When my father died, I’d said goodbye to his body, empty of his essence—Earl Porter in flesh but not in full. I was never a religious person, although I hoped the afterlife existed; all those artists and warriors and thinkers and lovers seemed awfully wasted if their only point was to kiss the earth once and leave. Seeing Dad in front of me without his fundamental Earlness had made me a believer in the soul, if nothing else. So I was heartened to walk into Eleanor’s darkened chambers and, after all this time, still not be struck by any absence of self. Her cheeks were pale, her skin was slack. The eyebrows she so frequently lofted in my direction lay chillingly still, as did she. But she wasn’t gone. There was a presence here. I realized then that as long as this was true, I’d be here, too.

The nurse gave me a stern just one minute expression.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, compelled to treat Eleanor’s bed with reverence, like a church. I sat down next to her, and unbidden, tears came, a flood that made a mascara-sodden mess of the hanky Donna had tucked in my bra.

“I fucked up, Eleanor,” I wept. “They’re broken. We’re all broken. We need you. You’ve got to get well and scare us all straight again, because I have no clue what to do or how to do it.”

I took her hand, papery and cool, and caught myself for a second before deciding to follow my instinct and lean over to kiss her forehead. A tear fell on her skin, and as I wiped it off, I leaned closer.

“Stand tall in the storm,” I whispered right into her ear. “I will if you will.”

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Right, you’ve picked the photo of the screaming baby,” said the game show host. “Listen up. What percentage of our studio audience said it wants the Duchess of Clarence to sprog up in the new year?”

I groaned and tipped my head back in my chair.

“Sweetie, Eleanor doesn’t want to hear such rude noises,” admonished my mother from the screen of my iPad, propped up against a vase on the end table next to my wing chair in Eleanor’s sickroom.

“Maybe I’m doing it on purpose, to annoy her back to consciousness,” I said, glancing over at my New Year’s Eve date. Eleanor’s heart rate monitor beeped peacefully in response.