The first time I understood that Roy and Sandra had been waiting for their father to die, Roy was standing in my kitchen with a tape measure.<\/p>\n
Arthur was still alive.<\/p>\n
He was upstairs, asleep after a brutal night of pain, his breathing uneven enough that I had carried my breakfast to the bedroom because I was afraid to leave him alone for more than a few minutes. When I came downstairs to rinse the plate, I heard the metallic snap of the tape measure before I saw Roy.<\/p>\n
He had one end hooked against the wall beside the pantry. The yellow strip stretched across the room to the cabinets Arthur and I had refinished ourselves seven summers earlier.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
Roy looked over his shoulder. He did not appear embarrassed. That was what unsettled me most. \u201cChecking the dimensions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe renovation.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
Morning light lay across the kitchen floor, catching the dust beneath his expensive brown shoes. Arthur\u2019s pill organizer sat beside the sink. A half-empty mug of tea had gone cold near the toaster. Everything around us belonged to the ordinary business of keeping a sick man comfortable, yet Roy was speaking as though we were discussing a property he had just purchased.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat renovation?\u201d<\/p>\n
Roy retracted the tape with a sharp click. \u201cEventually this room will need to be opened up. Dad always hated how cramped it was.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father likes this kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe tolerated it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. He likes it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roy gave me the patient expression he used whenever he thought I was being difficult. He was fifty-one years old, broad through the shoulders like Arthur had once been, but he carried himself differently. Arthur had entered rooms as if there might be work to do. Roy entered them expecting someone to notice him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know what I mean, Helen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m beginning to.\u201d<\/p>\n
He slipped the tape measure into his coat pocket.<\/p>\n
Then Sandra walked in carrying one of my silver serving trays.<\/p>\n
I recognized it immediately. My mother had given me that tray when I was twenty-three. It had survived three apartments, one failed engagement, two interstate moves, and more holiday dinners than I could remember. There was a small dent near one handle where I had dropped it during my first Thanksgiving with Arthur.<\/p>\n
Sandra held it beneath one arm as casually as a magazine.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you taking that?\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced down. \u201cThis?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. That.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought I\u2019d put some of Dad\u2019s valuable things somewhere safe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat isn\u2019t Arthur\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyebrows rose.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sandra looked at Roy, and something passed between them. It lasted less than a second, but I saw it.<\/p>\n
Then she smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
She placed the tray on the counter with unnecessary care.<\/p>\n
Sandra was three years younger than Roy and better at disguising contempt. Roy became loud when challenged. Sandra became polite. Her politeness could make you feel as though you had committed a social offense simply by remaining in your own chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re all under stress,\u201d she said. \u201cNobody is trying to take anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked from the tray to Roy\u2019s coat pocket.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen perhaps nobody should be measuring my kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Roy exhaled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour kitchen?\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was.<\/p>\n
Two words, quietly spoken.<\/p>\n
I felt them harder than if he had shouted.<\/p>\n
Before I could answer, a faint bell sounded upstairs.<\/p>\n
Arthur.<\/p>\n
I turned immediately.<\/p>\n
For the past seven months, we had kept a brass handbell beside his bed. He hated using it. The first time the hospice nurse suggested it, Arthur had scowled and said he was not a hotel guest ordering room service.<\/p>\n
But eventually his voice became too weak to carry downstairs.<\/p>\n
I climbed the steps quickly.<\/p>\n
Behind me, I heard Sandra murmur something to Roy.<\/p>\n
I could not make out the words.<\/p>\n
I remember thinking I would ask later.<\/p>\n
There were many things in those final months that I planned to ask later.<\/p>\n
Death teaches you that later is an unreliable place.<\/p>\n
Arthur lay propped against two pillows, his face pale beneath the gray stubble he no longer had the strength to shave himself. Once, he had been a firefighter who could carry a grown man down a ladder. Now lifting a glass sometimes made his hand tremble.<\/p>\n
His eyes, however, were clear.<\/p>\n
Always clear.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou took your time,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I smiled despite myself. \u201cEleven seconds.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSlipping.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTerribly.\u201d<\/p>\n
I adjusted the blanket across his legs.<\/p>\n
His fingers closed around my wrist.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoy downstairs?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Sandra?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He studied my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHelen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Nine years of marriage had taught him exactly how I lied.<\/p>\n
I sat beside him.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoy was measuring the kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur became still.<\/p>\n
\u201cSandra had my mother\u2019s serving tray.\u201d<\/p>\n
His thumb moved once across my wrist.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she put it back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he say why he was measuring?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe called it a future renovation.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur turned toward the window.<\/p>\n
Outside, bare branches moved against a February sky. He watched them for a long moment.<\/p>\n
Then he asked, \u201cWhat day is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSunday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe date.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFebruary twenty-sixth.\u201d<\/p>\n
His gaze returned to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned. \u201cWhy good?\u201d<\/p>\n
He released my wrist and pointed toward the nightstand.<\/p>\n
\u201cTop drawer.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inside were reading glasses, cough drops, a flashlight, several receipts and an old photograph of Arthur in his firehouse uniform.<\/p>\n
Beneath them lay a cream-colored business card.<\/p>\n
KATZ & LEVINSON.<\/p>\n
