Private Eyes

She gave a sour smile. “I invited him over- as a surprise for Mother. This was before she was getting treatment. I was looking for anything to get her going. Get her to socialize. And when he arrived he had three dozen red roses and a big bottle of Taittinger’s. I should have known then he had… plans. I mean, roses and champagne. One thing led to another. He started coming over more often. In the afternoon, before the Tankard opened. Bringing her steaks and more flowers and whatever. It became a regular thing- I just kind of got used to it. Then six months ago, just around the time she started to be able to leave the grounds, they a

“So he was seeing her when you were trying to persuade her to get treatment.”

“Yes.”

“How’d he relate to that? And to treatment?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I never asked him.”

“But he didn’t fight it.”

“No. Don’s not a fighter.”

“What is he?”

“A charmer. Everyone likes him,” she said, with distaste.

“How do you feel about him?”

She gave me an irritated look, brushed her hair from her forehead. “How do I feel? He doesn’t get in my way.”

“Do you think he’s insincere?”

“I think he’s… shallow. Pure Hollywood.”

Echoing the prejudices she’d just decried. She realized it and said, “I know that sounds very San Labrador, but you’d have to meet him to understand. He’s tan in the winter, lives for te

“Does he have any children of his own?”

“No. He was never married. Not until now.”

The way she emphasized “now” made me ask, “Are you concerned that he married your mother for her money?”

“The thought has occurred to me- Don’s not exactly poor, but he’s not in Mother’s league.”

She gave a wave of her hand, so choppy and awkward that it made me take note.

I said, “Is part of your conflict about Harvard a worry that she needs protection from him?”

“No, but I can’t see him being able to take care of her. Why she married him I still can’t figure out.”

“What about the staff- in terms of taking care of her?”

“They’re nice,” she said, “but she needs more.”

“What about Jacob Dutchy?”

“Jacob,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “Jacob… died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just last year,” she said. “He developed some kind of cancer and it took him quickly. He left the house right after the diagnosis and went to a place- some sort of rest home. But he wouldn’t tell us where. Didn’t want anyone to see him sick. After he… Afterwards, the home called Mother and told her he was… There wasn’t even any funeral, just cremation. It really hurt me- not being able to help him. But Mother said we’d helped by letting him do it his way.”

More tears. More tissues.

I said, “I remember him as being a strong-willed gentleman.”

She bowed her head. “At least it was quick.”

I waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, I said, “So much has been happening to you. It’s got to feel overwhelming. I can see why it’s hard for you to know what to do.”

“Oh, Dr. Delaware!” she said, getting up and coming forward and throwing her arms around my neck. She’d put on perfume for the appointment. Something heavy and floral and much too old for her. Something a maiden aunt might wear. I thought of her making her own way through life. The trials and errors.

It made me ache for her. I could feel her hands grip my back. Her tears moistened my jacket.

I uttered words of comfort that seemed as substantial as the gilded light. When she’d stopped crying for a full minute, I pulled away gently.

She moved away quickly, sat back down, looking shamefaced. Wringing her hands.

I said, “It’s all right, Melissa. You don’t always have to be strong.”

Shrink’s reflex. Another yea-say.

The right thing to say. But in this case, was it the truth?

She began pacing the room. “I can’t believe I’m falling apart like this. It’s so… I pla

“Not therapy?”

“Yes. This was for her. I really thought I was okay, didn’t need therapy. I wanted to show you I was okay.”

“You really are okay, Melissa. This is an incredibly stressful time for you. All the changes in your mother’s life. Losing Jacob.”

“Yes,” she said absently. “He was a dear.”

I waited several moments before continuing. “And now the Harvard thing. That’s a major decision. It would be foolish not to take it seriously.”

She sighed.

I said, “Let me ask you this: If everything else was calm, would you want to go?”

“Well… I know it’s a great opportunity- my golden apple. But I have to- I need to feel right about it.”

“What could help you feel right about it?”

She shook her head and threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

She looked at me. I smiled and pointed at the couch. She returned to her seat.

I said, “What could really convince you your mother will be okay?”

“Her being okay! Normal! Like anyone else. That sounds terrible- as if I’m ashamed of her. I’m not. I’m just worried.”

“You want to be sure she can take care of herself.”

“That’s the thing, she can. Up in her room. It’s her domain. It’s just the outside world… Now that she’s going out- trying to change- it’s scary.”

“Of course it is.”

Silence.

I said, “I suppose I’d be wasting my breath to remind you that you can’t go on taking responsibility for your mother forever. Being a parent to your parent. That it will get in the way of your own life and do her no good.”

“Yes, I know. That’s what N- of course that’s true.”

“Has someone else been telling you the same thing?”

She bit her lip. “Just Noel. Noel Drucker. He’s a friend- not a boyfriend, just a boy who’s a friend. I mean, he likes me as more than a friend, but I’m not sure how I feel about him. But I do respect him. He’s an exceptionally good person.”

“How old is Noel?”

“A year older than me. He got accepted to Harvard last year, took time off to work and save up money. His family doesn’t have any money- it’s just him and his mother. He’s been working his whole life and is very mature for his age. But when he talks about Mother, I just want to tell him to… stop.”

“Ever let him know how you feel?”

“No. He’s very sensitive. I don’t want to hurt him. And I know he means well- he’s thinking of me.”

“Boy,” I said, blowing out breath. “You’re taking care of lots of people.”

“Guess so.” Smile.

“Who’s taking care of Melissa?”

“I can take care of myself.” Stating it with a defiance that pulled me back nine years.

“I know you can, Melissa. But even caretakers need to be cared for, once in a while.”

“Noel tries to take care of me. But I won’t let him. That’s terrible, isn’t it? Frustrating him like that. But I’ve got to do things my way. And he just doesn’t understand the way it is with Mother. No one does.”

“Do Noel and your mother get along?”

“The little they have to do with each other, they do. She thinks he’s a nice boy. Which he is. Everyone thinks that- if you knew him you’d understand why. And he likes her well enough. But he says I’m doing her more harm than good by protecting her. That she’ll get better when she really has to- as if it’s her choice.”

Melissa got up and walked around the room again. Letting her hands settle on things, touching, examining. Feigning sudden fascination with the pictures on the walls.

I said, “How can I best help you, Melissa?”

She pivoted on one foot and faced me. “I thought maybe if you could talk to Mother. Tell me what you think.”