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Margie pulled away from Bud, moved to stand by Dorothy. “She hardly seems what?”
A frown tugged at the doctor’s mouth. “It’s a complicated, difficult job, caring for a comatose patient. And single caretakers often find themselves overwhelmed. That’s all I meant. ”
Johnny moved in to stand beside his mother-in-law. “I could come every weekend to help out. ”
“Me, too,” Marah said, moving to Dorothy’s other side.
The twins stepped forward together, their gazes earnest and grown-up beneath the floppy overhang of their hair. “Us, too. ”
Dorothy was surprised by the swell of emotion that filled her. She had never stood up for her daughter before, and no one had ever stood up for her. She wanted to turn to Tully and say, See, you are loved. Instead, she fisted her hands and nodded, holding back the stinging tears that blurred her vision.
“There’s a local company that specializes in care of comatose patients at home. It can be prohibitively expensive for most patients—and their families—but if money is not an issue, you could engage their services. A registered nurse could come to the house every day, or every other day, to change Tully’s catheter and check her corneas for ulceration and run some tests, but even so, it will take a lot of work, Ms. Hart. You’d have to follow a pretty rigorous routine. I won’t discharge her into your care unless you’re certain you’re up to it. ”
Dorothy remembered all the times she’d let go of her daughter’s hand, or let her go in a crowd; all the birthdays she’d missed and all the questions she hadn’t answered. Everyone in this room knew Dorothy’s sad, pathetic history as a mother. She’d never packed Tully a school lunch or talked to her about life or said, “I love you. ”
If she didn’t change now, reach out now, that would be their story.
“I’ll take care of her,” Dorothy said quietly.
“I’ll research the insurance and take care of all the financial and medical arrangements,” Johnny said. “Tully will have the best in home care possible. ”
“The costs—and the coma—may go on for quite some time. It’s my understanding that she doesn’t have a living will, and that Kathleen Ryan is the executrix of her estate and has the power of attorney to make medical decisions on her behalf, and that Ms. Ryan is deceased. ”
Johnny nodded. “We’ll take care of all of that as a family. ” He looked at Dorothy, who nodded. “We can reassess later if we need to. I’ll talk to her business manager this week. Her condo is worth several million, even in this economy. We can sell it if we need to, but my guess is that she has the maximum insurance coverage. ”
Marge reached over and held Dorothy’s hand. The two women looked solemnly at each other. “The house in Snohomish hasn’t sold yet. Bud and I could move back to help you. ”
“You are amazing,” Dorothy said quietly. “But if you’re there, it will be too easy for me to let you be her mother. I need to be the person who is responsible. I hope you understand. ”
Margie’s look said it all. “I’m only a phone call away. ”
Dorothy released a heavy sigh.
There. It was done. For the first time in her life, she was going to be Tully’s mother.
September 12, 2010
6:17 P. M.
Johnny had spent most of the day with Tully’s business manager, Frank, going over her finances. Now he sat alone in his car on the ferry, with a stack of her financial records in the seat beside him.
He’d had no idea how her life had unraveled in the years since Kate’s death. He’d imagined her retirement from TV had been her choice, that the “book deal” had been lucrative and the beginning of yet another high-profile career. He would have found the truth easily—if he’d cared enough to look.
He hadn’t.
Ah, Katie, he thought tiredly. You are going to kick my ass for this …
Leaning back into his leather seat, he stared out through the ferry’s wide bow opening as the sandy hook of Wing Point came into view. When they docked, he drove over the bumpy metal ramp and onto the smooth asphalt of the road.
At the end of his driveway, the house was drenched in late afternoon light. It was the golden hour, that beautiful, crystalline time before sunset, when every color was crisp and clear. September was a good month in the Northwest, a repayment season for all the gray rainy days that were to come.
For the briefest of moments, he saw this place as it once had been. The house and yard—like everything else—had changed since Kate’s passing. Before, the yard had had a wild, untended look. His wife had always been “about to” start taming it. Back then, every plant and flower and shrub had grown too tall and spread too wide. Flowers had crowded in on each other like schoolyard bullies fighting for turf. There had always been toys strewn about—skateboards and helmets and plastic dinosaurs.
These days, the yard was orderly. A gardener came once a week and raked and clipped and mowed. The plants were healthier, the flowers bigger and brighter.
He pulled into the dark garage and sat there a minute collecting his thoughts. When he felt strong again, he went into the house.
As he stepped inside, the boys came running down the stairs, banging into each other, pushing and shoving. It was like watching Rollerball on a hill. He’d long ago stopped yelling at them about it or worrying that one of them would fall. This was just who they were. They were both dressed in blue and gold Bainbridge Island sweats and were wearing skater shoes that he swore were two sizes too big.
