Chapter 1
Nell lay very still on the cloud of white chenille as if afraid to spill something, or break something, or release the nightmares that fluttered inside her head.
The window next to the bed looked down on a lush garden where bees hovered in the purple lupins. Across the room something glowed a bright hot red, spotlighted by the pull-chain bulb inside the open closet door. She blinked, but the decorative topstitching on the cuff was unmistakable. It was the red flannel bathrobe she had made for her mother in sewing class twenty-five years ago.
Scenes from earlier that day flashed through her mind. Horrible gray tubes and blinking LEDs, long corridors and worried faces. Her stomach clenched as tears blurred her eyes. She reached for her cell phone to dial the number written on a scrap of paper on the nightstand.
* * *
Early that same day, Nell had just done her Pilates stretches and was in her kitchen making coffee when the telephone rang. One of the girls was probably calling about the morning walk.
“Eleanor Williams?”
She didn’t recognize the woman’s voice.
“Yes, this is she.” Nell frowned, eager to get outside and work off her nervous energy. She had already brushed her short blonde hair and laced up her running shoes.
“Mrs. Williams, I’m calling about your mother, Mary Ellen Reilly?” There was a dinging sound in the background, like an elevator, and a metallic voice talking over an intercom.
“What about her?” If Mom had given her name to another of her bizarre charities, Save the Toucans or whatever, she was really going to be mad.
“This is Hartland General Hospital in Hartland, Vermont. I’m sorry to be calling with bad news, Mrs. Williams, but I’m afraid your mother is very ill in our intensive care unit. She asked us to call you.”
“Are you sure you have the right person? My mother lives in Massachusetts.” Nell's tone was little snippy, and there was a short pause before the answer came.
“Yes Mrs. Williams, we confirmed the patient’s ID and insurance.” Then the voice softened, sympathetic. “It would be a good idea for you to come. She named you as her legal health care agent. She’s really not doing well.”
Nell grabbed the granite kitchen counter with a shaky hand as she sat down on a barstool.
“OK…sure. Of course.”
Mom was supposed to be safely tucked into her little assisted-living apartment at Maplewood under the benevolent surveillance of a highly qualified staff, not hundreds of miles away in some hospital Nell had never heard of. This was outrageous! How had she gotten so far away from home?
“What’s the address? And the phone number there?” Shaking her head, she jotted down the information on the notepad by the phone. “Is someone up there with her? A group of older women?” Mom used to go on little jaunts with her girlfriends, though not so much since she quit driving several years ago.
“Not that I’ve heard," the woman said. "She came in by ambulance, all alone. You are listed as next of kin, Mrs. Williams. She gave us your phone number.” The tone was gentle, yet insistent.
“OK….” Nell’s voice sounded high and thin. “It sounds bad. Is she going to be all right?”
“Her condition is listed as serious. We’ll expect you later today, then?”
“Yes. Thank you for calling.”
Nell pushed the END button and put the phone down.
Her fingernails tapped on the granite countertop as she pictured how Mom had appeared just last month in Florida, vigorous and happy, out on the golf course playing a slow but sociable nine holes. Mary Reilly was silver-haired and very thin, almost gaunt, but still beautiful. She was undeniably getting older but this was the first time Nell could remember that she had been in the hospital, in real trouble with her health.
Nell grabbed the phone again and speed-dialed Bridget.
“Hey there baby-sister! How are you, darlin’?” Her sister's musical voice answered with a slight Southern drawl. She’d lived in Virginia for about fifteen years and had affected the accent although they were raised in the Northeast. The sound of bubbling water in the background meant that Bridget was enjoying her usual morning soak in the hot tub.
“Not good. We’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble? Honey, trouble is my middle name,” Bridget sang out happily. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie, has David finally found himself a little cutie on the side?”
“No, Bridget, he has not. And when will you finally realize that all men aren’t like the ones you marry? Pay attention, this is important.” Nell raised her voice louder. “Turn off the jets so you can hear me!”
The bubbling noise stopped.
“OK, darlin’, what’s got your panties in a twist today, anyhow?”
Nell told her what had happened. There was a moment’s silence.
“This is our mother you’re talking about? For sure?” Bridget’s playful tone had disappeared, as had her faux-Southern accent.
“The very same. They checked her ID.”
“How extremely bizarre.”
“I agree. What do you suppose she’s up to? And how did she suddenly get so sick? I just talked to her a few days ago!”
“Only the good Lord knows, but at least she’s getting professional care.” Bridget jumped into crisis management mode and took charge. “You’d better get up there right away if you can, since she asked for you. And meanwhile, I’ll call Maplewood and give them hell!” She paused and her voice faltered. “Okay, Nell? I’ll be there tomorrow if you need me.”
“It's all right, I’ll go today and see what the situation is. Call you later.”
“Love you, sweetie. Talk soon.”
“Me too.”
Nell hung up the phone and headed into David’s study to book a plane ticket to Vermont, let her husband know what was going on, call the housekeeper, and email the other moms about reorganizing the carpool.
