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Maman gasps for breath. She’s forgotten, years ago, I paid off the mortgage and the house is in my name.
She slides down a little onto her pillows and closes her eyes. I then tell the nurse at the station we will be in the cafeteria if Maman wants me later and I give her my cell number.
At this time of day, the hospital coffee is neither warm nor fresh. After a tentative sip, we decide to switch to tea, ignoring the water-beaded bottles of beer beckoning from the cooler. I text Clay to find out how the arrangements are going for the flight and Maman’s apartment.
ME: Is the plane on the way?
CLAY: Another hour. You aren’t using it until tomorrow, so why worry?
ME: Maman’s doctor insists on checking out the setup, the staff, and the crew.
CLAY: …
CLAY: …
CLAY Plane inspection scheduled for 10 a.m. tomorrow, Vancouver time.
I text Fitzroy.
ME: 10 a.m. Will that work?
FITZROY: Fine. Where?
ME: I can pick you up. It will be easier.
FITZROY: From the hospital?
ME: Of course.
Back to Clay.
ME: All set
CLAY: Great. Apartment is ready for your mom. The twenty-four-hour nursing staff is on call.
ME: I owe you.
CLAY: You don’t.
No point arguing. I’ll find a way to pay him back, eventually.
With the mobile back in my pocket, I down the dregs of my lukewarm tea. “Let’s go. I want to say goodnight to Maman and explain the arrangements. Then you can drop me off at the hotel. I’m dead and ready for the undertaker.”
“I’m exhausted too. Do you have one king or two queens?”
“Two queens. I take it you want to stay?”
“Yeah. Long drive back to my place.”
“You snore.”
“So do you.”
“What about Brioche?”
“Texted my neighbor. She’ll feed and walk her.” He smirks. “I can borrow shorts from you.”
Maman is dozing when we get back. “She’s pretty stable right now,” the nurse says. “Although there was a visitor who upset her a little.”
