Family Reunion Nancy Thayer (summer reads .txt) 📖

you. Don’t forget all the countries he took us to every summer. Few children have that experience.”

Cliff finished his beer and spent a moment looking into the glass. Not meeting his mother’s gaze, Cliff said, “You think he was glad he had children?”

“Cliff, yes! Don’t ever doubt that. Mortimer was very glad he had children. You were the world to him. He just wasn’t a very demonstrative man. But he loved you and Alicia with all his heart.”

Cliff nodded. “Thanks, Mom.” He stood up suddenly and walked to the end of the deck, where he stood staring out at the ocean for a few moments.

Eleanor sat quietly. These private conversations with her son were rare.

Cliff came back to the table and sat down. He looked lighthearted now, and Eleanor was pleased that he’d been able to ask her about Mortimer.

“Mom, there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Of course, darling. What is it?” She smiled at him, her handsome, precious son.

“I’d like you to spend some time with me going over your legal and financial affairs.”

Eleanor was too shocked to respond. Had his question about his father been nothing more than a way to soften her up for more talk about money?

Cliff continued. “For example, do you have a healthcare proxy? Someone who can make a decision about medical matters if you can’t.”

“Someone to sign the Do Not Resuscitate order,” Eleanor said coldly.

Cliff didn’t even wince. “Do you want to be an organ donor? Do you have a will? Have you provided someone with a durable power of attorney? Do you—”

“Enough, Cliff! That’s enough.” Her own son had played her. She felt betrayed.

“Mom, be sensible. For all I know, you have this all taken care of. If so, tell me. But you’re like Dad, so secretive about financial matters. I don’t even know if you have enough savings to live on for the next ten years. For the next five years.”

“You said we weren’t going to talk about selling my house.” Eleanor’s voice shook from anger.

“We’re not talking about that. We’re talking about the fact that you are a seventy-year-old widow living alone on a bluff facing the Atlantic. Come on, Mom. You must have friends who have made these sorts of decisions. What’s going to happen if you get Alzheimer’s? Parkinson’s?”

“Has Alicia put you up to this?”

“No, Mom, but if she did, she’d be doing the right thing. You need to make some decisions while you can.”

“Before I go gaga, you mean.”

“Before you trip over the cat and fall down the stairs and can’t reach the phone.”

The image was so hideous and actually so possible that Eleanor scraped back her chair and stood up, trembling all over. “I’d like you to leave now.”

“Mom, I’m sorry I upset you. I only mean the best.”

She tried to keep her dignity. “Please leave.”

Cliff stood up. He carefully picked up his dessert plate and coffee cup and carried them into the kitchen. Eleanor followed him, not carrying her plate for fear of dropping and breaking it.

“Mom,” Cliff said. “At least do this. Talk to your friends. I’ll bet they’re discussing the same sorts of things.”

Eleanor was on the point of tears, but she was damned if she’d cry in front of him, so without another word she left the kitchen, crossed the hall, and went up the stairs, praying she didn’t trip over the cat.

She strode into her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and paced, muttering to herself. She wasn’t senile. She didn’t live in a fantasy world. Occasionally, she and her friends had talked about all those morbid but necessary subjects: wills, DNRs, power of attorney. After Mortimer died, Eleanor had decided to take care of all that unattractive paperwork for herself, but somehow she’d never found the time. She was too busy in the summer, and in the dead of winter, with the sky as dark as a coffin lid, she couldn’t bring herself to organize herself for death.

She would do it. Tomorrow, this week. She would.

The fact that she had a will didn’t mean she was going to die. It just kind of felt that way.

She heard Cliff’s car leaving her driveway. She didn’t want to spend this beautiful day thinking about the end of her life. She wanted to do something positive!

In a flash, she came up with a plan. She would make tees for the children at Beach Camp. Her tears vanished. She almost ran out of her room.

First, Eleanor made a mock-up from one of Cliff’s old childhood tees she’d found wrapped around crystal in a box in the attic. She was excited about her idea, so she forced herself to be orderly as she searched all the drawers and cupboards in her mother’s sewing room. Well, her sewing room now. First, she used the basic embroidery backstitch on her brilliant sewing machine for the letters. Each letter was about two inches wide. After sewing, she flattened the letters with a warm iron. She held up her first creation and studied it.

BEACH

CAMP

Not quite right. The embroidered letters were heavier than the cotton shirt. That wouldn’t do.

Undeterred and seized with excitement for her project, she went into town, bought fifteen plain white tees in three different sizes, a pack of large-letter stencils, and three non-toxic, non-fading, non-bleeding fabric markers.

Back in the sewing room, she moved the sewing machine aside in order to spread the tee out on the wide table. She selected the letters she needed, laying them out so they touched a ruler, and picked up a broad-tipped red pen.

Or should it be blue? Blue was the color of the ocean.

No, red. It was more joyful.

She took her time filling in the letters. She didn’t want these to look sloppy. After each letter, she sat back and took a breath.

It was nice, being in this small, quiet, warm room at the back of the hall. Unlike the chaos of the attic, the sewing room was extremely neat and organized. The closet held bolts of fabric