I have laughed a great deal this evening, but with the laughter comes a bittersweet edge. I think I am coming to the end of my association with another charge.
I said in my entry about Valentine’s Day that while Harrington’s evening with Isabella was not to be, she had an idea on how to raise his spirits. When I managed to overcome my morose feelings about that particular day, I gave that idea all my support, and it all came together today.
After work this evening, Harrington was tired and irritable, but not so tired that he did not notice a strange excitement in his assistant. Mike had a tendency to grin all afternoon, and most of those grins were directed at Harrington. When Harrington asked about this, however, Mike would say nothing. He had been sworn to secrecy by Isabella.
So it was with some curiosity that Harrington wheeled himself up to his front door. It opened before he reached it, as it often does—his family has gotten into the habit of watching for him. This time, however, the light that streamed out past Arthur was golden and flickering, and Arthur himself was straight and dark in his best suit, which is just slightly too small for him now.
“Good evening sir,” he said to Harrington. “I regret to say that you are underdressed for this establishment. Please allow me.” He tugged his father into the front hall, which was covered in candles, divested him of his sport coat and replaced it with a suit jacket. He then handed his father a tie, informed him that drinks would be served before dinner, and that “the lady is waiting for you at the table.” He then hurried into the kitchen, and Harrington, amused now, fixed his tie and headed into the dining room.
There Isabella was waiting, washed with candlelight and wearing a new dress. She smiled and got to her feet as Harrington came in, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “We couldn’t go out for Valentine’s Day,” she said, “so I brought Valentine’s to us.”
Harrington was duly impressed. In addition to the candles, there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers as a centerpiece and Isabella’s fine china on the table. Bowls of olives and fresh bread waited for him, and Isabella poured him a glass of wine.
Slightly marring this vision of luxury—or rather, in my opinion, improving it—were whispers and giggles coming from the kitchen, where apparently Arthur had a bit of help putting together the meal.
“Who else is in on this?” Harrington asked, grinning at his wife as he took his place at the table.
“Oh, everyone,” she said, waving one hand. “Mike’s been keeping an eye on you all day, to make sure you wouldn’t be too tired to enjoy it. To the same end I told Jared what I was planning.”
“So that’s why he didn’t call to nag me about that deal on parts.”
She laughed, and he thought how beautiful she looked in the candlelight. “Then Cameron brought and arranged all the candles, and Courtney got all the food and the flowers. And—”
She stopped then, for Arthur had come into the room, his nose high and a tray of small delights in his hands. “Horse durve, sir?” he asked, making both of his parents laugh, though I am not quite certain why.
With both of them nibbling, Arthur welcomed them to the “establishment” and listed the meals available. He spoke in a nasal, affected tone, all the while mispronouncing several words and making faces that had both Isabella and Harrington constricted with laughter. Looking down his nose at them both, he said, “Very good, sir,” and returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, that boy,” Harrington said, wiping his eyes. “Did you tell him to do all that?”
“No, though I had some misgivings about asking him to serve us,” Isabella replied, looking after her son with sparkling eyes. “I take them all back. He’s doing a wonderful job.”
“He is.” Sighing, Harrington picked up his wineglass. “To our son, who is growing up beautifully.”
Isabella eagerly echoed the toast. She then asked Harrington about his day, and they talked for some time. As he held hands with his wife and described his work with his alumnae association and the local mechanics and auto parts stores, Harrington began to feel more and more strongly that he had accomplished a great deal in the last year, despite—and even because of—his accident.
As I was looking proudly down at them both, I suddenly realized that Brid was there beside me. “He is doing well,” she said.
“He is very happy,” I said, putting two wings around her. “So we have not done too badly either, have we, my friend?”
“Passable,” she said, but her smile was very warm.
Arthur came in then, laden down with two plates and a basket of warm bread, but his toe caught on the lip of the entrance and he began to fall. Isabella gasped, and Harrington started up, and I sprang forward and knocked Arthur’s other foot underneath him, so that he regained his balance with a thump and wobbled upright again. A single piece of bread hit the floor, and everyone exhaled in relief.
“Sorry,” Arthur said, startled out of his character. He cleared his throat and set the plates down. “I guess I shouldn’t get a restaurant job anytime soon.” He frowned at Harrington, standing on his feet with one hand braced on the table.
Harrington did not notice, busy gauging his own strength and the stability of his body. It was not what it once had been, not by a long stretch, but he rather liked what he found. He is growing accustomed to disability—or rather, to being differently able than before.
Slowly, deliberately, he sat back down. Then he looked at his plate, its contents a little jarred out of Courtney’s careful arrangement, but still fragrant and delicious. “Well, what matters is how it tastes,” he says. He glanced up and raised his brows at Arthur. “Join us?”
Arthur immediately drew up a chair, and Isabella, not a bit disconcerted at her romantic dinner gaining one more participant, asked him how his semester is progressing. Their talk drew Courtney and Cameron out of the kitchen, and the whole affair became cheerful and exuberant. However, through it all the warmth and the romance did not depart; rather, it became an undercurrent that was visible in the look in Harrington’s eyes, Isabella’s smile, and the way their hands lingered close to one another.
“This is the source of his love now,” Brid observed. “He finds strength in them all.”
She was right, and in seeing that I realized that my work with Harrington is all but done. What I set out to do when he became my charge was to mend the strained relationships he had with his family, to make it so that they could support him through his healing and the changes in his life. I do not think it is immodest now to say that I have done that and more—all one has to do is look into his face and it is there to see.
I will consult with Danit before I make the decision, but I think that it is time for me to step back from him. I will be sorry to lose him, and sorrier still to no longer work with Brid, but I cannot think of a better way to leave Harrington than I saw him tonight. In the candlelight, surrounded by his family, and feeling stronger than he has in months, he is right where he should be.