Coffee Sonata (34 page)

“Yes. How quickly can you be ready?”

Small, icy beads trickled down Eryn’s spine. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Okay. Five.” Manon paused for a moment and then whispered, “Thank you.”

Eryn rushed into the bathroom and pulled her hair back in a low ponytail. Grateful that she’d showered earlier, she pulled on khaki chinos and a green turtleneck. Instead of her favorite jacket, she grabbed a fleece one and her shoulder bag on her way to the front door. She was already outside in the staircase when the elevator stopped at her floor.

Manon gave a tired smile when she saw Eryn waiting for her. “You mean five when you say five. Good to know.”

“It’s not like I bother with makeup in the middle of the night. I just go for pale and interesting anyway.”

Manon laughed, a short, surprised sound. “You do it very well. You’re both tonight.” The elevator stopped and they stepped outside. “We’re taking the Lotus. I didn’t see any reason to wake up Benjamin.”

“Good decision.”

They drove through the empty streets in silence, meeting only one cab during the short drive. Manon parked in a special part of the large parking lot behind the hospital.

Inside, a nurse directed them to Marjorie’s room. In the big hospital bed, with a multitude of tubes and cords attached to her, Marjorie looked even smaller than before. She wore an oxygen mask that covered half of her face, and a nurse monitored her condition.

“Marjorie.” Manon walked up to the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Can you hear me?”

Eryn approached the bed from the other side and watched how Marjorie’s right, thin eyelid opened halfway. The left one remained closed, the left side of her mouth drooped, and a drop of saliva ran down her cheek. Eryn reached out and wiped it away with the back of her hand without thinking.
A stroke? Probably. Poor Marjorie.

“Manon??” Marjorie whispered, and pulled the mask half off her face. “You came.”

“Of course. And I brought Eryn. See?”

Marjorie managed to turn her head, even if it shook from the effort. “Yes, yes. Eryn. Listen. You will write the book. Everything…is taken care of. In my will.”

Tears flooded Eryn’s eyes and she took the immobilized hand. “I promise I’ll do a good job.”
She thinks this is it. Oh, God, maybe it is.
Eryn tried to connect the image of Marjorie in a hospital bed with her memory of the strong woman who gave unforgettable speeches such a short time ago.

“And Manon. Just so you know. The house. The manor…”

“What about it, Marjorie? You know it’s in good hands when you’re here—”

“No, the house!” Marjorie coughed. “The house goes to you, Manon.” She replaced the mask and took labored breaths for a while.

Manon glanced up at Eryn. “What?” she murmured when she redirected her attention to Marjorie.

“One stipulation in the will,” Marjorie said, a bit unclear in the mask as she breathed faster. “You can’t live in solitude. Only with friends…or a loved one.”

Manon’s shoulders began to shake, and Eryn realized that she was crying but trying to hide her reaction.
Interesting terms! The whole Dodd Manor, if she doesn’t live alone.

“I understand, Marjorie,” Manon managed. “But you can still get better.”

“I have…lived my life long enough.”

“Don’t give up yet.” Manon spoke in a low voice just beside Marjorie’s ear. “We still need you.”

“After an entire century…I need to rest.”

“That’s okay. You rest, and Eryn and I will deal with whatever needs taking care of.” Manon glanced up at Eryn, the message in her eyes impossible to misunderstand.

“Yes,” Eryn added, “you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Very good.” Marjorie’s words were almost inaudible and her paleness went beyond white. Drops of sweat beaded on her forehead, and she struggled for every breath.

The door opened and two women entered.

“I’m Dr. Goldberg,” one began. “Mrs. Dodd Endicott’s primary physician.” She extended a hand.

“And I’m Vera Myles, the head nurse,” said the other woman. “Should we step out into the corridor?”

“No,” Marjorie interrupted from her bed, having removed the mask again. “I know the truth. You can talk in here.”

Eryn had always admired Marjorie but never more than now.

