Prodigal Son: A Novel Page 7

  Pru was a widow now, and she loved helping Maggie, and for Maggie it was a joy having someone to talk to, other than her husband and daughter, who were both busy. Pru brought Maggie the books and magazines she asked for, and took books out from the library for her. And the two women laughed and talked as Pru diligently cleaned the house and muttered about how much dust had accumulated from one time to the next. She had none of Maggie’s interest in world affairs, but she was always well versed on all the local gossip, which Maggie loved to hear, although she hardly saw anyone anymore. Michael was so discreet that he never told her anything, and Lisa was too young to care what the adults in Ware were doing. She was only interested in what was happening at school. Pru Walker livened up Maggie’s life considerably, and was a godsend for her. She had been cleaning house for them for fifteen years, since they had moved into Michael’s parents’ house. It was a big rambling old home, and needed more than just Michael and Lisa to clean it. And Maggie loved every bit of the local news she heard from Pru. Between Pru and the Internet, Maggie was thoroughly informed.

  When Michael bounded up the stairs at the end of his day, and let himself in through the front door, he hung his hat and coat up in the front hall. There were delicious cooking smells coming from the kitchen. Lisa had called him an hour before to see what time he’d be home. Because of her mother’s infirmity, she often acted more like a wife than a daughter. At sixteen she ran an excellent home. Michael often came home at lunchtime to give Maggie lunch, if Pru wasn’t there, but Lisa did all the rest. She cooked dinner and bought their groceries, and in spite of her domestic duties, Lisa got excellent grades. Michael’s face exploded into a smile the moment he saw her, with an apron over her short denim skirt, as she wandered out of the kitchen to greet him. His wide smile was matched by her own.

  “Hi, Daddy, how was your day?” She looked ecstatic to see her father. The house was always much too quiet until he got home. And while cooking dinner, she had done her homework in the kitchen. She had made leg of lamb from a recipe she’d taken out of a magazine. She always had a hot meal waiting for him, and they ran a tray up to her mother if she wasn’t well enough to be carried down, which was often the case these days. The Parkinson’s was worsening at a rapid rate, much to Michael’s dismay. He never mentioned it to Maggie and Lisa, but Maggie could see it in his eyes when he observed her.

  “My day was pretty good. Better now that I came home to you. How’s Mom?” he asked her quickly as he gave her a big hug and pulled her into his arms. He looked a great deal like Peter, but was shorter and stockier. Peter had always been tall and thin and better looking, and Michael had a more powerful build. He looked like a blond teddy bear as he held her.

  “Mom seems pretty good,” Lisa said with a broad smile. Her eyes danced as she looked at her father. He had been her hero all her life, and everyone else’s in Ware. And Maggie’s too.

  “I’ll run up and see her before we eat. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.” He had had lunch at noon on the fly, and hadn’t had time to eat anything since then. He usually started work at seven with house calls. It was a long day for him. And all Lisa wanted was to join him in his practice eventually and follow in his footsteps. Just as Michael had done with his father, Lisa’s ultimate goal was to work with him.

  “Leg of lamb. New recipe,” she said proudly. She had her mother’s dark hair and her father’s blue eyes, but she was petite like her mother, without looking frail like Maggie. And Maggie was very thin after many years in bed, and with a poor appetite. It was always a struggle getting her to eat, especially lately. Lisa had a fuller, more womanly figure. She looked like a ballerina with her long dark hair that she had pulled back in a knot. Michael ran up the stairs then to see his wife. She was lying on her bed with her computer on her lap, and beamed at him as he walked into their room. He was so vital and alive, like a breath of fresh air in her room.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said happily. “Long day. You must be exhausted.” She hadn’t seen him since breakfast. She always worried about him, as he did about her. He smiled when he saw that she was watching a documentary about Japan on her computer. It was a tour of the temples in Kyoto. He leaned over her bed and kissed her, and as soon as he did, he frowned, and then smoothed his brow so as not to worry Maggie, but she had seen it. She knew all his expressions and what they meant, always about her health.

  “Something wrong?” She looked suddenly anxious. He was her barometer for how she was doing, and she could always read it in his eyes, regardless of what he said. She knew all the unspoken signals, no matter how well he tried to hide them. She could see right through him when he was concealing his concern.

  “Are you having chills?” he asked casually, as he pulled a blood pressure cuff out of a drawer next to her bed, and she turned off her computer.

  “No, I’m feeling fine. Actually, really good. I wanted to come downstairs tonight for dinner. It smells delicious.” There was a hint of garlic in the air, which made it even more appealing.

  “Let’s see what the magic puffer tells us,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed her again, and pumped the cuff until it squeezed her arm and then he released it and frowned again. She could tell instantly that he didn’t like what he read, but he slipped it off her arm before she could see what it said. He never liked to worry her. But she was well aware of her bad health and slow but steady deterioration.

  “Bad?” she asked, looking worried. And he paused a beat before he answered. She knew what that meant too. It meant that something was wrong again. She had low blood pressure often, which made her dizzy, but she had been feeling strong that night, until then.

