Page 94 of Surfside Sisters

“Great! Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

The moment they disconnected, Keely plunged back into her book.

—

She was lost in her fictional world when Sebastian called.

“Keely, could you come over now? And help me with Dad? Maybe sit and talk to him?” The urgency in his voice was compelling.

“Of course. I’ll come now.”

Keely found her bag, dropped the car keys in her pocket, told her mother where she was going, and hurried out to the car. She parked in front of the Maxwells’ house, not blocking any of the cars in the drive, and hurried up the slate walk. Sebastian opened the door before Keely could knock.

“Keely.” Sebastian pulled Keely into the house and hugged her tight. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad to help, Sebastian,” Keely said. And thought:Also, I hope I don’t meet your mother or your sister while I’m here.

He took Keely by the hand and led her along down the hall to the dining room. “All you have to do is sit by Dad’s bed and talk. Not fast. Be slow and not too loud. He’s not deaf. It’s like his brain is asleep and we have to wake it up but we can’t do it all at once.”

“Sebastian,” Keely said, stopping still before the door to the dining room. “Where are you going to be?”

“I’ll be around. Probably in the kitchen. I’ve got to talk to Mom. If you need me, just yell.”

Sebastian quietly escorted Keely into the dining room. A hospital bed sat majestically where the long dining room table had been. In the middle of the bed, Al Maxwell sat supported by a number of pillows, wearing striped pajamas, covered to the waist by a light blanket. Near the bed was a table littered with medicine bottles, tissues, a water pitcher, and a glass. Al Maxwell’s eyes were open, but unseeing.

“It’s so dark in here,” Keely said.

“Dad can’t tolerate bright light yet. We’ve got the shades down and the curtains drawn. Things need to be muted for him.”

“Got it.”

“Dad, look who’s come to see you!” Sebastian spoke cheerfully, moving Keely in front of him. “It’s Keely. You remember her. She’s come to say hello.” Still with a light, cheerful tone, he continued. “Keely, why don’t you sit here in this chair. This is where we sit when we want to talk with Dad. Dad, I’m going to do some household chores, but I’ll be around. Keely wanted to have special time with you.”

“Hello, Mr. Maxwell,” Keely said.

Sebastian squeezed Keely’s hand and whispered, “I’ll be in my room.”

It took a moment for Keely to gather herself. It was bizarre to see the powerful Al Maxwell reduced to this silent, still, disconnected invalid.

She flashed on a day years ago when Mr. Maxwell, so strong and powerful, told Keely she should drop out of college to help her mother. He’d had no compassion for Keely then. And her heart burned with old anger…but it was tempered now, with sympathy.

She spoke quietly, as if everything were normal. “You might be surprised to see me, Mr. Maxwell. Usually I’m in New York. But this summer I’m living with my mother on the island while I write my new novel.”

Al’s eyes slowly moved to fasten on Keely’s face, but he showed no signs of recognition. Keely wasn’t certain that he even understood what she said.

“I’m so sorry about your stroke, but Sebastian assures me that you will be better soon. I guess we all need to let you rest, and I won’t sit here blabbing on and on like I used to.” She sat silently for a while, but his eyes remained on her, and she began again. “Do you remember the time you drove me and Isabelle to the Justin Timberlake concert in Connecticut and we were so excited we chattered away like a pair of monkeys and you told us we were driving you mad? You said you wouldpayus to be quiet for just five minutes. And you did!”

Keely laughed at the memory. Al Maxwell didn’t react.

What could she say that would interest him? She didn’t know what she was doing. Should she ask him questions? Or simply sit droning on and on?

“I’m having such a good time being back on the island. Spring is so wonderful here. I never knew Sebastian did scrimshaw. I was at a gallery opening with my mother a few weeks ago, and I was astonished by a display of the most gorgeous scrimshaw, and—”

Nothing Keely said elicited any response, not so much as a blink, from Mr. Maxwell. In the corner of his mouth, on the side that drooped, a bead of saliva shimmered.

“I hope I’m not irritating you, blabbing on and on like this. Maybe you want to sleep? Are you comfortable? It must be odd to wake up in the morning and find yourself in the dining room. You look good, so that’s positive, right?”

She stole a glance at her watch. Not even ten minutes had passed. As she talked, Keely thought maybe he didn’t like being stared at constantly, so she let her gaze circle the room, spotting the familiar fireplace with the Victorian mantel and the marble clock. When she looked back at Mr. Maxwell, his eyes were closed.

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