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She slid his arm around her shoulders to support him as he painstakingly climbed the stairs, leaning on her and on the railing.
“Bathroom,” he mumbled.
“Okay.” She walked him to the bathroom.
“I can do it alone.”
“I’m a nurse, Royce.”
“I can do it,” he insisted.
Reluctantly, she stepped out and waited.
“Done,” he called.
She found him leaning over the sink, helped him wash his hands, and supported him to his bed.
“Painkiller, please.”
“Okay.”
She gave him anoxycodonetablet and a glass of water. He’d made a great effort for his first day. He didn’t take long to drift off. She switched off the ceiling light, but left the nightlight on.
Steve returned half an hour later. After serving dinner, she gave him a full report.
“I’m glad he made an effort to come downstairs.”
When they finished dinner, he helped her clean up. “You’ve done enough for me and my son today. My turn to take care of you. If you put on your nightgown, I’ll give you a massage and help you sleep.”
“Be back in a few minutes.”
“Meet me in my room. I’ll go check on Royce.”
She went up to her small room, changed into a short nightgown and a matching robe, and padded to his room. Dressed in trunks, his chest bare, Steve poured drinks and handed her a glass.
“Here. Grand Marnier to help us unwind. To you, sweetheart. May you always be with us.”
No toast could please her more. She clinked her glass against his.
“To us. Hopefully, Royce will get better soon.”
A moment later, he massaged her back and her shoulders, and then lay next to her, gathering her into his arms for his wonderful kind of lovemaking.
***
Three days later, Royce had recovered his energy, and his scar was healing well. Steve checked his stitches each morning and helped him downstairs. Lillian fixed them a nourishing breakfast. They left him alone during the day to rest, allowing him to eat his lunch on his own, watch television, or finish the paperwork necessary for reapplying to university. In the evening, Lillian cooked dinner for her two men and shaved her patient.
Chatting with Royce had taught her to appreciate his sense of humor and adventurous spirit. Although he swallowed his strong painkiller after dinner and went to sleep all night, Lillian wondered if he’d guessed that she spent her nights in his father’s room.
On the fourth day after his surgery, he caught up with Steve in the kitchen.
“Dad, I need to borrow the car this evening. I have an errand to run.”
Lillian frowned, and Steve answered in a firm voice, “No, you’re still not in any shape to drive.”
“Dad, I have to go to the airport to meet Susan. She’s arriving tonight.”
“You. Can’t. Drive. Period. You’re still takingoxycodone. That causes drowsiness. Go and read the label.”
