Secrets in Summer(89)

“Oh, misery and humiliation,” Mimi moaned as Clive and Darcy each took a side and half walked, half carried Mimi down the hall. “Don’t come in with me!” Mimi commanded once they were in the small downstairs half bath. “I can do the rest all by myself!”

“Fine,” Darcy said. “I’m going to fetch you a fresh nightgown. I’ll knock on the door and hand it in to you in a few moments.” She turned to Clive. “Come help me.”

In Mimi’s room, she threw back the curtains and opened the windows, allowing fresh air to sweep in.

“Clive, could you find some clean sheets for the bed?” she asked. She gathered Mimi’s soiled linens from the mattress and shook out the light cotton quilt, hanging it over a chair to air out. She searched the dresser that Clive had brought down for Mimi, and when she’d found a nightgown—a violet silk sleeveless one that must have cost a bomb—she took it down the hall to the bathroom.

She knocked. “How are you doing, Mimi?”

Mimi’s response was garbled. Fear stabbed Darcy. Then Mimi said more clearly, “I’m brushing my teeth. I never thought brushing my teeth would be such a pleasure. Just toss the gown in, dear.”

Oh, Mimi sounded stronger, almost like herself! Darcy obeyed and returned to the bedroom to put clean sheets on the bed. Already the air smelled fresher, and she could hear the birds sing.

This time when Darcy and Clive assisted Mimi back to her room and her bed, Darcy noticed that Mimi felt lighter. She’d clearly lost weight.

“Mimi, I’m going to make you a little something to eat. You need food to keep your strength up.”

“Thank you, dear, but I’m not really hungry.”

“You still need to eat.”

Before Mimi could object, Darcy left the room. In the kitchen, she quickly evaluated the situation—two eggs, a hunk of cheddar cheese, no milk.

She stuck her head into Mimi’s room. Clive had turned on the television and they were both watching the screen.

“I’m going next door. I’ll be right back.”

She carried her book bag back to her house, went to her own kitchen, dumped her book bag on the table, and foraged in her cupboards and fridge for supplies. Eggs, oatmeal bread, milk, butter. She put the food in another book bag—she had plenty of book bags hanging on the hall hooks—and returned to Mimi’s. She took a moment to stick her head in and wave at Mimi and Clive before heading to the kitchen.

As she moved around the room, putting bread in the toaster, cracking and whipping the eggs, melting butter in the skillet, a memory flashed in her mind of a day when she was a child in the house next door to this one, and she was recovering from a flu, and as she lay weak and exhausted in bed, her grandmother carried in her bed tray, arranged it over Darcy, and said, “Eat that. You’ll feel better.”

It had been milk toast, a concoction made of warm buttered toast torn into pieces floating in a bowl of lightly salted, perfectly warm milk. Darcy could still remember the comforting taste.

Did anyone eat milk toast these days? Darcy spooned the perfectly cooked, lightly salted and peppered scrambled eggs onto a plate, added toast buttered and spread with the strawberry jam she found in Mimi’s fridge, along with a glass of water for Mimi, and carried it all into the sickroom.

Clive had cunningly constructed a bed tray from a jigsaw puzzle box resting on piles of books he’d placed on either side of Mimi’s legs.

“Oh, how clever of you.” Darcy laughed, putting Mimi’s dish and fork on the flat puzzle box. “Does anyone use bed trays anymore?”

“Yes,” Clive told her, “only now they’re called folding lap desks for your computer.” He moved to sit on the bed next to Mimi. “Can I help you, Mimi?”

Darcy pulled another chair near Mimi’s bed. She smiled encouragingly at Mimi, who picked up a fork and attempted to lift the food to her mouth. Her hand was trembling, as if the weight of the fork was more than she could bear, and the sunny clump of eggs fell down the bodice of her violet silk gown.

“Rats,” Mimi cursed. The effort seemed to have drained her of energy. She leaned back into her pillows and shut her eyes.

Darcy gently removed the clump of eggs.

“Hey, Mimi, let’s try this.” Clive brought a forkful of eggs to her mouth. “Come on, open up. Remember when you did this to me when I was a child? After I’d had one of my tantrums and sat at the table with my arms folded, vowing never to eat again, you were always the one who could coax me to eat.”

Mimi’s eyes opened. She looked at Clive with such adoration it brought tears to Darcy’s eyes.