doesn’t talk much about.” Aunt Mel placed her hand on my arm. “Try to understand.”
I battled with understanding. It was hard to forget the past and its pain. I stared at the tapestry of dull grays, greens, and blues of the institutional carpeting in the waiting room. Its design seemed to mimic my life at this point—random with no clear pattern.
My mother’s loud whisper broke the silence. “She’s awake, Cheryl. Do you want to come in to see her?”
My mother, a beautiful woman despite the smudged mascara, stood with shoulders erect, gleaming blonde hair with arresting violet eyes. The epitome of self-confidence, even in this unlikely place. For a brief moment, I doubted the meds I picked up today belonged to her.
****
The next few days, our family took turns keeping watch over Mawmaw. Her steady progress gave us hope she would return to her normal self soon. The stroke had not been as severe as her doctor first thought, which brought a collective sense of gratefulness to the whole family. Especially Mama.
I visited the hospital in the evenings after my shift ended with Carlton. Unlike my Mawmaw, his condition worsened, and his medications did not offer the same level of relief as in the beginning. His increased dosages cast him into long hours of fitful sleep. I performed the nursing tasks required and then sat and watched him sleep. The letters from Lady S sat on the nightstand like a patient lover, waiting to be embraced.
After a week of watching him sleep, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end for Carlton. Would he ever be lucid again, and would I ever get to know the real Carlton? Know the identity of Lady S? Had I read the last of her letters to Carlton?
I finished lunch and settled in next to his bed to work on the knitting project I’d started yesterday—a winter hat with a matching scarf. It seemed like a simple project and one I could actually complete. Although, in Bijou Bayou with its mild winters, I’d probably never wear it.
“Where you been?” Carlton’s raspy voice echoed through the quiet bedroom.
I lowered my yarn and needles into the basket on the floor and leaned toward him. His gaze locked onto mine. Did he know how happy I was to see those eyes again?
“Right here next to you,” I answered. “How ya feeling?”
“Like I been hit by a wrecking ball. Twice.”
I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”
“Water.”
I lifted the head of his bed. He followed my movements with a tender smile and kind eyes. I reached for the full glass and guided the straw toward him. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to take the glass from me as he’d done in the past but let me place the straw between his dry lips. After he’d taken all he wanted, I wiped his lips with a moistened towel and applied lip balm.
He nodded when I’d finished and then pointed to the stack of letters on the nightstand. “I miss my Lady.”
I’d missed her, too. “Would you like me to read to you?”
“Please.”
I smiled when he said the word. “Be careful being so polite. I might mistake you for a nice guy.”
He smiled and then his lips bent downward and a crease formed between his brows. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Won’t happen. I’m not…a nice…” He leaned his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.
Troubled by his response, I searched for what to say. After a few moments, he looked at the stack of letters and pointed.
I unfolded the next letter and began to read.
Dear Carlton,
I loved getting your letter the other day. It was so nice to hear about the other men in your regiment. Things are getting busier here at home as we get closer to Christmas. I really wish we had married before you left. At least if I couldn’t be with you, I could celebrate Christmas as Mrs. Carlton Perlouix. Papa got really mad the other day at your Papa. Seems one of your family’s horses broke the fence to our pasture, and several of
I battled with understanding. It was hard to forget the past and its pain. I stared at the tapestry of dull grays, greens, and blues of the institutional carpeting in the waiting room. Its design seemed to mimic my life at this point—random with no clear pattern.
My mother’s loud whisper broke the silence. “She’s awake, Cheryl. Do you want to come in to see her?”
My mother, a beautiful woman despite the smudged mascara, stood with shoulders erect, gleaming blonde hair with arresting violet eyes. The epitome of self-confidence, even in this unlikely place. For a brief moment, I doubted the meds I picked up today belonged to her.
****
The next few days, our family took turns keeping watch over Mawmaw. Her steady progress gave us hope she would return to her normal self soon. The stroke had not been as severe as her doctor first thought, which brought a collective sense of gratefulness to the whole family. Especially Mama.
I visited the hospital in the evenings after my shift ended with Carlton. Unlike my Mawmaw, his condition worsened, and his medications did not offer the same level of relief as in the beginning. His increased dosages cast him into long hours of fitful sleep. I performed the nursing tasks required and then sat and watched him sleep. The letters from Lady S sat on the nightstand like a patient lover, waiting to be embraced.
After a week of watching him sleep, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end for Carlton. Would he ever be lucid again, and would I ever get to know the real Carlton? Know the identity of Lady S? Had I read the last of her letters to Carlton?
I finished lunch and settled in next to his bed to work on the knitting project I’d started yesterday—a winter hat with a matching scarf. It seemed like a simple project and one I could actually complete. Although, in Bijou Bayou with its mild winters, I’d probably never wear it.
“Where you been?” Carlton’s raspy voice echoed through the quiet bedroom.
I lowered my yarn and needles into the basket on the floor and leaned toward him. His gaze locked onto mine. Did he know how happy I was to see those eyes again?
“Right here next to you,” I answered. “How ya feeling?”
“Like I been hit by a wrecking ball. Twice.”
I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”
“Water.”
I lifted the head of his bed. He followed my movements with a tender smile and kind eyes. I reached for the full glass and guided the straw toward him. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to take the glass from me as he’d done in the past but let me place the straw between his dry lips. After he’d taken all he wanted, I wiped his lips with a moistened towel and applied lip balm.
He nodded when I’d finished and then pointed to the stack of letters on the nightstand. “I miss my Lady.”
I’d missed her, too. “Would you like me to read to you?”
“Please.”
I smiled when he said the word. “Be careful being so polite. I might mistake you for a nice guy.”
He smiled and then his lips bent downward and a crease formed between his brows. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Won’t happen. I’m not…a nice…” He leaned his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.
Troubled by his response, I searched for what to say. After a few moments, he looked at the stack of letters and pointed.
I unfolded the next letter and began to read.
Dear Carlton,
I loved getting your letter the other day. It was so nice to hear about the other men in your regiment. Things are getting busier here at home as we get closer to Christmas. I really wish we had married before you left. At least if I couldn’t be with you, I could celebrate Christmas as Mrs. Carlton Perlouix. Papa got really mad the other day at your Papa. Seems one of your family’s horses broke the fence to our pasture, and several of
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