Page 136 of The Holiday Clause

“I actually forgot the tea, but…” Realizing that he was mocking her gift, she wilted. “I can just go.” She stood again, this time collecting her basket.

“Sit.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” She dropped to the chair again, now protectively holding the basket on her lap. “I’m nervous.” Why had she told him that? “Sorry.” And she wasn’t supposed to apologize.

He frowned. “Let’s see what else you brought.”

Her gift seemed foolish now, so she reached for the most conservative item inside. “I, um, brought you a book. It’s a biography.” She flashed the cover. “I remembered you saying, once, that Ronald Reagan carried himself like a big tent showman.”

“Smiled too much,” he agreed. “Too busy performing for those he should have shut down.”

Her hand shook as she set the book on the bedside table. “I thought maybe you’d like something to read.”

“Books are a female hobby.” His lips pulled tight. “That was Sable’s job. Reading. Nurturing. Men follow current affairs and are better off sticking to newspapers.”

He spoke his deceased wife’s name with bitter venom, revealing more than she’d ever understood about their marriage. Wren stayed very still, unsure how to respond.

Magnus eyed her critically. “You’re a carbon copy of your mother.”

“I like to think so.”

He looked away, turning his attention to the window. “Unexpected visitors tell me things look worse than I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’m dying.”

Bodhi would have said something like‘we’re all dying’, but she didn’t think Magnus would appreciate that kind of enlightened observation.

A wet cough shook his frame, the sound jarring and painful to hear. He took a few deep breaths from the oxygen mask. Wren used the pause in conversation to lay out the contents of the basket. As a defense mechanism, she shifted into professional mode, handing him a glass of water. After he sipped and his breathing calmed, he leaned back and eyed her with suspicion.

“Why are you really here?”

Wren paused. She couldn’t very well explain that his roots had tangled and he needed light, so she said, “This is what I do.”

“Visit hospitals?”

“Help people relax.”

“I’m on a gurney. Do I look particularly stressed to you?” His stare didn’t waver.

“I think you’ve led a life with higher stress than most.”

“You’re correct there.”

Wealthy men struggled to empathize with the hardships of the less fortunate. They also failed to accept a reality outside of the one they chose.

Men like Magnus believed they were masters of the universe, until the universe proved they were not. Disease offered a powerless position that powerful men rarely enjoyed. It exposed vulnerabilities they didn’t want to acknowledge. Watching him now, reduced to oxygen masks and hospital gowns, she saw how terrifying it must be for someone who’d controlled everything to lose control of his own body.

“Have they been taking good care of you?”

“If you consider good care three lukewarm meals a day, thin blankets, and a draft.”

“Well, you’re lucky I brought you an extra blanket then, aren’t you? And, I’m yours for the next hour.”

“Oh?” He perked up.

“Not…”Oh dear.“Not in that way.” She uncapped the salve, and worked the waxy ointment between her fingers, warming it. “Have you ever had a hand massage before?”