* * *
At about noon Nell’s flight from Newark landed in Burlington, Vermont. She rented a fuel-efficient little economy car at the airport and drove west toward downtown. Lake Champlain glittered beyond the city center, stretching wide along the horizon with the misty mountains of upper New York State behind it in the distance. She followed the map she had printed off the Internet before leaving home and turned south, soon leaving the urban area behind.
Softly rounded bright green mountains swept away in all directions, row upon row of them. Driving between the nearly vertical slopes through valleys where black and white cows grazed in vast grassy fields, it seemed like she had entered a storybook. The big blue sky soared overhead, a gigantic bubble of pure, clean air. It invited her to roll down the windows and breathe deep, like a thirsty runner at a fountain.
Back home in New Jersey the air was yellow and gritty, the colors dull. Here the palette was almost fluorescent. The planet seemed alive and pulsing in a way the concrete hive where Nell lived never did. Nothing this shade of green would ever survive there. Here the naked earth thrust up toward the sky, forceful and primitive as the sea, reminding Nell of the wildness in her heart and the feelings she tried to ignore.
Soon the sign for Hartland appeared and she turned at the exit. The narrow road twisted between curling hills, every valley a secret world revealed when she crested the next rise. A white spire announced the iconic New England Congregational church on the town green and signs led her to the hospital.
Nell parked the car and caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. She gave her hair an efficient tousle and walked briskly toward the large brick building to enter the lobby with a woosh of the revolving glass doors. A tall man with white hair wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap walked by on his way out, giving her a startled glance. The middle-aged woman sitting at the reception desk was talking on the phone. Nell recognized her voice from the call that morning.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Mary Reilly?” The woman looked up and covered the phone with her hand. She was dressed in a crisp pink uniform. Her nametag said, “VOLUNTEER - Doris Barton.”
“Are you her daughter?”
There was too much sympathy in the woman’s eyes.
Nell nodded as a twinge of fear tightened her stomach.
“She’s in ICU.” The woman pointed to a doorway. “You can go right in. Down that hall, just follow the signs.”
Nell walked through the long corridors, penetrating further and further into the building as the walls changed from mint green to pale blue to dusty pink. It became dim and hushed, with the scent of disinfectant in the air. When she pushed open the door to Intensive Care two women wearing scrubs stood at the nurses’ station. They both turned to look at her, their faces showing the same concerned expression.
They pointed toward one of the white-curtained doorways in the central hallway where the entrances to four spaces converged. Nell entered the cubicle.
There in a jumble of stainless steel machines, blinking LEDs and electrical cords, lying on a metal bed that looked like a giant praying mantis, was Nell’s poor mother. Her eyes were closed. Her limp white hair blended in with the pillowcase. Her skin was so pale that she virtually disappeared into the white sheets. Only the blue veins showed. She looked frail and paper thin, a ghost woman.
A fat gray tube was fastened into her open mouth like a huge parasitic worm. It appeared to be rhythmically blowing air into her lungs from a machine nearby. It looked like some kind of torture, and Nell felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as she picked her way across the room to stand by the bed.
She laid her hand over her mother’s, worried about disturbing the IV needle held in place with bloodstained tape. Nell listened to the machine breathe. Her mother’s face looked serene, as though she were miles and years away. Her chest moved up and down slightly, confirming that air was flowing in and out.
“She’s asleep now.” The nurse came into the cubicle. “We gave her some medication a while ago to help her rest. It should last for several hours.”
The nurse reached up to adjust one of the tubes. It led to a plastic bag hanging overhead, partially filled with a wet greenish-gray material. When the nurse flipped a switch and caused a deep mechanical growl, Nell realized it was mucous and they were pumping it out of her mother’s lungs. She fought back a gagging reflex, horrified. She and the nurse locked eyes, Nell’s shocked and the nurse’s calm. The woman looked at her with a stern expression, silently commanding her not to get hysterical.
“The doctor will be back later to check on her,” the nurse said firmly. “He’ll answer all your questions about her condition. For now, she’s stable and resting comfortably. You should go get something to eat, then call to see whether he’s been here yet and she’s awake. The respirator is working for her so she can rest while the antibiotics do their job.”
“All right,” Nell nodded, getting a tissue out of her pocketbook and swabbing her face, soaked with tears. “But first I need to know how she is. What’s wrong with her? How did she get here? Can you tell me what happened?”
“You really need to speak to the doctor,” the nurse said, her voice softening. “He’s the one who’s supposed to answer any medical questions. I heard she came in by ambulance. Don’t worry, we’re taking good care of your mother. I’ll be in every few minutes to check on her. Give her a couple hours to sleep.”
Up and scrambling since before dawn and so tense that the muscles in her shoulders quivered, Nell wandered out the way she had come in and ended up back at the front desk where Doris sat.
Nell asked the woman to recommend a hotel or B & B nearby, figuring she could check in and get some coffee while she was waiting for the doctor. She received a blank look in response. Frowning, the receptionist clicked a button on her computer and looked at the screen.
“I thought so. May I ask why you don’t just stay at your mother’s place? It’s not far away at all.”
Nell stared at her, dumbstruck.
