Chapter 40 - The Visit

Jill called late in the afternoon. Focus Man was looking through papers he had brought home from the office, trying to decide which ones required attention before Monday. Claire had gone out, and the house was quiet enough that he heard the telephone before it finished its first ring.

“Are you home tonight?” Jill asked.

“Yes.”

He moved a page aside and reached for a pen, expecting something to arrange.

“You should come see Mom.”

There was a difference in her voice he couldn't identify until she spoke again.

“I think you should come now.”

He put down the pen.

“How bad is it?”

“She’s very weak. She’s been asking about you.”

“Is she awake?”

“Some of the time.”

He looked at the clock above the kitchen doorway. The road would be busy. He began to ask a question about that, then stopped.

“I’m coming.”

“Come to the side door. Dave will let you in.”

After they hung up, he stood beside the telephone without moving. Then he found his keys and wrote a note for Claire. He started with Jill called, crossed it out, and wrote that he had gone to see his mother. He left the number beneath it.

Outside, the afternoon seemed to be carrying on without any knowledge of the call. Someone was washing a car farther down the street. Water ran along the curb. He backed out carefully, checked for traffic, and drove toward the freeway.

Over the past two years, his mother’s illness had become something he asked about. Jill and Dave had lived with it. They knew when she had eaten, whether she had slept, what kind of help she needed getting from the bed to the chair. He heard their accounts, visited when he could, and came away reassured by the things they had already managed. When Jill said their mother was having a better day, he accepted the better day without asking how the nights had been.

Now he tried to remember their last conversation. His mother had asked about the mountains. He had told her they were going back, perhaps to look at houses, and she had wanted to know whether he would be able to ski. He remembered explaining more than she had asked. He couldn't remember what she had said afterward.

Traffic slowed before his exit. He watched the cars ahead, moved into another lane, and gained perhaps two lengths before stopping again. There was nothing useful to do with the urgency he felt. He rested both hands on the wheel and waited.

Dave opened the side door before he knocked.

“Come in.”

Focus Man stepped inside. He had expected the house to feel different, but there were coats on their hooks and a school notice attached to the refrigerator. A pan stood beside the sink. Dave closed the door quietly and took his jacket.

“She’s in her room. Jill’s with her.”

“How is she?”

Dave looked toward the hallway.

“Go on in.”

Jill was sitting beside the bed. She rose when she saw him and touched his arm before moving her chair.

“Mom,” she said. “He’s here.”

His mother turned her head a little on the pillow. He went close enough that she wouldn't have to look for him.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes settled on his face.

“You came.”

“Of course.”

He heard the quickness of his answer. He took the chair Jill had left for him and rested his hand over his mother’s. Her fingers moved beneath it, acknowledging him.

For a while he didn't know what to say. He had brought nothing with him, no errand to complete, no news arranged into a story. His mother’s sewing basket stood beside the chest of drawers. The photograph album was on a shelf within reach of the chair where she used to sit. He recognized everything and found that none of it helped him begin.

“Was the drive all right?” she asked.

“It was fine.”

“You work too much.”

He smiled because she seemed to expect it.

“Sometimes.”

She closed her eyes. He waited, still holding her hand. Jill stood near the foot of the bed for a moment, then said she would be in the kitchen.

His mother opened her eyes again when the door moved.

“She’s tired,” she said.

“Jill?”

His mother nodded faintly.

“She’s been good to me.”

“I know.”

“And Dave.”

“Yes.”

She looked toward the doorway, then back at him. He waited for something more, but she had finished what she wanted to say.

He began telling her about the last visit to the mountains. He described the cabin, the steep walk back from the lake, and Claire’s opinion of the rental office’s promise of easy access. His mother smiled a little. He kept the account short this time. When he stopped, she asked whether they had found a house.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll find something.”

“We’re still looking.”

She seemed content with that. Her hand had relaxed beneath his, and he couldn't tell whether she was listening or resting. He stayed where he was.

After a while, Jill came in with a glass of water. She helped their mother take a small drink, adjusting the pillow with a practiced movement. Focus Man stood to give her room. He watched Jill settle the glass on the table, move something closer to the bed, and smooth the sheet where it had gathered. Each action was small and certain. He would have needed to ask.

When she finished, he sat down again. His mother looked at him as though his return to the chair was another arrival.

“Are you staying?”

“For a while.”

“All right.”

He stayed until the room began to darken. Jill switched on the lamp, and Dave came to the doorway to ask whether anyone wanted tea. Focus Man said yes, though he had no particular wish for it. He followed Dave to the kitchen while Jill remained with their mother.

The good cups were in a cupboard above the counter. Dave took down two, then a third.

“Jill might have some.”

Focus Man remembered bringing them from the old house. He had crossed them off a list and been pleased to have found all six.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

Dave filled the kettle.

“You can stay with her while we eat.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Dave nodded and took plates from another cupboard. There was no need for either of them to explain the arrangement. Focus Man carried his tea back to the room, and Jill went to join her husband.

His mother was sleeping. He set the cup down and sat beside her. From the kitchen he heard their low voices, the sound of cutlery, a chair moving across the floor. He wondered how many evenings they had eaten like that, listening between sentences for a sound from this room.

When his mother woke, she seemed uncertain where she was. He leaned forward and said her name. She looked at him, and he told her that Jill and Dave were having dinner.

“I don’t want anything.”

“That’s all right.”

He stayed until she settled again. Later, he called Claire from the kitchen telephone. She had found his note and been waiting to hear.

“Do you want me to come?”

He looked toward the hallway.

“Not tonight.”

“All right. Call me if that changes.”

Before leaving, he went back to the bedroom. Jill was in her chair again. His mother opened her eyes when he bent to kiss her.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” he said.

She held his hand a moment longer than he expected, then let it go.

He returned the next morning. He returned the day after that too, sitting where Jill put the chair, helping with what she asked, sometimes doing nothing beyond keeping his mother company while the household moved around them.

On the fourth morning, Jill called before he was dressed.

“She died a little while ago.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. Claire came from the bathroom and stopped when she saw him.

“Were you with her?” he asked.

“Yes. Dave was here too.”

He thanked Jill, then felt the inadequacy of it and had nothing better ready. She told him to come when he could. There were things they would need to do, but not immediately.

After the call, Claire sat beside him. He told her what Jill had said. She put her hand on his back and stayed while he looked at the clothes he had laid out for work.

At Jill and Dave’s house, the side door opened onto the same kitchen. This time Dave embraced him before stepping aside. Jill was at the table with a cup in front of her. He sat beside her, and for a while they spoke only about that morning. She told him what she wanted him to know. He listened without interrupting.

Later, he went into his mother’s room. The lamp was off, and daylight lay across the chair by the window. Her sewing basket stood where it had stood during his visit. On the small table beside the bed was the cup he had used the night before.

He carried it to the kitchen. Jill was rinsing dishes, and he asked her to leave them. She dried her hands and went to sit with Dave.

Focus Man washed the cup carefully, turning it beneath the warm water. He dried it with the towel hanging beside the sink and opened the cupboard. The other cups were there, their handles turned outward. He found its place among them and set it down.