A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (20 page)

They hugged each other and rocked until Valerie returned with a box of flimsy hospital tissues. She gave a couple to Charlie and took some herself. They blew their noses in nearly perfect unison, which sounded so ridiculous they couldn’t help but laugh.

Pointing at Valerie’s face, Helen said, “You look like a raccoon!”

Valerie pulled a compact out of her purse and checked her reflection. “Oh, yuck.”

Helen and Charlie snickered as Valerie grabbed another tissue, wetted it with her tongue, and wiped at the black gunk under her eyes, which only made matters worse.

“I always told you that stuff would make you look cheap,” Helen said, “but I never thought it would turn you into a rodent.”

“I don’t think a raccoon actually is a rodent,” Charlie said.

“Oh, shut up,” Helen snapped. “Now that I’m dying, everything I say is right.”

Before Charlie or Valerie could respond, a woman with short brown hair and tender eyes came in wearing a smart orange cardigan set and carrying a notebook. “Mrs. Palka?”

“Yes,” Helen said.

Charlie backed away from the bed to give the woman direct access to Helen.

“I’m Claire Yesnick, from Mercy Hospice.” She offered her hand and smiled, deepening the crow’s feet in a face that exuded kindness.

Helen shook her delicate hand. “Well, you know who I am. This is my daughter, Valerie, and my gentleman friend, Charlie.”

Claire nodded to both of them. “I think Dr. Repella told you I’d be coming in to talk to you about our services, right?”

“Right. But I want to stay at home.”

“That’s not a problem,” Claire said. “Most of our patients are cared for in their own homes.”

“Good.”
Thank heavens that won’t be a battle
.

“Now I’d like to tell you a little bit about our staff. Our caregivers range from certified nursing assistants to fully trained RNs, and they stay in close contact with your primary-care physi—”

“Do you have any hunks?” Helen asked.

Claire’s brow wrinkled. “Excuse me?”

“You know, attractive young men. I think that’s the least you can do for an old lady who’s about to croak.”

Chapter 16

Valerie opened her eyes and saw the gilded white vanity table where she’d spent many a teenage hour torturing her hair with a curling iron. Was she dreaming? Then the memory of the day before landed in her chest like a boulder. She was at Mom’s house because Mom was dying.

She recalled the scene at the hospital. She’d never dreamed the diagnosis could be so bad. Not that fast anyway.

When she had called Russell to tell him, he practically accused her of ignoring Mom’s health needs. Valerie knew she’d done the best she could, and she told him so. But she still hadn’t convinced herself.

She heard something in the kitchen, so she got dressed and went downstairs. Mom was sitting at the table eating one of the doughnuts they’d picked up the night before. “Morning,” Valerie said.

“Good morning.” Mom’s voice was pleasant but flat. “Help yourself to some coffee.”

As Valerie poured herself a cup, her mom said, “Sixty years I denied myself these things, and now it doesn’t even taste that good.”

Valerie sat at the table. Mom’s complexion had a yellowish pallor, and the bags under her eyes hung like potato sacks. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much.” Mom put the doughnut down and wiped her hand on a napkin.

“Let’s call the doctor today and see if we can get something to help you sleep.”

“Yes. I suppose we should.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad. Those drugs definitely work.”

“Good. That’s the idea.”

Mom took a sip of coffee. “I don’t want to take too much though. I don’t want to be drugged out when I have so little time as it is.”

“Just enough to stay ahead of the pain. That’s what Dr. Repella said.”

“That sort of assumes I’m psychic, doesn’t it?”

“I think she means take it as soon as you start to feel the pain, rather than waiting until it gets really bad.”

Mom sighed. “I suppose it’ll get easier with time. I’m actually glad I didn’t sleep much. It gave me a lot of time to think.”

“Uh-huh?” Valerie picked a chocolate glazed doughnut out of the box.

“Yes, by all means, eat those while you still have an appetite for them.”

“I can’t eat them too often. My cellulite is beginning to get cellulite.”

“Oh, who the hell cares?”

Valerie stopped mid bite. “Mother!”

“What?”

“You said ‘hell.’”

“So?”

“I’ve never heard you say it before.”

“Oh. Well, maybe that’s because I’m closer to going there.”

Valerie chortled. “I doubt it. A good little Lutheran like you. So what were you thinking about?”

“When? Oh, last night?”

“Yeah.”

Mom traced the handle of her coffee mug. Her finger joints looked like the burls on an oak tree. “I figure I’ve got two choices. I can either wallow in self-pity, or I can make the most of the time I have left. For a while there, the self-pity option sounded pretty good because, believe me, I do feel sorry for myself.” She took a deep breath. “But that won’t get me what I really want, which is time. And wallowing in pity is a big waste of time. So no more weeping and wailing. For any of us.”

