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“Dad, I’d like to send Maxine up there tomorrow. She’s been dying to go to the country and see the summer flowers in bloom. Would you mind?”
“Flowers…” He harrumphed skeptically, letting her know the excuse was transparent. “I’ve had only one day’s peace away from her. But,” he sighed, “if it would make you feel better…”
“It would make me feel better. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.” It relieved her to know that Maxine would drop everything and go at a moment’s notice. She could be there well before noon. “Call me when she arrives, so I’ll know she made the drive safely.”
“All right, sweetheart. I’ll call you tomorrow. And Maris?”
“Yes.”
“Make the most of your time there. Don’t deny yourself the happiness being there gives you. Don’t worry about anything. Are you listening to your old dad? Everything is going to work out well. Will you trust me on that, sweetheart?”
“I always have.” She leaned her cheek into the small telephone, wishing it were his spotted, wrinkled hand. “Good night, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
* * *
Parker’s bed was a monstrosity. It was narrow by king-sized standards, but what it lacked in width, it made up for in height. The headboard was tall and carved, the wood aged to a saddle-brown patina that reflected the glow from his reading lamp on the nightstand.
The bed was standing on an area rug that looked like an authentic Aubusson. The overhead fan was like those Maris had seen before only in movies. A brass pole was suspended horizontally six feet below the tall ceiling. At each end of the pole was an axle that idly turned a set of papyrus blades.
There were no draperies on the three tall windows, only louvered shutters, which were painted white to tastefully contrast with the caramel-colored walls and dark hardwood floor. One wall accommodated a massive chifforobe that was crowned with carvings that matched those on the apex of the headboard. Apparently it held all his clothing because there was no closet built into the room.
The TV and VCR, housed in a cabinet on the wall opposite the bed, were the room’s only nods toward modernity—other than the wheelchair parked in front of the nightstand. There was no other apparatus one would assume to find in the bedroom of a disabled person, but she wasn’t too surprised. She’d seen him lift himself into and out of the Gator.
Parker was bare-chested, propped against the headboard reading, when Maris slipped through the door. He slowly lowered the book to his lap. “Hello. Are you lost?”
She laughed nervously, a bit breathlessly. “Nice try, but I think I was expected.”
“I hoped. I even said my prayers.”
“Then it’s all right if I come in?”
“Are you joking?”
“I thought maybe… will Mike—”
“Not if you lock the door.”
Since coming into the room, she’d kept her hands behind her. Feeling for the doorknob at the small of her back, she depressed the lock button to guarantee their privacy. Keeping her hands behind her back, she approached the bed.
The polished floor planks felt cool against the bare soles of her feet. Her short nightgown was no weightier than air against her skin, and judging from the intensity with which Parker was watching her as she moved toward him, he had noticed that it wasn’t very substantial.
She brought her hands from behind her back. “I brought you presents. Two, to be exact.”
The first was a standard drinking glass that belonged to the wet bar in the guest house. She extended it to him. He took the glass from her and held it up, looked at it for a few seconds, then laughed when he saw the winking phosphorescent lights inside. “Lightning bugs.”
“I caught them myself,” she said proudly. “I saw them through the guest house window while I was dressing for dinner and chased out after them.”
She’d sealed them inside the glass by stretching a piece of plastic wrap over the top, then puncturing it to ensure the fireflies a longer life.
When he looked up at her, his eyes shone with feeling. “It’s a great present. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Shall I?” She took them back and set them on the nightstand.
“What’s the other?” He indicated the book she was now hugging to her chest. “Are you going to read me a bedtime story?”
“Sort of.”
