Winter Garden

Meredith and Jeff met the girls at the train station that night. It was a subdued homecoming, full of sad looks and unspoken words, not what it should have been at all.

“How’s Grandpa?” Jillian asked when the car doors shut and they were all together in the quiet.

Meredith wanted to lie, but it was too late to protect them. “Not good,” she said quietly. “He’ll be glad to see you, though. ”

Maddy’s eyes filled with tears. Of course they did; her youngest daughter had always been the emotional one. No one laughed louder or cried harder than Maddy. “Can we see him tonight?”

“Of course, honey. He’s waiting for us. And your aunt Nina is here, too. ”

Maddy smiled at that, but it wasn’t her real smile; it was a tattered version of it. “Cool. ”

And somehow, with all of it, that quiet, subdued cool hurt Meredith most of all. In it was the change that was coming, the grief that would reconfigure their family. Maddy and Jillian adored Nina. Usually they treated her like a rock star.

But now it was just that quiet, whispered cool.

“Maybe he should see another specialist,” Jillian said. Her voice was soft and calm, and in it Meredith heard an echo of the doctor her daughter would someday become. Steady and collected. That was Jillian.

“He’s seen several really good doctors,” Jeff said. He waited a minute, let those words sink in, and then he started the car.

Usually, they would have talked and laughed and told stories on the drive, and once at home they would have gathered around the kitchen table for a game of hearts or in the living room to watch a movie.

Tonight, though, the drive was quiet. The girls tried to make conversation, told dull stories about classes and sorority rules and even the weather, but their words had trouble rising above the pall that hung in the car.

At Belye Nochi, they went into the house and made their way up the narrow stairway to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, Meredith turned to them and almost warned them that he looked ill. But that was what a mother did with young children. Instead, with a little nod, she opened the door and led the way into the bedroom. “Hey, Dad. Look who is here to see you. ”

Nina was sitting on the stone hearth, her back to a bright orange fire. At their entrance, she stood. “These can’t be my nieces,” she said, but her usual booming laugh was gone.

She went to the girls, hugged them tightly. Then she hugged her brother-in-law.

“Your grandfather has been waiting for you two,” Mom said, rising from her place in the rocking chair by the window. “As have I. ”

Meredith wondered if she was the only one who heard the change in her mother’s voice when she spoke to the girls.

It had always been like that. Mom was as warm to her granddaughters as she was cold to her daughters. For years it had wounded Meredith, that obvious preference for Jillian and Maddy, but in the end she’d been grateful that her mother made the girls feel cared for.

The girls took turns hugging their grandmother and then turned to face the big four-poster bed.

In it, Dad lay motionless, his face startlingly pale, his smile unsteady.

“My granddaughters,” he said quietly. Meredith could see how affected they were by the sight of him. For the whole of their lives he’d been like one of the apple trees on this property. Sturdy and dependable.

Jillian was the first to lean down and kiss him. “Hey, Grandpa. ”

Maddy’s eyes were damp. She reached over for her sister’s hand and held it. When she opened her mouth to say something, no words came out.

Dad reached up a mottled, shaking hand and pressed it to her cheek. “No crying, princess. ”

Maddy wiped her eyes and nodded.

Dad tried to sit up. Meredith went to his bedside to help him. She fluffed and arranged the pillows behind him.

Coughing hard, he said, “We’re all here. ” Then he looked at Mom. “It’s time, Anya. ”

“No,” Mom said evenly.

“You promised,” he said.

Meredith felt something swirling about the room like smoke. She glanced at Nina, who nodded. So she felt it, too.