Beauty from Pain(97)

Emma’s holding Mila and looks up at Evan. “He’s your dad. You go and I’ll stay with them.”


Laurelyn peers up at me. “I don’t know your father. Emma should go.” She turns to my sister-in-law. “I can stay with the girls, if you don’t mind leaving them with me.”


I see the relief on Emma’s face. “Thank you.”


“You’re welcome.” Laurelyn takes a slumbering Mila from Emma and carries her over to where Celia is sleeping in a chair. “Don’t worry. We’ll be just fine.”


We enter Henry McLachlan’s hospital room in a cluster. None of us say it, but it’s frightening to see this strong man so frail and weak. He’s pale against the white hospital sheets—almost white on white.


He hears us enter and opens his eyes. He looks groggy. I’m sure it’s the anesthetic wearing off.


He looks at my mum first. That’s the way it’s always been between them. She’s always his number one.


And that’s what my mum wants me to have. My very own number one.


She sits in the chair at his bedside while we observe as spectators. My dad reaches for her hand and she places it inside his. “I should have listened to you, Margaret.”


“I’ve been saying that for years, Henry.”


The dismal mood in the room is lifted by my mum’s humor. She speaks her mind. I get that from her, but she also has a gift for easing the discomfort and tension of those around her.


“Henry, I might ought to thank you for trying to die because you’ll never guess who Jack Henry brought to the hospital with him.”


“Well, love, judging by the happiness on your face, it can only be the woman he’s been dating.”


“Yes, and she’s lovely. Just beautiful. And she calls him Jack Henry.”


The whole family stares at me because they missed that conversation between Laurelyn and Mum. “What? It’s not a big deal.”


As always, my sister is the first to argue. “You’re full of it. That’s a huge deal.”


I needed to change the subject, and fast. “We’re not here about Laurelyn and me. We’re here for Dad.”


Visiting hours end and my dad’s nurse assures us his condition is good. She convinces us it would be best for everyone, including my mum, to go home for the night. The waiting room doesn’t make for a good night’s rest.


I’m the first one in the waiting room with Mum not far behind. Laurelyn has Celia tucked under her arm like a mother hen and baby Mila draped over her shoulder, sucking her thumb as she looks around.


Her soft voice carries across the waiting room and I hear her singing Brahms’ lullaby. “‘Close your eyes … Now and rest … May these hours be blessed.’”


My mum stands beside me listening to Laurelyn sing to my brother’s ankle-biters. “Jack Henry, she’s a special one.”


She doesn’t have to tell me things I already know. “That she is,” I sigh.


She bumps her shoulder into mine. “And you’ve been a little shit for not bringing her to meet me.”


I’m amused, but not surprised by Margaret McLachlan’s choice of words. She’s the only mother I know who will tell her thirty-year-old son he is a little shit. If the circumstances were as she believes, she’d be right. Because I can’t tell her differently, I have no defense, so I don’t argue. “I guess I have been.”


“Where are you staying?”


Where is she going with this? “The Marx.”


She sighs. “Go get your things. I want you and Laurelyn to stay at the house.”


Now I see. She’s so transparent. “The Marx is much closer to the hospital.”


She takes that tone with me. That motherly do as I say tone. “We’ve just had a very close call with your father. The family should be together.”


Maybe she does want the family together, but that isn’t what this is about. “You want Laurelyn at your house so you can have access to her.”


“You haven’t dated anyone in years. Is it wrong for me to want to spend time with her?”


It’s unnecessary for her to get to know Laurelyn—she’s leaving in a month. “There’s nothing wrong as long as you don’t have far-fetched ideas about us. She’s only here for four more weeks.”