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.<\/p>\n
I picked it up.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Katz?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to call him tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n
His mouth tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cTuesday.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
Arthur had always enjoyed making people drag answers out of him. Illness had not cured that habit.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happens Tuesday?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou take me to his office.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cArthur, you can barely make it to the bathroom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can make it to a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is this about?\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced toward the closed bedroom door.<\/p>\n
For the first time, I saw something in my husband\u2019s expression that frightened me more than the cancer.<\/p>\n
Not weakness.<\/p>\n
Not confusion.<\/p>\n
Wariness.<\/p>\n
\u201cClose the door,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I did.<\/p>\n
When I returned to the bed, Arthur reached for my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey think I don\u2019t hear them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know who.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
He told me about the conversations outside his hospital room. Questions about the house. Questions about accounts. Questions about what would happen to his business interests and whether certain belongings had been promised to anyone.<\/p>\n
He had heard Roy ask whether the property was still in the family trust.<\/p>\n
He had heard Sandra wondering which jewelry had belonged to her mother.<\/p>\n
And he had heard my name.<\/p>\n
More than once.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did they say about me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cArthur.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey called you the nurse.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed because the alternative was letting the words hurt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI do spend half my life handing you medication.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m serious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo am I. My technique is excellent.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHelen.\u201d<\/p>\n
His grip tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey said when I\u2019m gone, you won\u2019t have any reason to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n
The humor left me.<\/p>\n
For nine years, I had avoided forcing Arthur to choose between his children and me. Roy and Sandra had never welcomed our marriage, but I had understood part of their resentment. Their parents\u2019 marriage had ended badly. Their mother had died years later. Then Arthur met me.<\/p>\n
To them, perhaps, I had arrived in the chapter where their mother should have remained.<\/p>\n
So I tolerated the cool birthdays.<\/p>\n
The shortened visits.<\/p>\n
The Christmas invitations declined at the last minute.<\/p>\n
I tolerated Sandra introducing me as \u201cDad\u2019s wife\u201d rather than her stepmother, and Roy speaking over me whenever Arthur\u2019s health came up.<\/p>\n
I told myself adulthood did not require affection.<\/p>\n
Only civility.<\/p>\n
But something had changed when Arthur became terminally ill.<\/p>\n
They had stopped treating me like an outsider.<\/p>\n
They had begun treating me like a temporary employee.<\/p>\n
Arthur watched my face.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re wrong,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at him.<\/p>\n
He struggled upright, grimacing until I helped adjust the pillows.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou keep trying to make this easier for everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat would you prefer? Sword fighting?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m serious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
He almost smiled.<\/p>\n
Then the expression vanished.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I die, they\u2019re going to come after you.\u201d<\/p>\n
A coldness settled beneath my ribs.<\/p>\n
\u201cArthur\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
His breathing became shallow from the effort of speaking.<\/p>\n
I reached toward the oxygen tubing.<\/p>\n
He stopped me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy children think being my children gives them the right to decide what my life meant.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not fair.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re frightened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
The simplicity of that silenced me.<\/p>\n
Arthur rarely admitted fear.<\/p>\n
Not during chemotherapy. Not after the first surgery. Not even when the oncologist finally stopped using the word treatment and began using comfort.<\/p>\n
Now his eyes were fixed on mine.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m afraid they\u2019ll turn everything into a fight after I\u2019m gone. The house. The money. You.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not property.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat won\u2019t stop them from treating you like an obstacle.\u201d<\/p>\n
Downstairs, a cabinet door closed.<\/p>\n
Arthur listened.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cCall Katz tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the business card.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat exactly are you planning?\u201d<\/p>\n
He settled back against the pillow.<\/p>\n
\u201cHousekeeping.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite everything, I laughed.<\/p>\n
Arthur smiled.<\/p>\n
For a moment he looked like the man I had married instead of the man cancer was taking from me.<\/p>\n
Then his fingers closed around mine again.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s one more thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom now on, count my pain pills every night.\u201d<\/p>\n
My smile disappeared.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur looked toward the door.<\/p>\n
He did not answer.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n
The first time I understood that Roy and Sandra had been waiting for their father to die, Roy was standing in my kitchen with a tape measure. Arthur was still … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":18954,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18955","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-insightdrama"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18955","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=18955"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18955\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19006,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18955\/revisions\/19006"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/18954"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=18955"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=18955"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/insightdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=18955"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}