A Christmas to Remember (3 page)

“Okay, that’s good to know.”

“Try to keep her awake if you can.”

“Yes, I will.” Sara had heard that was important, too.

The connection with Emily broke off, and Sara turned back to her grandmother again. She softly stroked her wispy white hair.
Lillian’s usual upswept hairdo had come undone, and Sara realized that her hair was quite long, longer than her own.

“What can I do for you, Grandma? Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh dear…you must think I’m done for…. You never called me Grandma before.”

Sara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’ve probably broken something. But I’m sure you’re going to be all right.” Sara did her best to sound convincing. She really wasn’t sure of anything.

As for the other question, Sara didn’t think this was the time or the place to get into it.

There was a reason Sara had never called Lillian “Grandma.” Lillian had always sidestepped acknowledging their connection. Sara’s birth mother, Emily, had eloped at age eighteen, eager to wriggle out from beneath Lillian’s thumb. She married a local fisherman Lillian had never approved of, moved to the Maryland shore with him, and lost all contact with her family. Until her young husband died in a car accident, leaving Emily eight months pregnant and injured. Lillian had come down to Maryland to take care of her, which included persuading Emily—strong-arming her really—into giving up her baby for adoption. This way, Lillian had argued, Emily could return home to Cape Light, start college and pick up her life as if the unfortunate marriage—and baby—had never happened.

Sara had been the baby that Emily gave up. Although she was adopted and raised by loving parents, she always wondered about her birth mother. She had found Emily a few years ago, soon after she graduated from college. It had taken Sara a long time to confess her real relationship and to forgive Emily. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without her birth mother—or her birth grandmother, as she had come to think of Lillian.

She heard Lillian’s soft groan and took her hand. Her eyes were closed again.
Keep her talking
. That’s what Emily had said.

“What were you doing up in the attic? You know you shouldn’t climb stairs with your cane.”

Lillian didn’t answer, and Sara wondered if she had lost consciousness. “I needed something,” she mumbled finally.

“You knew I was coming. I would have gotten it for you.”

“I couldn’t remember…. It was driving me crazy….” She let out a harsh breath, and Sara could tell it was a great effort for her to say even a few words.

It was suddenly very quiet. Sara heard the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway. Then she heard a siren in the distance. She stood up. It was getting closer.

“They’re here. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed Lillian’s hand then flew down the stairs.

She swung open the door to find the emergency responders hurrying up the walkway with a gurney.

“She’s upstairs. This way,” Sara called. With the EMS crew behind her, she ran back up the steps two at a time.

She stepped back as they reached her grandmother and knelt at her side. Sara watched as they pulled out medical instruments and checked Lillian’s heartbeat and blood pressure. They looked into her eyes with a tiny flashlight. One of the EMTs leaned over and talked to her quietly. After a moment, he looked up at Sara.

“We’re going to put a collar on her and a full-body support. She’s broken some bones. She might have some pain.”

Sara swallowed hard and nodded.

The emergency crew put the supports on Lillian quickly then turned her limp body to one side and then swung it over onto the stretcher. Lillian moaned with pain, a heart-wrenching sound, and
Sara felt tears well up in her eyes. She stepped closer and touched her grandmother’s hand as they strapped her on the gurney.

“Lillian, I’m right here.”

“No…” Lillian tried to shake her head, but the support held it rigid. “Say the other…the other thing you called me…”

Sara paused. “Grandma, I’m right here.”

Lillian stared at Sara and blinked. Then she closed her eyes.

“She’s okay. Her vital signs are steady,” one of the EMS workers told Sara. “She’s very strong.”

“Can I ride with you to the hospital?”

“No problem. Can you turn on a light or something? It’s like a museum in here.”

It’s true
, Sara thought as she found the hall light and turned it on. The old house with its heavy antique furniture and knickknacks in every corner did look like a museum.

The EMS crew wheeled her grandmother toward the top of the staircase, then began the careful process of carrying the gurney down the long flight of stairs.

