“But I thought I’d stay and...”
Another of his crisp gestures and she turned to join the others on the porch.
* * *
IN A DIMLY lit room in St. Elizabeth’s Manor nursing home in Portland, Maine, Daniel MacCarey pulled the chair up to the bedside of his elderly aunt. “I’m here, Aunt Margaret.”
He took her delicate hand in his and pressed softly.
The quiet sounds of evening at the nursing home clanked and moaned as his great-aunt Margaret breathed softly. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed.
The flowers he had brought to brighten her room three days ago were beginning to fade. The faint smell from the lilies lingered in the air the way her Chantilly perfume had in her stately old home long after he had moved her to St. Elizabeth’s. He had wanted someone to be with her all day and not just on Sunday afternoons, holidays and the rare evenings when he could get there to visit her before she fell asleep.
The nurse had called him an hour ago to come. “She says it’s time.”
The call hadn’t been a surprise. Margaret Irene MacCarey was ninety-two. Three weeks ago she started looking tired, stopped attending activities with the other residents, eventually stopped leaving her room. A few days ago, they wanted to move her to the acute-care facility, but she had insisted they call for the hospice service to take over her care.
No one had argued.
“I’m sorry, I have to go, Daniel.”
Margaret’s feathery words came so softly he thought at first he had imagined them, until he saw her eyes open, a faint smile settled on her delicate features.
He brushed his fingertips across the back of her hand. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She closed her eyes and when she didn’t open them, Daniel found himself hoping for more time with her. He patted her hand.
She turned her hand over to squeeze his. “Scare you, did I?”
“You’ve been scaring me since I was a boy. Why should today be any different?”
Slowly, her eyelids lifted again. “You’ll be fine, Daniel.”
“Of course I will.” His only living blood relative was about to let go of his hand for the last time. He leaned forward in his chair and repeated for both their sakes, “Of course I will.”
“Funny. It never occurred to me until it was way too late—” she paused and took a breath “—that when I left, you might end up the last of us. Alone.”
She breathed quietly for a minute and then continued. “I’m sorry. I always had your dad and then I had you. Couldn’t you just find a woman who doesn’t want children? Or even a man, for goodness sake.”
“You’re so progressive for such an old lady, Aunt Margaret.”
“I’m serious about you finding somebody.” She squeezed his hand again. “And I have to try one more time. Just because you won’t be having any more children doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody out there who doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life with you.”
“I’ve got my work.”
“You’ve got classrooms full of those transient college students.” Her voice was weakening, becoming more breathy.
“I’ve got many things in the works,” he said.
“You are so nice to try to let me leave in comfort.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re all I’ve got left to do. I’ve finished everything else.” Her voice came out raspy and halting.
“Don’t worry about me,” he repeated.
“I’ve no worry left in me. I just see things more clearly these days.” She paused and her gaze drifted to a photo on the shelf attached to the wall beyond the foot of her bed. The framed picture of a soldier with his arm around a beautiful young woman had kept vigil over his aunt for as long as Daniel could remember. The young woman was Margaret MacCarey in the 1940s with her fiancé, before an enemy bullet had immortalized the soldier at age twenty-four.
Margaret had lived a very long time with the pain of a broken heart in her eyes and sometimes, when she thought he wouldn’t notice, on her face. Loving that much when it was futile and hadn’t been good for him, either.
“So what they say about hindsight must be true.”
She turned her head slowly to look at him. “Hathaway left me when I was almost twenty-two and it wasn’t until a couple decades ago that I realized I wouldn’t have had to find another love of my life. I could have been happy enough with a substitute, as long as the man loved me. I would have had a companion. You could have had a cousin or two. That is my only real regret.”
The words came more and more slowly and Daniel found himself leaning closer and closer to hear them.
“Promise me and promise yourself, you will pursue your dream.”
“I promise, Aunt Margaret and I will love you always,” he whispered in the quiet left when she stopped speaking and barely breathed.
“Hathaway.” Her eyes drifted closed and a moment later her breathing stopped.
Daniel had no doubt the man who had won and kept Margaret MacCarey’s heart had just come and taken her hand to lead her away to eternal happiness and peace.
He smiled and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. She had always been a great lady. He’d miss her.
Daniel leaned back in the chair. In the quiet, he clenched and unclenched his fists. Several emotions fluttered in and out. Most seemed natural and even expected when a loved one passed, but the appearance of anger took him by surprise. He wasn’t angry with his great-aunt Margaret, or fate, or even himself. The dark feelings were just inexplicably there.
He looked up to see the nurse in the doorway. She took a few seconds to gather that Margaret MacCarey had passed and came quietly into the room.
Gently she placed fingers on his aunt’s wrist. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
“I am.” He would be soon, after this knot in his gut went away.
“We loved her here, you know.”
He nodded slowly. “Everybody loved Margaret MacCarey.” He spoke carefully. This nurse did not deserve to feel his anger.
“You can stay as long as you like.”
“Thank you. The arrangements are all made.” He gave her a smile. “She saw to that. Said all she and I had to do was show up.”
“Sounds like our Margaret. I’ll make the phone calls to get things started. You let me know if you need anything. Oh, wait. I have something for you.” She reached into her pocket. “Miss MacCarey said you wouldn’t know anything about this. Insisted when I came on shift that I keep it for you because she was going to be leaving. She said it would be up to you whether or not you kept the secret.” The nurse shrugged and handed him a small worn velvet pouch tied with tattered ribbons.
“Secret?”
“She didn’t explain and I figured you’d know.” She glanced at Margaret’s quiet form. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” He held the lavender velvet pouch for a moment. His aunt was always full of charm and warmth, but there was always a mysterious side to her, things she would almost say before stopping. He had assumed it had to be something about Hathaway. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“Put on the call light if you need anything,” the nurse said as she laid a hand on his forearm and