Robert’s pensive chocolate eyes stared at his mother’s back. She sat, mending a few of his father’s old shirts – her back to the door, facing a windowless wall. He knew better than to try to approach her when she was like this; retreated into the depths of some memories so happy that they made the present world seem like torture. He carefully set the tray of food on her vanity and returned to their small, shared kitchen. His parents had requested the three bedroom suite with the hopes of adding another child to their family. Now the master bedroom served as his father’s – his mother occupying the room that would have belonged to the little brother or sister that never came. Another tray, laden not only with food but with several medications balanced carefully on his arm as he entered his father’s bedroom.
When he’d returned for the summer the room had been clean…and that was about it. Robert had taken the time to open the window facing their small building’s backyard, bring in a few flowers, play the quiet piano music that seemed to bring life to his father’s eyes. He was tapping his foot slowly to the tune now, a vacant smile playing on his lips. “Good Afternoon!” He prompted cheerfully, to no response. “It’s time for lunch. I think I’ve managed not to bumble this too terribly…”
It pained him every time, to see his father like this. He’d once been a brave, capable man. Now he did little more than sit up. Robert had to carefully spoon each bite into the older man’s mouth – dabbing at the bits that fell out. “Swallow?” He would ask, having to resort to rubbing the man’s throat to encourage the normally automatic behavior. After an hour his father was fed. By then it was time for the older man’s bath – which Robert had to do with a warm cloth and a large tub of water; the loud noise of running water frightened Erol too much. Then it was getting him dressed and in bed for his nap. He distracted the man from the sedating and pain reducing injections with a promise…”I’ll be back to read to you in a few hours, all right dad?”
His exit was interrupted by Jennifer’s entrance, the shirts mended and folded to be put away. She glanced past her son and to her husband, a flicker of recognition passing her only to be extinguished just as quickly. “He’s doing well.” She said evenly, moving past her son to put away his father’s shirts. “He always does when you’re home.” If Robert meant to protest the necessity for him to be gone – to earn a living for the three of them, there was no need. “But I’m sure he understands…somehow. He recognized you in the newspaper during the school year – in the Princess’ end of year ceremony. I almost thought he’d say your name but he…well he faded off, as he does.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to her. She seemed to be talking through him, rather than at him. His father had made small improvements over the years…from being completely vegetative to being able to make small movements, sounds and expressions. But Jennifer reported them as she would a militaristic evaluation…cold…distant. Robert had always known how deep the love of his parents had been. That it hadn’t always been like this now seemed like a cruel joke. In many ways – Erol’s incapacitation had resulted in Robert losing both parents.
“When will you be returning to duty?”
“We’ve been asked to return a few days before the beginning of the school year. …The end of the week. I’ve arranged for them to send the majority of my paycheck directly to you. That way you won’t have to wait for me to mail it.”
“You should keep it for yourself.” Jennifer replied, closing the windows as some children ran by playing. “We get by just fine on the pension. And I take some pressing in for the cadets who live in the district…” His mother’s hands, once soft and unworn showed the beginnings of dryness from the constant use of starches and chlorine. It was true they’d struggled during his days as a Cadet…until the Queen had begun to send food, money and clothing to Ward family door. And then his appointment to the Princess’ head of guard had all but ensured that his mother didn’t need to work. But Jennifer Ward was too proud to live off the sole earnings of her son and she stubbornly refused to stop. It wasn’t an issue he wanted to press with only a week left at home.
“I like to know you have it …. just in case…mother.” She hmm’d softly and took the tray out of the Lician man’s hands. “You should rest Robert. I’m capable of cleaning up.” She brushed him off, a mother hen remembering how to shepard a chick. Robert sighed and retired to his bedroom. He didn’t have much more there then he had at the dorms in Licia school. A small family portrait, taken during his first day at the Academy. A certificate of completion, military acknowledgements. There was a wooden shelf his father had built and designed to hold his first dagger collection, still sturdy after all these years. All of his clothes fit into a single dresser, a few uniforms and suits and the odd casual article of clothing. There were a few bonsai trees – relics of his childhood. He laid down on the small bed that only barely managed his frame and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter where we are, Robert.” His father had said at the young boy’s fears of their move to the capitol of Licia. “As long as we’re together!”