In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [84]
Of course you must go. He was suddenly tired, so desperately tired. . . . He was drifting away . . . sinking into that black hole without even the glimmer of a light at the end.
Mel felt Art Jacobs’s hand on her shoulder. “Better let him rest now, Zelda,” he said, helping her to her feet.
She glanced up at the “Zelda,” but this was Ed’s friend. It was all right, she knew that now.
“I’m afraid I overheard your conversation,” Art said with an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re gone.”
“You promise he’ll still be here when I get back?” Her eyes had that urgent look again.
He nodded. “I promise to do the best I can,” he said.
And Mel knew that, after all, he could do no more than that.
45
Riley and Harriet were waiting for Mel at LAX, and their joy at seeing her positively shone from them, like the sunshine of this LA day.
Riley leaped into her arms, burrowing into her shoulder like a squirrel, smothering her neck, her face—any part of her she could reach—in kisses.
Oh, God, did her kid feel good, her string-bean legs, just like her own, wrapped tightly around her. And did her kid smell good: of freshly washed hair and a clean cotton T-shirt dried in the sun in the backyard, and of McDonald’s fries. And did she taste good. “Sweet as ice cream,” Mel assured her, returning the sloppy kisses vehemently.
“You smell of airplanes and you taste of old coffee,” Riley complained happily, and Mel laughed as she slid her back to the ground. Holding on to Riley with one hand, she flung her free arm around Harriet, who was even less complimentary, but still glad to see her.
“You look like hell,” Harriet said bluntly.
“Thanks a lot, friend.” Mel grinned happily back at her. “It’s nothing compared to the way I feel.”
“Mom, how’s Ed? Did he say he would come on our Sundays yet?”
“Ed is doing okay, honey. I spoke with the doctor and he promised me Ed will be fine while I’m here with you. I’m sure Ed understood your message, and, soon as he’s better, he’ll become a permanent member of our Sunday schedule.”
“What about me?” Harriet complained, hefting Mel’s old duffel and setting off for the parking lot. “What am I supposed to do on Sundays? All alone?”
“Oh, Harr.” Riley’s big brown eyes, so like her mother’s, looked suddenly stricken. She hadn’t meant to hurt Harriet’s feelings. “You can come too, if you really want to.”
“That’s okay, kid. I can take it. After a week of looking after you, you can be sure I’ll be glad for those Sundays off. Alone, ” she said with a grin. “Just kidding, Riley,” she added, in case of any misunderstanding.
Harriet drove the old Volvo wagon and Mel snuggled in the backseat with Riley, their arms around each other, kisses being given and taken, promises of special treats being made, even an ice cream before supper, if she wanted. Did she want? Riley gave Harriet the important directions to the nearest Baskin-Robbins, whose location she knew by heart. Then, licking their cones—pistachio for Mel, coffee for Harriet, and vanilla-chocolate swirl lavished with sprinkles for Riley—they drove home.
Mel stared around her small, shabby house as though seeing it for the first time. It looked exactly the same. The same scarred wooden floors, the same funky mixed bag of furniture, the same old upright piano with the ivory missing from two keys and the bass pedal that stuck at Riley’s most important bits of music practice. The enormous sofa bought at a house sale that was more suitable for a mansion than a cottage, its bronze velvet draped now with creamy chenille throws; the kitchen painted a cheerful Mediterranean blue and yellow; the gauzy curtains billowing from the upstairs windows in the sea breeze; the porch with its usual clutter of childhood things; and the hammock piled with squashed cushions.
Lola pranced toward them on her hind legs. “Just like a circus dog,” Riley said proudly as Lola yelped and nipped ankles