Page 96 of Summers at the Saint
The old man’s eyes flickered, his gaze resting briefly on her, but returning to the endless scroll of the stock market coverage. Traci chose to believe he was thanking her.
She pulled the only chair in the room alongside the hospital bed and leaned over, so that her father-in-law could see her. She took his hand. It was cool and paper dry to the touch.
“Fred? Would you like to listen to some music?”
His eyelids blinked rapidly.
“That means yes,” Alberta translated. “He used to like to listen to that Seriously Sinatra channel on the satellite radio.”
Traci found the app on her cell phone, downloaded it, then searched for the Sinatra channel. A moment later, the lush strains of the Nelson Riddle arrangement of “Strangers in the Night” filled the room.
“That’s real nice,” Alberta said approvingly. She nodded at the patient, whose rigid facial muscles seemed to have relaxed a fraction.
Traci glanced around the room, which was depressingly sterile and featureless. “Weren’t there some family pictures in here before?”
“There were a bunch of ’em,” Alberta said. “But Mr. Ric told me to put ’em away. He said they were germ catchers.”
“Tell me where they are,” Traci said, standing up. “I’ll bring them in. I think it will give him comfort to see the faces he loved, don’t you?”
“Sure do. But you stay here. I’ll fetch ’em myself,” Alberta said.
She returned with an armload of framed photographs, and Traci slid the hospital tray over the bed and the two of them arranged the family pictures so that the patient could see them from his prone position.
There was a color wedding photo of Fred and Helen Eddings, he with a thick head of dark hair, wearing a debonair white dinner jacket, gazing into the eyes of his bride, who wore a heavy satin ecru A-line gown and a fingertip lace veil. Helen’s hair had been teasedand contorted into the ’60s bouffant style of that era. There were baby photos of Ric and Hoke, with Helen seated and the boys on her lap. Fred stood behind, his hands resting lightly on the shoulders of her dress.
There was a beautiful silver-framed photo of Helen that Traci had never seen before. Maybe it was her engagement portrait? There were candid photos of Fred and his teenaged sons, suntanned, shirtless, and relaxed, posing poolside at the Saint. There were high school graduation photos of both the boys, photos of Ric and Heather on their wedding day, and one of Fred and Hoke at the ribbon-cutting for the hotel renovation. But no photo of Hoke and Traci’s wedding day, she noted.
Traci’s throat caught when she spotted the last couple of photos. One of Helen, holding her infant granddaughter and namesake on her lap, and the most recent, a framed picture of Parrish, looking positively regal in a white formal gown and elbow-length gloves, posing on the arm of her grandfather, in black tie and tails, at Parrish’s debutante ball.
“There now,” Alberta said, when the last photo was tucked into place. “He’s got all his people right here with him.”
Traci looked down and saw a single tear glistening in the old man’s eye. She reached over with a tissue and dabbed at it.
“I’m gonna step out and fix us some tea, Traci,” Alberta said.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
The stock market ticker continued its silent crawl across the bottom of the television. The Dow Jones was up slightly, the Nikkei was flat, and the NASDAQ had dropped, but Fred Eddings was no longer watching the fortunes of the financial world. His gaze was fixed on the family portrait gallery in front of him as Sinatra crooned about girls in summer dresses and broken hearts and flying to the moon.
Alberta returned with the tea and the two of them sat in companionable silence, while the storm continued to rage outside.
“The doctor’s office finally called just now,” Alberta said in a tone barely above a whisper. “He’s got emergency surgery and won’t be here for a while.”
“Just as well,” Traci said. “Anything from Ric?”
“He did call. On his way back here from Savannah, but there’s a bad pileup near Darien. Traffic’s moving slow.”
Traci took the old man’s hand again. His eyes flickered and his colorless lips moved slightly. He closed his eyes.
His breathing grew raspy.
“I think he’s ready to pass on now,” Alberta said gently.
Traci felt suddenly uneasy. Was there something more that should be done?
“Should we call someone? Like nine-one-one?”
“No, ma’am. This here is God’s will. His will too. We don’t need nobody rushing in here and ruining this old man’s peace.”
