The Art of Saying Goodbye - Ellyn Bache [40]
“Well, take care, Paisley,” Mr. Adler says. “I mean it. Take good care.” The undertone of affection in his voice is something people seem to reserve strictly for Paisley. Affection and worry. Mr. Adler heads for his house.
Paisley smiles up at Mason as he stands behind her. Something private happens between them, from which Andrea is excluded. Have they always been this way, locked into their own closed and private world? Or did this happen only after Paisley got sick? After all these years thinking she and Paisley were best friends, Andrea feels she’s never known her at all. She’s never known either of them, except in the most distant way.
They are the kind of people who, when you say, “Hey, how’re you doing?” will reply, “Great. Great!”—even now, with Paisley that odd yellow color, too weak to walk, and Mason wheeling her around the block in a wheelchair.
“Great. Great.”
Which seems completely wrong to Andrea.
Or completely brave.
Iona goes straight out into her front yard when she sees what’s going on, Jeff and Lori trailing her. It’s awkward, the three of them like puppies curious to sniff around. But what else can they do?
“Paisley, it’s good to see you up and about,” Iona says. A lie. Being in a wheelchair isn’t exactly up, and Paisley’s color is horrible.
“The weather’s so gorgeous, I couldn’t stay inside.” Changing the subject, Paisley gestures with a graceful hand toward Lori’s stomach. “I guess it won’t be long.”
“A couple of weeks.”
“Late fall’s a good time to have a baby. You’ll be inside during the winter when he needs to be in anyway, and by the time it’s spring, he’ll be ready to be out and about.”
“She,” Lori says.
“Even better.”
Paisley holds her arms up and out to the flawless sky. “Look at this!” she says. “Just look at this!”
“It’s wonderful,” Iona agrees.
“Come see us,” Paisley says. As if at a signal, Mason flashes a parting smile that looks about as merry as a dog baring its teeth and begins to push the wheelchair again. His color is worse than Paisley’s, white instead of yellow, as if he’s just completed a workout that was a little too much for him. A wheelchair is not a stroller but a heavy, cumbersome thing, meant to be confined to flat interior surfaces. It’s no match for a bumpy road. How Mason got it down to Hazelwood Way, and how he’s ever going to get it back up to Lindenwood Court again, Iona isn’t sure. You have to give him credit. If he’s having trouble maneuvering the thing, he’s trying his best not to let it show.
Iona turns once they’re out of sight and walks back into the house. Jeff and Lori are right behind her. She wishes her hands would stop shaking. The truth is, Paisley is so spunky that once you get used to the jaundice and the wheelchair, you convince yourself she doesn’t look half-bad. It’s Mason’s ravaged face that tells her how sick she is. His look of exertion. Of forbearance. Of love. How could she have imagined the man was trying to poison Paisley?
“Iona, you okay?” Lori’s voice comes at her from a distance.
“Fine.” She sits down at her desk, wishing they would leave. She feels Lori’s hand on her shoulder, solid and warm.
“You’re not going to start boo-hooing, are you?” Jeff asks.
Iona looks at him sharply. “Did you ever see me boo-hooing about anything?”
“There’s always a first time.”
“Huh,” Iona growls.
“Leave her alone, Jeff,” Lori says. There’s a hint of a smile in her voice. She thinks he’s so funny.
Iona used to think Richard was funny, in almost this same way.
Even though she was supposed to meet with one of her suppliers this afternoon, Ginger is glad she didn’t ask Eddie to go get Rachel when the school called. Rachel had made it through lunch, which meant she’d suffered through half the day, hating to ask anyone to call her parents. By the time Ginger got there, Rachel was practically doubled over with cramps. “There’s a nasty stomach virus going around,” the school nurse told her.
“I spent all morning running to the bathroom, but nothing was happening,” Rachel confessed on the way home.
“The