As Sara stood back and watched, she noticed a square of paper on the floor where she had found Lillian.

She bent down and picked it up. It was an old photo. In the dimly lit hallway Sara could hardly make out the image. Then she realized that there were old photographs scattered all over the attic steps and near the doorway.

“You coming, miss?” one of the EMTs called up.

“Be right there.” She stuck the photo she’d picked up in her pocket and hurried to catch up with her grandmother, now being taken out of the house.

Please, God, don’t let her be in much pain. Don’t let anything really bad be wrong with her.
Sending up a silent prayer, Sara readied herself for the long ride to the hospital.

Southport Hospital, Late November, Present-day

“Y
OU
’
RE VERY LUCKY
, L
ILLIAN
. A
MILD CONCUSSION AND
two broken bones. A small price to pay at your age.” Doctor Bartow looked up from his notes and smiled.

“Compared to breaking my neck completely, you mean?” Lillian murmured.

“Mother, let the doctor finish. Please?” Emily Warwick stood at one side of Lillian’s bed. Jessica, Emily’s younger sister, and Sara stood on the other side. The doctor had left out the bruised ribs, Emily noticed, and the swollen spot around her mother’s eye, now covered with an ice pack, which would probably darken into a bona fide shiner. For the last few hours, Lillian had been rolled around the hospital undergoing tests. Then casts were put on her left arm and right ankle, which were both broken in her fall.

“Excuse me, Doctor. Are you sure you prescribed a painkiller and not a placebo?” Lillian managed a momentary scowl then closed her eyes. A nurse had given her a painkiller some time ago, but Lillian insisted it wasn’t helping at all.

Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t a very good patient, complaining at every opportunity and quizzing each medical professional who came near her on their experience and credentials.

“If you want to kill yourself, check into a hospital,” she often raved. And had, several times during her tests.

Of course, if she hadn’t been complaining, Emily, Jessica, and Sara would have really been worried about her.

Doctor Bartow looked down at the notes in his folder. “She’ll need to stay overnight. We want to watch the concussion and her blood pressure. But she should be ready to go home tomorrow or the day after.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it, Mother?” Emily’s voice was bright, the tone she used when trying to override Lillian’s expected objections.

“Good for the insurance company. No wonder they have that big revolving door downstairs. Pretty soon it will be a drive-through window,” Lillian muttered. “Or perhaps the beds will pop the patient up and out like a toaster.”

The doctor grinned. “Lillian, I have no worries about you. You’re sharper with a concussion than most of my patients are without one.”

His expression grew serious again. “I understand she lives alone. She’ll need help around the clock for the next two months, at least. I suggest that you check her into a nursing home or a rehabilitation facility so that she can have proper care.”

Lillian’s eyes flew open. “Why are you speaking about me as if
I wasn’t here? She
this
and she
that
?” She struggled to sit upright. “I won’t hear of a nursing home. I simply won’t hear of it!”

The doctor seemed puzzled by her reaction. “Only until the casts come off and you’re mobile again. You’ll need some physical therapy and—”

“I won’t go. You can’t make me. I know my rights.” Lillian glared at him.

Emily and Jessica exchanged concerned looks. Sara sat quietly, holding back a smile. She had no doubt that her grandmother would win this debate.

“Another alternative would be for you to go home with one of your daughters,” the doctor said. “But even then you’ll need a home health aide around the clock.”

“My sister and I would both be happy to have her,” Emily said.

Lillian smoothed the edge of her blanket across her chest with her good hand. “You know that I prefer to be in my own home. Besides, both of you are out working all hours. I’ll be stuck in a tiny room, listening to noisy children and baby-sitters all day. And those vile cartoons on the television—”

“I get the picture,” Dr. Bartow cut in.

“We went through all this when she had her stroke, five years ago,” Emily explained. “She can be very stubborn—”

“I’m comfortable in my own home. As most people are, or should be. There’s no crime in it,” Lillian insisted. “If I can be dumped in one of their houses with some medical attendant hanging over me all day, then why can’t I do the same in my own house, Doctor?”