Valerie marveled at Mom’s composure. “All right.”

“And no more sweating the small stuff.” Mom wagged a knobby index finger at her. “That goes for you, too.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You need to stop worrying so much about what
might
happen. ‘Oh, Mom, you might fall and break your hip.’ I’ve already had a hip replacement, and I survived quite well, thank you very much. And now that I’m dying anyway, you can stop worrying about me having a stroke or a heart attack.”

Valerie couldn’t argue with that, so she took a bite of doughnut. Her silence seemed to calm her mom, who took another drink of coffee.

Then Mom’s cool-blue gaze moved away from Valerie, and a faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I used to worry endlessly about all the ways you kids could get hurt. Then when none of those things ever happened, I thought ‘Good heavens!’ What a lot of time I wasted worrying about those things.” She shook her head absently. “I was so worried about what
could
happen that I often didn’t enjoy what
was
happening.”

“Well, you were being a conscientious parent.”

“Yes. But I sometimes wish I’d just thrown caution to the wind and jumped in and lived.”

The way I should have done with Keith
. “I’m not very good at that myself.”

“You did it when you started Triple-H. I was very proud of you.”

“You were?”

“Oh, yes. You just jumped right in there. It was very gutsy.”

“Hmm. Maybe too gutsy.”

“I’m also very proud of what you’ve done with Mother Hubbard.”

“You are?”

“You provide a valuable service with those centers. And as much as I loved raising you kids, there were times when I wished I could have gone back to work sooner. You’ve enabled many women to follow their career dreams while also providing good care for their kids.”

Wow.
She would have expected to hear such things from Dad, but not Mom. Why did it take a terminal illness for Mom to give her some kudos? Whatever. It sure sounded good. “I . . . thank you.”

“Of course, I do realize your success has taken a toll on your personal life, and I’m sorry about that.”

“No need for you to apologize. That’s primarily my fault.”

“I just mean it makes me sad.” She poked at her unfinished doughnut. “I hate to say it, but sometimes your greatest strength can also be your worst enemy.”

Valerie understood her meaning perfectly. Career success was a pathetic substitute for a loving embrace. She sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I think that lesson is finally sinking in.” She studied the papery lids hanging over her mother’s eyes. “How about you? Has there been something like that in your life?”

“Hmm.” Mom tilted her head. “Well, I’m not sure it’s quite the same, but there have been times when I’ve felt my loyalty was a curse. I was so loyal to your father and you kids that I abandoned my own career dreams. But that’s what most women did at the time, and even if I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d probably still make the same choices. So I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pursue my career, but I’m not sorry I had a family. Does that make sense?”

Valerie offered a reassuring smile as she reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand. “It sure does.” Then she sat back. “You know, I never did understand why you didn’t do some community theater.”

“Because I was a snob.”

“A snob?”

“Darn right.” She held her head up straight. “I was one of the most talented actresses in Chicago at one time. There was no way I was going to lower myself to the inferior status of ‘community theater.’” She practically spat the last two words.

Valerie barked a laugh. “You
are
a snob! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so confidently about your acting.”

“Well”—Mom waved a hand modestly—“I didn’t think you kids would be interested. That was ancient history to you. Speaking of kids, I noticed Keith has been acting a little strange lately whenever I mention your name. Is everything all right between you two?”

Oh, dear
. “We hit a little rough patch, but . . . I’m determined to set things right.”

Mom’s face oozed skepticism. “I sure as hell hope so.”

“Mom! That’s twice you’ve said ‘hell’ today.”

“Yes, and you’re going to hear it a hell of a lot more if you
don’t
set things right with him. Fellows like that don’t just grow on trees, you know.”

“I know.”
Believe me, I know
. “But if they did, that would be a hell of a forest, wouldn’t it?”

After Valerie left, Helen decided to take a bubble bath. She had a couple of hours before Charlie was scheduled to arrive with her favorite deep-dish pizza.

While the tub filled, she turned the bathroom space heater on and tuned the clock radio to the jazz station. “Oh, good. ‘Big Band Hour.’ Now
that
was music.”

She shed her nightclothes and inspected her bandage. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What was I thinking?” She couldn’t take a bath, not for at least two weeks. The post-surgery instruction sheet said showers only.

She turned off the water and sat down on the toilet next to the tub. It seemed like every muscle and joint ached. Before draining the tub, she ran her fingers through the silky water, inhaling the lilac-scented bubble bath Russell had mailed her two birthdays ago. Or was it three? She practically never used the stuff. What on earth was she saving it for? Her funeral?

