Breakfast for Five

At seven the next morning, Charles woke beneath a blanket patterned with small yellow ducks.

For several seconds, he regarded it with distrust.

He had slept on Elena's downstairs sofa after Daniel rearranged the coffee table and brought an overnight bag from the car. The cushions were too soft. His neck hurt. Somewhere above him, a child was singing the same three lines repeatedly.

He had slept better than he had in months.

Daniel stood in the kitchen doorway holding a frying pan.

"There's coffee."

"Why are you armed?"

Daniel looked at the pan. "She wanted pancakes before her mother came downstairs."

Charles moved toward the kitchen.

Lyla sat at the table, her rabbit in the neighboring chair. A blackened pancake lay on a plate in front of her.

"It isn't good," she informed him.

"I'm sure Daniel appreciates your honesty."

"I said thank you first."

Thomas, who had slept in the spare room upstairs, emerged carrying a towel. "I believe the smoke alarm thanked him too."

Daniel placed the pan in the sink with dignity.

By the time Elena appeared, Lyla was explaining that Uncle Charles needed his pancakes cut because his legs were tired.

"My hands work perfectly," Charles told her.

"Then you can cut mine."

Thomas turned toward the window, shoulders shaking.

Elena took over the stove. The kitchen filled with the smell of butter, and Charles found himself responsible for cutting a pancake into pieces of an exact size Lyla demonstrated with two fingers.

"That's too big."

"It's smaller than the last one."

"The last one was too big too."

He looked at Thomas. "You're her attorney. Negotiate."

"I haven't accepted the engagement."

"There are cookies," Lyla offered.

"A compelling retainer."

For a few minutes, Charles forgot to be careful. He passed the syrup before Elena asked and moved his cup when Thomas needed somewhere to set a plate.

Then Elena reached across him for a spoon, and he remembered how unfamiliar that ordinary movement ought to be.

She had learned a whole kitchen without him.

The feeling stayed after breakfast, when Mrs. Bell took Lyla outside to inspect the tulips.

Charles stopped Elena as she gathered plates.

"You need to call Mother."

She set a plate down too carefully.

"I know."

"Today."

Elena nodded, but he saw her looking toward the back door.

"I'm not asking you to explain twenty years over the telephone," he said. "Tell her you're alive. Let her hear your voice."

"Will you stay while I do it?"

He had intended to be stern. The question made that difficult.

"Yes."

They called from the living room while Thomas washed dishes and Daniel stepped outside.

Margaret answered with a complaint about the gardener pruning her roses too early. Charles waited until she finished.

"Mother, there's someone here. She's all right, but I need you to sit down."

The line went very quiet.

He handed Elena the phone.

"Mom?"

Charles watched his sister press her free hand against her mouth.

For a moment he could hear nothing from the other end. Then Margaret said her daughter's name, so softly that he almost missed it.

Elena sat beside him and cried.

He stayed through the repeated questions, the broken answers, and the long silence in which neither woman seemed willing to end the call.

They promised to arrange a visit. Margaret began discussing where Elena would sleep, then stopped and asked whether she still hated feather pillows. Charles listened to his sister answer a question from another lifetime.

He said nothing about Thomas. His brother deserved to choose how that conversation happened.

When Elena returned the phone, she leaned against the sofa and covered her face.

"I thought she'd hate me."

Charles set the phone down.

"She may be angry tomorrow. That doesn't mean today wasn't real."

His sister nodded.

Then she looked at his legs.

"Now you need to make a call."

"Don't confuse a family reunion with permission to manage my schedule."

"You stood in a ballroom last night. Has your doctor seen the recent changes?"

He looked toward the window.

"Charles."

"I've been meaning to go."

"That sounds familiar."

He turned back sharply, but her expression held no triumph.

"You don't have to prove anything to me," she said. "I would like you to know what happened before you try it again."

He hated the appointment before he made it. He hated it more when Dr. Aaron Feld's office found space for him on Monday.

Still, he went.

Elena accompanied him at his request. Lyla stayed with Mrs. Bell. Charles did not want the girl watching another specialist explain all the things that might never happen.

Dr. Feld listened without interrupting as Charles described the gala. He examined him, reviewed earlier records, and arranged further assessments.

"I've asked about this appointment for weeks," the doctor said.

"Apparently your invitation lacked conviction."

Elena looked at the ceiling.

Dr. Feld sat opposite Charles.

"You haven't suddenly recovered. What you describe needs proper assessment. There may be function we can work with, but a brief supported stand doesn't tell us how far that will go."

Charles folded his hands.

"So we're back to possibly."

"Yes. I won't promise more than that."

The honesty irritated him less than optimism would have.

"I worked at this before," Charles said.

"I know."

"I followed every instruction."

"I remember."

Charles looked down at his shoes. "I don't want everyone waiting to applaud something I can't do."

Elena shifted beside him but didn't speak.

Dr. Feld leaned forward.

"Then we set goals you help choose, and we reassess them together. You decide who comes into the room."

It was the first offer that day Charles wanted to consider.

Outside, he stopped beside the elevator.

"You haven't asked what I decided," he told Elena.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me."

He studied her. There were still twenty years he didn't understand. But she had spent an entire appointment beside him without once telling him how he ought to feel.

"I'm going back Thursday."

Elena smiled.

"Would you come?" he asked before he could reconsider.

Her smile changed.

"Of course."