Dr. Bartow looked resigned. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but if you won’t agree to any other alternative, I guess it will have to do. You’ll both be looking in on her, I assume?”

“Every day,” Emily promised.

“We both will. And Sara,” Jessica added, glancing over at her niece.

Lillian sighed and closed her eyes. “Oh goody. I can hardly wait for all these visitors, traipsing in and out.”

“Oh, Lillian, you know you love the attention,” Sara said with a laugh.

“Yes, I’ve gone to great lengths to get some, haven’t I? I must crave attention desperately.”

“What’s next, doctor?” Emily asked.

“I’ll give you the information for the local agencies. She’ll need someone with her twenty-four hours at first, even with all of you visiting.”

“Not at night,” Lillian piped up. “I’ll just be sleeping. Why does someone have to be there at night?”

“In case you need to get out of bed or have some unexpected emergency,” Emily explained patiently.

“Someone must be there at night, or I can’t approve this plan,” Dr. Bartow said firmly.

“I don’t want a stranger in my house at night—wandering around, peering in at me, going through my things…. I won’t sleep a wink. They’re liable to give me a heart attack.”

Emily touched her mother’s hand, hoping to calm her down. “We’ll figure it out, Mother. Jessica and I can come stay with you until we find someone you feel comfortable with. How’s that?”

Lillian peered at her. “How can you manage that? And don’t tell me you’re going to bring your babies along with you. That would be even worse.”

“We do have husbands, Mother,” Jessica reminded her. “Husbands can take care of babies when necessary. They’ll all be just fine.”

“That remains to be seen,” Lillian huffed.

Sara stood up and walked over to the bed. “Lillian’s right. It will be hard for either of you to stay over. I can do it. At least until we find someone she likes.”

“What about your fiancé?” Lillian asked. “I don’t think he’ll like the idea much.”

Lillian did not approve of Luke McAllister, Sara’s fiancé, and had never pretended otherwise.

“Luke will understand. He’ll want to come visit you, too,” Sara said.

“That’s just what I was worried about.”

“Mother, really,” Emily said. “There’s no pleasing you. If it’s not one thing, it’s—”

“Luke McAllister. All right, I give up. One can’t expect perfection in this world. I already know that.”

Lillian closed her eyes again and rested back on her pillow. Everyone else in the room exhaled sighs of relief.

“Do you think we should have her sign something?” Jessica whispered in a teasing tone.

“I heard that,” Lillian said, her eyes still closed.

The doctor struggled not to laugh. “All right. We have a plan. If you three can step out into the hallway a minute, we can go over a few more details and Lillian can get some rest.”

“Excellent suggestion. I wish you would all go now and leave me alone.”

Emily and Jessica kissed their mother good-bye then followed the doctor out in the hallway. Sara stood at the side of the bed a moment, then kissed Lillian lightly on her forehead, thinking she had already drifted off.

Lillian surprised her, gripping her hand. She opened her eyes a tiny slit. “Thank you,” she mouthed the words.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sara whispered back.

Twenty minutes later, Sara found her way to the elevators and punched the button to go down. She reached into her jacket for her car keys and found instead the old photo she had picked up off the floor by the attic door.

Two young women stood together, one with fluffy blond hair and a round face, who looked directly at the camera with light blue eyes and a guileless smile.

The other was tall and thin, with chestnut-brown hair in a smooth, sophisticated upsweep that looked a bit severe. But the young woman was beautiful enough to carry it off. She had high cheekbones and a wide sensuous mouth. Large blue eyes were enhanced by the color of her ice-blue dress, a silk sheath with a matching stole. She wore long white gloves and a wide gold bracelet.

Her gaze seemed to challenge the photographer, as if she dared him to take her picture. Sara had no idea who the blonde was, but she had a strong suspicion about the brunette. She would know that look anywhere.

She flipped the photo over and checked the inscription on the back.
Charlotte and Lillian. Newburyport Yacht Club. August 1955.

Grandma had been a stunner. No doubt about it.