  “Of course not,” he reassured her. “But I don’t think you should come downstairs tonight. I want you to stay up here and take it easy.” She looked instantly disappointed, like a child who had been told her birthday party had been canceled. She had waited all afternoon and evening to see him, and was looking forward to having dinner with him and Lisa. Michael hadn’t let her come downstairs to dinner all week. She was used to it, but she lived for these moments with them. No one visited her anymore except Pru, to clean their house. She had been shut in for too long. The only people in her world were her husband and daughter, now that their son was in London. And Michael discouraged people from visiting her because he didn’t want her getting sick. Ever since her accident, her lungs weren’t strong. And she had no resistance to diseases they might bring in. For Maggie, it could mean death. Sometimes he even told Pru not to come if Maggie was sick, or Pru had a cold, which could be dangerous for Maggie.

  “I was hoping to come down to dinner.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “I felt really good today.” But now, after seeing the look in his eyes, she realized that she was a little dizzy. Maybe he was right.

  “We don’t want you falling out of your wheelchair,” he said gently. She had been hoping to use her walker, but she didn’t want to insist. If she fell and hurt herself, it would upset him and Lisa, and she didn’t want that. She was such a burden to them, and she knew it. “I’ll bring you dinner up here. You can put on a movie.” She had already seen two that day, and all she wanted was to have dinner with her family, which she was able to do now less and less often. The Parkinson’s was making her even more shaky, and unsteady. And she knew from what she read on the Internet that eventually it would get worse.

  “All right,” she said sadly, as he kissed her again and left the room. He was back five minutes later with a tray Lisa had prepared for her with a pretty linen placemat and napkin. She wished that she could be doing these things, instead of her daughter.

  “Room service,” Michael said with a bow as he set the tray over her knees. She was tired of eating in her room alone, but she could hardly ask them to eat on trays with her. They had a right to a normal dinner. But looking at the tray he left with her, she was no longer hungry. It smelled delicious, but she couldn’t eat. She just sat there looking at it, as tears slid down her cheeks. She had mis
sed an entire lifetime while lying in her bedroom, but she was immensely grateful that she had Michael and her children. She picked up her fork and began toying with the food. She had to eat something—she didn’t want to hurt Lisa’s feelings. She had the same ballerina looks as her daughter, but after a lifetime of illness, she looked more like a doll, laid gently on her bed. And Michael treated her like one. She was the doll that he had kept alive since they married, and she was grateful to him for that. She thought about sending Bill an e-mail then, but she didn’t want him to sense that she was sad, and he knew her well, sometimes even better than his father.

  Downstairs, Michael and Lisa were laughing at the kitchen table. She was telling him what had happened at school that day, and about her friends, but her best friend was her father. She told him everything and always asked for his advice. She couldn’t do that with her mother—she had always been taught to shield her and care for her almost like a child. And her father had warned her and her brother since they were young not to challenge their mother’s nerves—she was too fragile. So they turned to him with all their joys and heartaches, and not their mother. Maggie had spent her entire life on the sidelines, since that fateful day skating on the pond. But Lisa and her father were full of life as they chatted. He helped her do the dishes afterward while they continued to talk. Like her, he couldn’t wait for the day when she joined him in his practice. It had been his life’s dream, and now it was hers too. They were soul mates. And it was after ten when Michael went upstairs to Maggie, and Lisa went to her room to watch TV and talk to her friends on the phone.

  Maggie was awake when he walked into the room, and she looked bored and lonely. She had turned her computer off for the night, and was silently worrying about her health after Michael’s visit to her room before dinner, when she had seen his concern. What she had glimpsed in his eyes had dampened her spirits. And sometimes she wished that he and Lisa didn’t spend quite so long over dinner, but they always had a lot to say to each other, and she had so little to contribute since she did nothing all day and was sequestered from the world. All she could tell them was what she had seen on the Internet. Her husband and daughter were both involved with real people and real life.

  “Tired?” he asked her, as he sat down on the bed and looked at her. She could see something in his eyes again, that fleeting hint of worry that always scared her.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, smiling at him, and reached for his hand. He took her pale delicately carved hand in his own and held it.

  “I’ll give you a sleeping pill in a few minutes,” he promised, as though she were longing for it, but she wasn’t.

  “I don’t need one. And I’m not sleepy yet. Let’s talk for a while.” He laughed as she said it, as though she were a child with a totally ridiculous idea, like going to the zoo at night.

  “Let’s see. I got up at five this morning, and visited my first patient at seven. I did eleven home visits, had office hours, and worked a twelve-hour day.” He glanced at his watch then. “And I have to get up in seven hours, and start all over again. If you’re expecting intelligent conversation from me at this hour, my love, I’m afraid you’re going to be seriously disappointed. Even without a sleeping pill, I’ll be asleep before you are! And I don’t have time to learn new facts on Google all day.”

  “I’m sorry!” She looked instantly guilty for wanting time with him. “You must be exhausted.” He was, and all he wanted to do was shower and get into bed. And he wanted her to get a good rest too. She looked worn out to him, even if she claimed not to feel it. He was still convinced that she spent far too much time on the Internet, instead of resting.