A monitor beeped. “All right,” Dr. Goldberg said, and walked up to the bed. “If you promise me to keep the mask on and breathe properly.” She adjusted the monitor and frowned. “We can’t have your oxygen level go below 93 percent. Deal, Mrs. Dodd? Good.”

Dr. Goldberg motioned toward the corner of the room that held a few chairs. They all sat down, and Eryn made sure that nobody had their back toward Marjorie.

“Mrs. Dodd Endicott has signed a document rendering you next of kin, Ms. Belmont. She also told me that Ms. Goddard is writing about her life, and she wants you here as well.” She stopped talking and looked intently at Manon and Eryn, as if to judge if they were following her. “Mrs. Dodd has suffered a stroke to her right cerebral hemisphere. She can’t move the left side of her body and also suffers from a facial paralysis. We’re treating this condition with a clot-busting drug called TPA, but with a person of Mrs. Dodd’s age…the prognosis isn’t very good.”

Eryn, shaken by the doctor’s cold, matter-of-fact words, glanced at Marjorie, who was smiling serenely.

“What can be done at this point?” Manon asked. Her hands were tight fists, and two small red spots on her cheeks emphasized her paleness.

“We’ve performed a CT, to establish where and how extensive the stroke is, and also scheduled Mrs. Dodd for a MRI tomorrow morning—”

An alarm from the monitors silenced the doctor, and she rushed to Marjorie’s side, pushing up her eyelids and producing a small flashlight. Eryn and Manon rose and stood by the wall out of the way when more staff rushed into the room. “Damn, she’s thrown another clot. Left pupil’s fixed and dilated.” Dr. Goldberg listened to Marjorie’s lungs. “And in her left lung as well. What the hell’s going on?”

“BP is 56/38, Doctor,” a nurse’s aide reported.

“Call a Code Blue.” Dr. Goldberg listened to Marjorie’s chest, and at the same time more monitors went off. “Asystole! Push vasopressin and adrenaline.” She turned to Eryn and Manon. “Please wait outside.”

Eryn cradled Manon’s shoulders, and they let more of the staff into the room before they stepped out into the corridor.

Half an hour later, Dr. Goldberg joined them. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Dodd Endicott died despite all our efforts. She threw several clots in her brain and lungs. I can’t be sure at this point, but she seems to have developed a blood condition very rapidly. The autopsy, if there is going to be one, can tell us more.”

Eryn began to cry quietly when she realized that the extraordinary woman she’d just begun to know had passed away. A glance at Manon showed how devastated she was. Manon was as pale as Eryn felt, and her lips were pressed into a thin, colorless line.

“No.” Manon sounded mechanical in her response. “No autopsy.”

“I’ll make a note in her file, then. Please accept my condolences. Mrs. Dodd seems to have lived a long, healthy life. I know it’s little comfort for you, but not everyone has the same good fortune.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“The nurses have made it somewhat more presentable in there, and they can come back later and take care of Mrs. Dodd. You can have a few moments to pay your respects. I’m sorry to have to rush you, but we have a shortage of beds. We need the room.”

“We understand, Doctor.”

Eryn was amazed at how collected Manon sounded until they were alone in the hospital room with Marjorie’s body. The nurses had placed her hands by her sides and smoothed down the bedsheets. It was as if Manon shrank when she approached the bed and reached out to touch Marjorie’s cheek. “Dearest, dearest Marge,” she whispered. “You can rest now. I know Michael is there to greet you. Be safe and well, wherever you are…” Manon let go and walked over to the window, the glass reflecting her image as she hugged herself and began to cry.

Eryn crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around Manon from behind. “Shh. I have you.”

“She…she went so fast.”

“I know. Good for her, though.”

“Do you think she suffered?” Manon turned slightly in Eryn’s arms and looked up at her with a vulnerability Eryn had never seen.

“I don’t know, but she lost consciousness pretty quickly.” Eryn hoped this was true.

“Yes, she did.” It was as if Manon was eager to cling to Eryn’s opinion. “She looked serene even when they worked on her.” Manon buried her face in Eryn’s neck and drew a deep breath. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“It’ll take a while for this to sink in. I didn’t know her very long, but she was wonderful to me.”

