Page 103 of Surfside Sisters

“It’s on the table. Next to your plate.”

Keely munched bacon and eggs as she read the list.

Stick to a schedule. Routine is comforting.

Encourage Al to respond. Be gentle and patient.

Don’t expect Al’s responses to be what you want.

Smile. Speak softly. Hold his hand.

If he falls asleep when you’re speaking to him, don’t take it as an insult. Sleep is a great healer.

Believe that Al will recover completely. Let Al know you believe that.

Don’t be afraid to repeat what you say. We don’t know what Al’s brain is capable of comprehending.

We’re only at step one. We have a long way to go. Don’t despair.

Keely looked at her mother. “I don’t think the Maxwells have a schedule.”

“They don’t,” Eloise said. “We’ll make one this morning. Al needs as much routine and gentle stimulation as he can get. The first few weeks after a stroke are a time of significant improvement.”

“Put me down for an hour or two in the afternoon.”

“Mmm, no, sweetie, I’m not adding you to the list.”

“Why not? Al knows me.”

“You need to write, and when you’re not writing, you need to have a normal life. Al has a family and plenty of friends, his staff at his office, for example, who are closer to him than you are. Don’t be insulted. I’m trying to protect you. The Maxwell family is going to suck up everyone’s energy for quite a while.” Eloise smiled. “You can help the most by keeping Sebastian happy.”

“Mom, how can you do this? How can you be so kind to Mr. Maxwell when he was so mean to you? When he sat behind his rich man desk and refused to help us find money for my college tuition? And the way he acted? As if he didn’t know you and me. As if we were nothing at all!”

Eloise sank down onto a kitchen chair. Reaching over, she took Keely’s hand. “I’m a nurse, Keely. What Al Maxwell said or did or was or is doesn’t matter. He’s ill. I know how to help him. It’s that simple.”

“So you’d help a criminal?”

Eloise laughed. “There you go, being dramatic again. Yes, I probably would help a criminal, but Al Maxwell is hardly a criminal. He’s an ordinary human being, with more money than most, but I’m sure right now he’s as confused and frightened as anyone who’s had a stroke. Anyway, Keely, it’s not about who he is. It’s about who I am.”

Eloise kissed Keely’s cheek and rose. “Must go. Good luck writing.”

—

Keely dove into her own routine. A long, exhilarating run. Quick shower. Yoga pants, T-shirt, and flip-flops on, and with a fresh cup of coffee, she closed herself in her room, opened her computer, and wrote.

As always when she wrote, time disappeared. When she heard a knock on the front door, it took her a moment to remember where she was.

She checked her watch. Almost noon. Jumping up, she flew from her room down the hall to the front door.

“Isabelle! Hi. Sorry to be so long answering. I was working. Come in.”

“I can’t stay long, I left Brittany with Mom.”

Isabelle held out the cardboard box. “Here it is. It’s a copy, so you can write all over it. If you want to, I mean. I mean, I’d love any and all comments.”

Keely took the box. “I can’t promise anything, Isabelle. I can’t promise I’ll like it, but more than that, I can’t promise that my agent will take it or even read it.” She grinned. “I feel like I’ve got a ticking bomb in my hands.”

Isabelle grinned back. “Then you’d better like it.”

---