The woman clicked another button and a piece of paper began to emerge from the printer on her desk.
“Do you need directions, dear? Here you go.”
“My mother’s place…?” The printout was a copy of Mary’s registration form. Where the blank was labeled address it said 27 Lakeshore Road, Hartland, VT. A phone number with the local area code was listed. “Is this address a motel, or what?”
“It’s right down by the lake. Beautiful old cottages, you’ll love it.” The woman printed out a map and pushed it across the desk. She showed Nell how to get to the lake. Mom must have rented a place near the water. The owners might know something.
Going outside with the map clutched in her hand, Nell fumbled with her keys and she got into her car. She blew her nose and thought about what to do. Then she followed the map. Half a mile away was Lakeshore Road, which followed the banks of a small lake. Rocky beaches were sprinkled with mica that sparkled in the sun. The water glinted and a few sailboats were out, tacking back and forth in the light wind.
Nell pulled up at number 27, which was across the street from the lake. The white cottage had a small yard in front, neatly mowed, and a one-car attached garage. The front door was painted fire engine red, just like the front door of the house in Massachusetts where Nell and Bridget grew up. Black shutters framed the windows.
Nell pulled into the driveway, wondering whether someone would appear and ask her why she was there. Maybe the cottage belonged to some friends and Mom had been visiting them. No one seemed to be around. It was silent except for birdcalls and the occasional barking of a small dog somewhere nearby.
Nell got out of her car and walked up the path. She leaned forward to push the doorbell, trying to look into the windows without being too obvious.
All the shades were positioned exactly the same in every window across the front of the house. They were lined up like soldiers, precisely two-thirds of the way up. Mom was always a stickler for that, Nell thought. She had insisted on it every morning when they were kids.
Nell leaned forward and rang the doorbell again, then knocked loudly. The sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood. There were no signs of movement inside the house.
Almost without thinking she stepped into the flowerbed to the right of the door and reached behind the shutter. Exactly where it ought to be, a key was hanging from a small hook. Her hand found it with a certainty born from years of experience. It hung where they had always kept an extra key at home, when Nell and Bridget were growing up.
Nell stared at the key in her hand as though it were a bug that might bite her. Then she walked up the steps and put the key into the lock. The door swung open.
She was standing in a narrow living room that stretched the full depth of the house. A clock was ticking. She didn’t recognize anything and found no sign of her mother’s belongings. The kitchen was clean and tidy with no personal items on the counters or the table.
Passing a cozy den, Nell was drawn upstairs. She tried the bathroom first, looking for prescriptions, but there were just some over-the-counter drugs in the medicine cabinet. The front bedroom looked like a guest room, an empty stage waiting for the next actor to appear. The larger bedroom, which faced the backyard, looked inhabited. She went inside.
Opening the dresser drawers she found a woman’s nightgowns, t-shirts and underwear, size small. And here was the kind of bra Mom liked, the one Nell herself had recommended. Then she noticed a familiar scent floating up out of the drawers. Baby powder and lavender, the same smell she had always inhaled when she put her arms around Mom’s neck for a hug. Touching the clothes reverently, Nell stroked the wrinkles flat and carefully put everything away.
Nell took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. She raised first one shoulder, then the other, trying to stretch out the cramp in her back. She looked over at the door of what must be a closet. Her throat ached with anxiety and she hesitated, but then she stepped forward and flung the door open, reaching inside to pull the dangling light chain.
And there was Mom’s old red bathrobe, hanging on a hook. It looked as though she had just taken it off and would be right back inside it again tonight for popcorn and TV.
The robe smelled like her, too. Nell pressed the fabric to her face and inhaled, tears leaking from her eyes. She was stretched as thin as the skin of an overripe tomato, ready to split at the slightest touch.
What was happening? What had Mom been doing here? How could this be real?
Nell’s world had transformed from the calm, organized place where she always felt secure into a dark region of chaos. Her head buzzed with anger, fear and betrayal. The little girl inside her cried out to be comforted, to be told that everything would be fine and life would soon return to normal. But she suspected this wasn’t true. Nothing would ever be normal again.
She tried to envision Mom driving off to her secret cottage, her oasis in Vermont. There was obviously a major story behind all this and Mom had never said a word about it. A wave of resentment rippled through her.
She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, accepting the truth. The long day of stress made her temples throb.
Her shoulders sagging, Nell went over to the narrow bed that stood against the wall in front of the low window and folded the white coverlet back from the pillow. Lying down and stretching out, she let her head melt into the pillow as it released a wisp of that same reassuring powdery scent. It hung in her mind when she closed her eyes and drifted off, a rosy glow of nostalgia.
The closet was full of clothes, way too many for a short visit. This was obviously Mom’s cottage. She’d been actually living here on and off for some unknown period of time. Lying in this bed with her head on this lavender-scented pillow. Napping in the long summer afternoons with the hum of bees flowing across the smooth green lawn.
And doing god-knows-what the rest of the time. A question to pursue. But first, just a few minutes of blissful oblivion.
Nell fell asleep, comforted by the scent of home.
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The entire manuscript of this not-yet-published novel is posted at:
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