Chapter 8 8

Dinner was served in a room larger than Jeanine's entire apartment building. At the head of the table sat Grandmother Marks. She looked frail, her skin like parchment, but her eyes were sharp as tacks.

Jeanine curtsied. It was a reflex from a past life.

"Come here, child," Grandmother rasped. "Let me see your hands."

Jeanine held out her hands. They were scrubbed raw, the nails cut short and unpolished.

"Worker's hands," Grandmother nodded approvingly. "Good. I'm tired of seeing claws that can't lift a spoon."

"She's a surgeon, Mother," Eleanor beamed. "She cuts people open!"

"I'm a resident," Jeanine corrected gently.

Conrad sat on the arm of Jeanine's chair, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder. "She's the best resident they have."

A maid placed a teacup in front of Grandmother. The old woman reached for it, but her hand shook violently. The cup rattled against the saucer, tea sloshing over the side.

The table went silent. Everyone looked away, pretending not to notice.

Jeanine didn't look away. She stood up, walked to the head of the table, and gently moved the cup closer to the old woman's hand, placing a straw in it.

"Mrs. Marks," Jeanine said softly. "Your tremors seem more pronounced in the resting phase. Has your dosage of Levodopa been adjusted recently?"

Aunt Clara gasped. "How rude! We do not discuss Mother's condition at the table!"

Grandmother held up a hand to silence her daughter. She looked at Jeanine. "The doctors say it's just progression. Nothing to be done."

"May I?" Jeanine gestured to the old woman's hand.

Grandmother nodded.

Jeanine knelt beside the chair. She took the frail, shaking hand in hers. She found the pressure points in the wrist and forearm-points she had learned from the Singleton family's private holistic specialists. She began to massage, firm and rhythmic.

"Relax your shoulder," Jeanine instructed.

Five minutes passed in silence. Slowly, miraculously, the violent shaking subsided into a mild tremor.

Grandmother stared at her hand. She picked up the spoon. It was steady.

"You are an angel," Grandmother whispered.

Eleanor let out a sob. She pulled a heavy jade bangle off her own wrist.

"Take it," Eleanor insisted, shoving it onto Jeanine's arm. "It was Conrad's great-grandmother's. It belongs to the family."

"I can't," Jeanine tried to pull it off. "This is too much."

Conrad's hand covered hers, stopping her. "Keep it. Marks family rule: never refuse a gift from Mom."

Jeanine looked at the jade. It felt heavy. It felt like a lie. She was deceiving these people who were so desperate for hope.

Clara threw her napkin on the table and stormed out.

Conrad leaned down and whispered in Jeanine's ear, "You're good at this. Maybe too good."

Just then, the butler leaned in and whispered something to Conrad.

Conrad's face went black. "Tell her to leave. Now."