“Well, that’ll be here soon enough.” The whole thing still didn’t seem real. She closed her eyes for a moment. Her head felt odd, like she had a hangover. That could have been lack of sleep, or the pain medication. Or shock.

“Well, Stanley, you’re about to get a visitor. Only I won’t be just visiting.” She opened her eyes and squeezed some of the tiny bath bubbles. “Maybe you orchestrated all of this to get me away from Charlie.” She chuckled. “That would be just like you. Always getting your way.”

She closed her eyes again. “Please, if you have any pull up there, ask them to go easy on me. I’m not afraid of dying as much as I am the pain.” Her heart rate accelerated and she sighed. “God only knows what kind of pain you endured. I hope it went fast. You know how many times I prayed that it went fast.” Tears stung her eyelids. “Please, Stanley,
please
help me pass gently. I promise I’ll never nag you about anything again.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her dry hand. “Well, except for that last anniversary gift you gave me. I know you meant well, but when I suggested something steamy, I didn’t mean an iron.”

The smell of cooking bacon made Valerie’s stomach grumble as she and Pam studied their menus at Pancake Paradise.

“So why did you want to meet here?” Pam asked.

“Because I’m always saying I’m going to have some chocolate-chip pancakes and I never do. According to my mom,
now
is the time.”

Pam smiled sympathetically. “How is she doing?”

“Amazingly well.” Valerie put down her menu. “I’m not convinced it’s completely sunk in yet, for either one of us. But so far, so good.”

A young waitress with a tattoo of roses encircling her neck stopped at their table. “Are you ladies ready to order?”

“I’m ready, but . . .” Valerie turned to Pam.

“Oh, I’m ready,” Pam said. “I always get the same thing, pigs in a blanket.” She tried to hand her menu to the waitress.

“We don’t have those,” the waitress said.

Pam’s eyebrows rose. “They’re just pancakes wrapped around sausage links.”

“Oh. You mean Flapjack Wraps.”

Pam paused a beat. “Whatever. I’ll have those.”

Squelching a smile, Valerie ordered her pancakes. When the waitress left, she said, “I hope her future husband likes roses.”

“How do you know she wants a husband? And be careful, you’re dating yourself when you poke fun at tattoos.”

“Look who’s talking, Miss Pigs in a Blanket. How 1970s is that?”

Pam sneered. “Touché. So what is it you wanted to talk about?”

Valerie sucked in a big breath and exhaled.
I hope she won’t be too disappointed
. “I think we should sell Triple-H. If anyone will buy it, that is.”

Pam’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Why?”

“It’s just too much. It’s eating me alive,
us
alive.”

“But you were so enthusiastic!” Pam’s brow puckered. “Isn’t it too soon to give up?”

Valerie shook her head. “My mom’s diagnosis convinced me it’s never too soon to face the cold, hard facts. Especially in business. I’ve read many things over the years about companies that expanded too fast and lost sight of their core business. I always tried to prevent that from happening with Mother Hubbard, but I didn’t realize the danger could be just as great when expanding with a whole new business.”

The waitress brought two mugs of coffee. They both thanked her, and Valerie continued. “It seems like every time we turn around, there’s something else going wrong. I’m not saying these things could have been prevented, but when you’re pulled in too many different directions, it increases the risk. I’m afraid
I
bit off more than
we
could chew.”

Pam still appeared stricken. “But I know how much you wanted to make this work.”

“Yes, but not at the expense of my sanity. And I can see the toll it’s taking on you. Now tell me honestly, doesn’t the idea of selling give you some sense of relief?”

Pam frowned and bobbed her head to the right and then the left. “Well, yes. But running any business is hard, especially in the early years. You just have to tough it out.”

“Maybe I’m just getting too old. All I know is I’m tired of constantly living on the edge. And—now brace yourself—I want to have a life.”

Pam’s smile contained a tinge of I-told-you-so sadness. “You know I won’t argue with that.”

“Not if you don’t want to be a hypocrite.” Valerie started to put two packets of artificial sweetener in her coffee, then put one back. “I want to spend as much time with my mom as I can. And, if I can ever get Keith back, I want to spend more time with him.”

“Any progress on that front?”

“No. I had a plan, but now I need to tell him about Mom, and I don’t want him to come back to me out of pity.”

“Hmm.” Pam nodded and frowned thoughtfully. “Why don’t you implement your plan first, see if it works, and
then
tell him about your mom?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do. Then if he does take me back, I’ll know—” Valerie’s phone rang, so she took it out of her purse and checked the caller ID. “Eric. I asked him to put out some feelers to potential buyers.” She pressed the answer button. “Hi, Eric.”