Cape Light, August 1955

L
ILLIAN LED THE WAY DOWN THE SHORELINE TO AN EMPTY STRETCH
of beach with a determined, long-legged stride. She carried an umbrella, a beach bag, and a cooler, which didn’t seem to slow her in the least. The others trudged behind, rolling their eyes at one another.

“I feel like I’m marching across the Sahara,” Bess, one of Charlotte’s friends, complained.

“Did you ever see that movie with Frank Sinatra, when he signs up for the Foreign Legion? He’s dreamy,” another named Penny replied. “I’d follow him across a desert anytime.”

“That was Gary Cooper, you goose,” Charlotte corrected her.

“I don’t care who it was,” Bess cut in sharply. “How far are we supposed to go? I haven’t been hiking like this since summer camp.”

Lillian sensed a mutiny on her hands, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Crane’s Beach was the best in the area for swimming and one of the prettiest. But also, the most crowded. She rarely spent time at the shore anymore, and she wasn’t about to sit in the middle of Grand Central Station, blankets edge to edge, noisy children kicking sand at you. She wanted to see the water without peering around a forest of umbrellas and beach chairs.

“Lily, I can’t walk another step.” Charlotte let out a long breath. Her face was glowing, the same color as her flamingo-pink sundress. “I have to sit.”

Charlotte dropped her chair and did just that, plunking down on the sand without waiting to open it.

“Me, too. For goodness sake. I’ve had it, girls.” Bess did the same. She wore a white turban over her hair with large dark glasses and pedal pushers over her halter-top bathing suit. Lillian suspected Bess thought she looked very glamorous, but Lillian didn’t think she had any taste at all.

Bess quickly pulled a compact out of her straw bag and checked her lipstick. It was perfectly applied, her lips taking on an exaggerated bow shape, but she swiped an extra coat on anyway.

Lillian hardly used cosmetics; her mother insisted it made a girl look “cheap.” She certainly didn’t wear any to the beach; it didn’t
make sense to her at all. But Charlotte and her friends seemed to think they were naked without their artfully applied layers and were always asking each other if their lipstick was still fresh.

Lillian jabbed the bottom half of the umbrella pole into the sand, anchoring it firmly, then fit the top half in, and opened the umbrella. The others spread out blankets, undressed down to their bathing suits, and stretched out to sun themselves while they paged through the latest issue of
Screen Magazine
.

They barely spoke to Lillian and she could tell she was only tolerated for Charlotte’s sake. She didn’t care. She felt the same about them. They had no serious interests or stimulating conversation. Lillian took out the book she was reading, a current bestseller, Herman Wouk’s
Marjorie Morningstar
. She doubted any of Charlotte’s friends had cracked open a real book since college. She wasn’t even sure Bess had gone to college. Maybe some no-name, two-year school. She was just a second-rate debutante, waiting for a rich, young man to marry her. At least Charlotte had become a teacher; that Lillian could respect.

“How was the party at the yacht club last night? Did I miss anything?” Bess spoke without looking up from her magazine.

“I didn’t go either.” Penny had taken out a manicure set and was industriously working on her nails. “Charlotte went—with Lillian, right?”

Bess seemed amused. “Did you have fun, Lily?”

Lillian didn’t know what to say. “It was interesting.”

“Oliver Warwick cornered her out on the deck. He wouldn’t leave her alone,” Charlotte added. “He asked her to go out with him today, but she kept saying no. He’s called three times this morning.”

Lillian stared at her cousin. Charlotte was probably trying to
defend her, but she had asked Charlotte not to mention Oliver again. Charlotte had given her an earful of gossip about the town’s leading bachelor last night, and Lillian was sure she didn’t want anything more to do with him.

“Oliver Warwick? Really?” Bess put down her magazine, looking as if she didn’t believe it.

Lillian felt stung.
As if an attractive man wouldn’t look twice at me.
“I don’t know why everyone around here thinks he’s such a catch,” she said. “I found him quite full of himself…and annoying.”