After a shorter silence, she said, “No, I can take care of myself.”
I heard her hang up the phone. I quickly moved through the foyer and outside to the front steps. I waited, praying that Mrs. Fairmont had regained connection with reality. The front door opened. She stared at me again.
“Christine says you’re staying here so you might as well come inside, but I don’t want you telling me what to do.”
“I’m here to help.”
Mrs. Fairmont turned and walked away. I stood in the foyer and watched her climb the stairs to the second floor without looking back. Flip followed her. I went into the kitchen and hit the Redial button on the phone. Mrs. Bartlett answered.
“What is it now?” she asked.
“It’s Tami Taylor. I overheard your mother’s phone call. She thought I’d gone outside, but I was listening from the parlor. I came in from work a few minutes ago, and she didn’t recognize me. Usually, her confusion goes away after we talk for a minute or so, but this time it didn’t. It’s the worst spell she’s had since I’ve been here.”
“Where is she now?”
“Upstairs.”
“No, I’m not!” a voice screamed behind me.
The sound startled me so violently that I dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a sharp crack. Flip barked and ran around the kitchen.
“Who are you talking to?” Mrs. Fairmont demanded with fire in her eyes.
“Your daughter, Christine,” I managed.
I picked up the phone and handed it to her. “Here. Talk to her yourself.”
Watching me with suspicious eyes, she put the phone to her ear. “Who is this?” she demanded.
I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but the expression on Mrs. Fairmont’s face slowly changed. I stepped backward to the far side of the kitchen and waited. Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes several times as she listened. I inched closer, fearing she might faint.
“Yes, yes,” she said, followed by, “No, no.”
She handed the phone to me. “Talk to her.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Has she calmed down?” Mrs. Bartlett asked.
“I think so.”
“I can’t drive into town tonight. Ken and I have a dinner engagement that has been on the books for months. She’ll be all right in a few minutes. These things pass. It’s even happened with Gracie.”
“But what do I—”
“Call my cell phone or 911 if there is a true emergency, although if you’re patient she’ll be fine. You can take care of this. That’s why I hired you. Good night.”
The phone clicked off. Mrs. Fairmont was leaning against the counter with her eyes closed and her hand resting against the right side of her face. It was such a sad sight that the remaining tears I’d bottled up at the office when Julie attacked me gushed out in compassion. Mrs. Fairmont opened her eyes. The fire was gone. She looked tired.
“Why are you crying?” she asked.
“Because I care about you. I’m here to help you. The last thing I want to do is upset you.”
“I don’t feel well,” she said.
“May I help you upstairs?”
She started shuffling toward the door. I followed behind her. Flip stayed out of the way but close to her feet. When she reached the steps, Mrs. Fairmont grasped the railing tightly as she climbed. Halfway up, she wavered, and I reached out my hand to steady her. She reached the landing at the top of the stairs, then walked slowly to her room. I followed.
“Here’s the intercom, if you need me,” I said, making sure it was still turned on. “I have one in the basement. Press the Call or Talk button, and I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s happening to me?” she asked.
“You were confused.”
She rubbed her temples. I noticed she was wearing shoes that didn’t match.
“Why don’t you lie down and rest?” I suggested.
She leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes. I gently removed her shoes and positioned a pillow under her head. The air-conditioning was on so I put a lightweight cotton throw over her legs and feet. I picked up Flip and put him on the bed. He curled up near her feet.
“I’ll be back in a little while to check on you,” I said, turning toward the door.
“You can sing a song now,” she said softly.
I came closer to the bed. “What kind of song?”
“You know, the kind you sing every night before I go to sleep.”
I thought back to some of the songs Mama sang to me when I was small. All of them had biblical themes.
“All right,” I answered softly.
My brother Bobby was the best singer in our family, but I could carry a tune. I decided humming might be a good way to start. I leaned close to Mrs. Fairmont’s head and began to hum a melody whose roots lay in the spirits of early Christian pioneers. Mrs. Fairmont’s facial muscles relaxed. When I switched to words, she took a deep breath. In a few seconds, she was asleep.