be better than you. But Grace...Izzy,” she said, adding the name Grace had gone by as a girl. “Tell me one thing. I was a hard mother, I know, but did you ever doubt I loved you?”

Grace shook her head. “No. Your love was fierce.”

“Ah,” Winnie said, satisfied, settling back and letting her eyes close softly.

“A little controlling,” Grace added.

“A little?” came a voice from the bedroom doorway. Mikhail stood there watching them. He held up a DVD in a plastic sleeve. “If the Empress is ready for bed, we will watch another show together. Now the house is quiet and the little dancers have gone home to bed. I can tuck her in for you.”

“Do you feel up to it, Mama?” Grace asked.

“I’m fine, Grace. But you must be tired. I remember—that was the first thing about being a little pregnant—so tired. Go and rest. Leave any more cleanup to the baby’s father.”

Grace kissed her mother’s forehead while Mikhail settled into the comfy chair beside the bed.

Grace didn’t bother with anything in the kitchen or great room. She wasn’t too tired to think about the way things had turned out. She felt reasonably sure this ALS, with the limits it put on Winnie’s life, had softened her. Winnie had always been a difficult, stubborn woman; their relationship had been challenging. If Winnie wasn’t sick right now the chances were good that they’d be fighting over all these details—the wedding, the groom’s family, everything. That was the history they’d had—one power struggle after another with very brief periods of affection.

Now, when it was almost too late, Winnie was becoming the kind of mother Grace had always longed for. Tolerant. Warm.

Rather than cry about it, she’d be grateful for this. It was a gift.

* * *

Winnie sat up in the bed. The television was a gray blur; the DVD had stopped playing. She looked at her phone—it was the middle of the night. It was the snoring combined with her full bladder that had roused her. She turned on the light and stretched a leg toward Mikhail’s knee, giving him a kick.

He jolted awake, startled. “Shits of the gods,” he grumbled.

“You should go to bed. You’re snoring.”

“You are sure it wasn’t you, snoring?” he said.

“The snoring had a Russian accent. Go to bed,” she said, looking at her phone.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I call Grace when I have to get up, when I need something,” she said.

“Ach, let the girl rest. I will get what you need.”

She smirked. “The toilet?”

“I will take you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not peeing in front of you!”

“Of course not!” he barked. “I take you, you hold the bars, I leave, I close door, you sit, you make it rain, you do what you do—I suppose you don’t shake it off like a man. Then you can pull yourself up on the bars. Then what? Whistle?”

She was shocked silent for a moment. But then she smiled. “I’ll call Grace.”

“No, let the child sleep. You want I should get you some water?”

“First the bathroom,” she said, scooting to the very edge of the bed.

He stooped, put her slippers on her slender feet and pulled her up. “Lean on me,” he said. “I’m not a young man to carry you, but you can still walk ten steps. You’ll be fine, then back in the bed, yes?”