“She admired you very much.” Manon apparently drew new strength from their closeness and hugged Eryn harder. “Marjorie was an excellent judge of character. She helped me so many times when I was at a loss.”

“Were you ever at a loss about me?” Eryn asked, and felt a small tremor reverberate from Manon.

“From day one.”

At a knock on the door, Manon pulled back, smoothing her already-perfect hair. She took one step farther to the side and glanced at Marjorie, her face softening, before she raised her voice. “Come in.”

Two nurse’s aides entered and apologized for having to take the room away so quickly.

The distance between them was back, but Eryn now knew more of the depth of Manon’s emotions, so she didn’t mind.

“We’ll take care of all the arrangements once we’ve decided on which funeral parlor,” Manon said.

Eryn felt, rather than heard, how Manon’s voice trembled. She nodded to the nurses, placed a protective hand on the small of Manon’s back, and guided her out of the room. “Let’s go home and try to get some more sleep. We’ll have time to deal with everything tomorrow.”

When the elevator doors closed, Manon slumped back against Eryn’s arm for a brief moment. “Yes,” she murmured. “Tomorrow.”

Mike, wearing black leather slacks, white shirt, and a long, narrow, black coat, tucked Vivian’s hand securely into the bend of her arm as they stepped out of the store. Mike’s hair had grown a little longer and curled slightly above the collar. When Vivian had asked her to go to the optician with her, Mike arranged for part-time help.

Vivian had bought new sunglasses, prescribed by an ophthalmologist in Boston. They accented her hair, which she wore in a simple twist. Her red pants suit, however, accentuated by her snow white cashmere pashmina, spoke of elegance and money. Several passersby on Main Street turned their heads and gave Vivian admiring and curious glances.

“Do your new glasses help?”

“Yes, actually. I can make out more outlines of buildings and people than I could over the weekend.” She turned toward Mike. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful.” Mike smiled. “Very much the famous opera singer.”

“Funny,” Vivian muttered. “Is Arnold’s Drugstore still located at the corner of Main and Graham? I need to fill my prescriptions.”

“Yes, Arnold’s is still there. Walgreen’s tried to outmaneuver them, but for once, a giant chain had to surrender. Everybody in East Quay goes to Arnold’s. His grandson is taking over now.”

“Amazing. That’s one of the things I’ve missed about this town,” Vivian said. “The incredible way people can rally around the slightest thing sometimes.”

“Yes. They can.”
I know up close and personal just how they can join forces.

“You sound like it’s a bad thing.” Vivian frowned.

“It can be, though not in Arnold’s case.” Mike brushed past the subject. “Here we are. Up two steps and then a self-opening door.”

“Thank you.”

They entered the drugstore and Mike guided Vivian toward the counter, where a young man smiled in welcome. “Ms. Harding. An honor.”

“My pleasure, young man.” Vivian beamed. “I’d like to fill these prescriptions.”

“It’ll be ten or fifteen minutes. You can sit over by the window while you wait and have some free coffee.”

“Coffee? What do you say, Mike?”

“Why not?”

Mike chose a table a little out of the way. The closest ones were occupied, but most of the people sat with their backs turned. She made sure Vivian was seated comfortably, then returned with two steaming cups of black coffee. “It’s not latte, but it smells good.”

“Yes, I can tell.” Vivian carefully tasted it. “Not like your java, but good.”

“Why, if it isn’t Mike Stone,” someone behind them said. “You’ve certainly moved up in the world.”

Mike clenched her teeth to keep them from clattering with dread. With deliberate slowness, she turned to face the woman who’d made her life a living hell. “Hello, Brenda.”

“Ah, Mikey, always so cool and collected. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Brenda Tilly had turned in her chair and now scrutinized Mike and Vivian unabashedly. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

I’d rather throttle you than embarrass Vivian with your intolerable presence.
“Sure. Brenda, this is Vivian Harding, a friend of mine. Vivian, this is Brenda Tilly. She’s an…entrepreneur here in East Quay. We knew each other almost fifteen years ago.”