  He went to a drawer across the room then, took out the bottle of sleeping pills, and handed one to her with a glass of water.

  “Honestly, I don’t need it,” she insisted. If she had trouble sleeping, she could always watch a movie on her computer with earphones, and would have preferred it. But Michael preferred medication, since he was a physician.

  “Who’s the doctor here?” he asked mock sternly, and she laughed.

  “You are. But I’ll sleep fine without it.”

  “Let’s be sure. I’ll feel better if you take it.” They lived by hospital rules, with Michael in charge of her medications and treatment, but he always knew what was best for her, and he was always proven right. And she didn’t like going against his wishes. She swallowed the pill and looked up at him with a smile. She was a gentle, loving person, and had been docile for their entire marriage. He loved being married to her, no matter how ill she was. He knew what to expect right from the beginning, and had no illusions about it. He hadn’t expected her to get better, and she hadn’t. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said as he left to take a shower. And by the time he got back half an hour later, Maggie was drifting off to sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him peacefully.

  “I love you,” she murmured, already half asleep.

  “I love you too,” he said, as he got into bed next to her and kissed her. She kissed him back and then fell asleep in his arms, as he looked down at her and gently smoothed her hair. He knew that one day she would no longer be with him, and he wanted to make her as comfortable as possible and do everything he could for her now. They had been lucky so far, but he knew that one day that wouldn’t be the case. They had been fighting the inevitable for years.

  Chapter 5

  When Peter walked into the house on Lake Wickaboag, a thousand memories engulfed him immediately. He picked up the key at a local realtor in West Brookfield who had kept an eye on the house for him for years, and reported on annual repairs that needed to be done before the winter. He had put on a new roof several years before after there had been some leaks. There was a flood when some pipes froze one year and then burst. On the whole the house looked dreary but was in good repair. Nothing had changed since he’d last seen it. Its last occupant had been his mother. She had spent her final summer there when she was very sick, and died shortly after she left it. And the furniture was the same as he remembered from his childhood. The upholstery had faded, but the memories hadn’t. He still remembered the regattas, the sailboats on the lake, swimming to the raft, fishing with his father and brother. Despite his frequent problems with his twin, the lake had been a happy place for him.

  He turned the lights on in the house, and saw how dusty everything was, but he was too tired to go back to Boston, so he had no choice but to spend the night. He found some old bedding in a closet, and walked into his boyhood room. There were two narrow beds in it, and he made up the one that had been his for all the years they’d gone there. They had selected a place close to home, so their father could still go back and forth to Ware to work when necessary to see patients. He tried to lighten his work schedule in the summer, but rarely took off completely.

  Peter walked through every room in the house and then opened a back door and went to sit in an old chair on the deck and looked up at the stars. It was strange to think how far he’d gone since he’d been there, and now he had to start all over again. He wondered if he would have done anything different if he had known how his career on Wall Street would end. Probably not.

  He thought about his parents more intensely than he had in a long time, and his twin. It had been such a fierce competition between them for their parents’ affection, and Peter had felt through his entire childhood that Michael always won. Michael had to have their attention and approval, and did whatever it took to get it. Peter wondered what had happened to Michael, what kind of life he was leading, and if Maggie was still alive. He had always liked her. They had dated for a short time in high school, when she was a sophomore and he was a senior, but nothing ever came of it, and then he left for college. He didn’t see her again until after the accident, when he came home for a visit, and Michael was courting her by then. He had been devoted to her after she was injured, and fiercely protective of her. She was a beautiful girl, but she had been seriously impaired after the incident o
n the pond. Her mother said that the doctor was sure she would improve over the years, but when Peter had seen her at his parents’ funerals, she had seemed even more frail. He hadn’t seen her since, nor his twin, after their vehement arguments over the will. It seemed unlikely to Peter that she was still alive fifteen years later, given the condition she had been in, and with no contact with anyone in Ware, he had no way of knowing if she’d died. He hoped she hadn’t, she had been such a sweet girl and the accident had been so devastating. She had been a champion figure skater, but after her injury there was no way she could lead a semblance of a normal life. It was impressive and touching that Michael had married her in spite of it and wanted to take care of her. No matter what Peter thought of his brother, for Maggie’s sake, he hoped that she was happy and alive.

  Their last child had been just a baby when he last saw them. Maggie had held her in her arms while Michael pushed her in a wheelchair. The church had been filled to the rafters for his father’s funeral, and nearly as much so for his mother. He closed his eyes and thought of all of them as he sat on the deck in the cold February air. There was a chill wind off the lake, and finally he went back in the house, but could find no food in the cupboards or refrigerator, and he wasn’t hungry anyway. A little while later, he turned off the lights and went to bed. He woke up stiff and tired in the narrow bed as the sun streamed into the room. It was still early, and he had to get back to New York. Nothing had come of the meeting in Boston, and he wanted to go to L.A. as soon as possible to see Alana and the boys.