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“Norman.”
They stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, as though Norman had found an ally, someone who understood what it was like to be in a room with Isabel.
Albert took a step toward the bed and whispered to his sister, “How is she?”
Isabel stood and motioned for Albert to follow her out into the hall. Norman wasn’t included in the gesture, so he opted to stay in the room while the siblings excused themselves.
In the hallway, Isabel allowed the tears she had been holding back to flow. She pulled a tissue from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her cheek.
“What is it?” Albert asked. “Has something happened? Is she worse?”
“She’s so … tired. And kind of irritable. Her glasses aren’t strong enough for reading but she says there’s no point in getting new ones now.”
Albert offered a resigned shrug, acknowledging their mother was probably right. “So long as we’re able to make her comfortable, we’re doing the right thing,” he said.
“I want to be able to do more,” she said.
“We’re doing all we can, honestly.”
“Every day she looks thinner. Have you seen her arms? They’re like toothpicks.”
“Mom’s a fighter, Izzy. She’s always been a fighter.”
Isabel tucked the tissue away. “Oh for God’s sake, you say that like she’s suddenly going to get better.” She sighed. “I’m running on empty. I come every day, sometimes twice. Everything’s gone to shit at home.”
“We should go back in, see how she’s doing.”
“Norman can keep her entertained,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “He can tell her some gripping story about radial tires.”
“Come on, let’s go in.”
She sniffed, nodded, and followed him back into the room.
Norman was stepping away from the window and taking a seat close to Elizabeth, gazing mournfully at her while she slept. Isabel stood behind him, evidently waiting for him to get up and surrender the chair to her. Albert strolled over to the window, felt the sun on his face. He stood there looking out onto the parking lot below.
Norman got the unspoken message and vacated the chair. Isabel was lowering herself into it as Albert became fixated on something outside.
“Izzy,” he whispered.
Her butt had just landed and she was studying her mother’s face, her closed eyes, waiting on the chance that they might open. She either did not hear her brother, or had chosen to ignore him.
“Izzy,” he whispered again, more urgently.
Isabel turned her head. “What?”
He waved her to come over. When she was slow to rise out of the chair, he waved again, urgently.
She came to his side and whispered, “What?” The two, standing together, had crowded out Norman, who stood behind them, peering over their shoulders.
“Look,” he said, pointing.
Isabel took in the view of the parking lot and the roofs of buildings beyond. “Look at what?”
“Right there. Down there. See the red car? The Corvette?”
“I don’t know cars.”
“Who doesn’t know a Corvette?” Norman quipped.
