“You do?” I didn't want to sound so surprised and excited, but I couldn't help it. That day in the woods, I'd been worried I didn't have one at all.
She nodded, her eyes half closed. She curled into a little ball. “It's purple and blue and pink. With some red and orange mixed in. It looks like a quilt. It's all patched up.”
“It is?”
She coughed rather than answering. I rubbed her back and pressed the washcloth to her forehead again. Maybe it wasn't fate that brought Eamon back to me. Maybe it was something more. Maybe it was magic.
“I like your heart, Katherine. It's pretty. And it doesn't look like anyone else’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
On the Thursdaybefore the wedding, I was in the throes of a scrape-me-from-the-ceiling panic. I'd been through my binder a million times, running down the minuscule tasks Amy had left for me. Yesterday, I called the florist and even stopped by her shop to double-check that the flowers were right. Delivery time and the country club address had been confirmed and reconfirmed. I checked in with the other bridesmaids to make sure they all knew where to be for the rehearsal and at what time. That was its own form of torture, since they'd all talked to Amy in recent weeks and I hadn't. They all thought everything was fine. Things were not fine, and it was the worst feeling in the world to hear other people talk about going out for drinks or dinner with her and Luke. Eamon and I should’ve been doing those things. Not anymore.
I'd asked for the time off from work months ago, right after Amy and Luke set the date for the wedding. I'd figured I would be aflutter with activity in the days leading up to the big day, stressed but happy from too much to do and lots of time with my sister. Instead, I was stressed out from doing nothing, which only gave me more time to stare down what the rest of my life might be like without her.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something or I was going to lose it, and I knew very well that my last chance at making up with my sister revolved around the damn necklace. I’d talked to Beverly several times over the last ten days or so, but my grandmother had circled the wagons on my mother’s pearls. She refused to give them up, and she wouldn’t talk to me about it either. Even the front desk at Shady Pines was under orders not to put through a phone call from me. Which left me with no real alternative. I was going to have to storm the castle in person.
I marched into the bedroom to spring my plan on Eamon. Fiona was in Philadelphia with Rachel for a few days, but would return in time for the wedding. I missed her terribly. The apartment wasn’t the same without her. “I’m going to Connecticut to get my mother's necklace.” I’d been deliberate in not saying that I wouldtryto get it. I had to succeed, and stating my intention to the universe felt like a necessary part of my endeavor.
Eamon looked up from his guitar, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. A notebook and pencil were on the bed next to him. “Now. You're going to Connecticut right now.”
“The clock is ticking and I can’t sit around for another minute with nothing to do.”
Eamon set his guitar aside and patted his lap. “I can always think of something to do.”
“Very funny. I'm being serious.”
“So am I.” He smiled and did that thing where he makes his eyebrows bob up and down. His expression fell quickly though. Probably because he knew I was not happy. “I’ll come with you. I'll keep you company on the train.”
“You will?” My plan of attack was getting stronger by the minute. If I was turned away at the door, I had backup. No retirement home receptionist stood a chance against Eamon’s charms.
He clapped his hands and stood. “Yeah. Let's get to the train station.”
I packed us a quick lunch and we retraced the route we’d taken at Thanksgiving, except we got off one stop earlier and took a car to Shady Pines. When we pulled up, I saw how much they'd airbrushed the photos on the website. The parking lot was an expanse of crumbling asphalt dotted with potholes full of watery muck. It was warmer now than at Thanksgiving, and whatever snow they’d gotten was in icy hunks refusing to melt, black like soot. A metal rain gutter had fallen from one corner of the roof, hanging perilously and bent in the middle. The brick façade was a jarring shade of rust, with stark white mortar along the joints. This wasn't the lovely picture I'd seen online. Or maybe I hadn't wanted to look closely enough.
Eamon didn't say a thing, bless his heart. He simply took my hand and led me up the walk to the front door. The lobby had a reception desk with wood-grain laminate, chipped and peeling at the corners. I was relieved that there wasn’t a picture of me on the wall with a note about how I shouldn’t be allowed in. A young woman with bright cheeks and a long red braid was busy hanging fluffy silvery garland around it. “Oh, hello!” She seemed genuinely pleased to see us. “Are you visiting someone today?” She scurried behind the desk and pulled out a clipboard with a yellow ribbon tied at the top and taped to the end of a pen. “Please fill in the resident's name and room number and I'll have one of the nurses bring them out. Or you can go to their room, whichever you prefer.”
I surveyed the large common area beyond reception. Dozens of residents were parked in wheel chairs, some in front of a TV or at small tables playing games. Some were sitting by themselves, doing nothing more than staring out the window or into their own lap. “I, uh. Well, this is complicated. I'm here to see my grandmother, Marjorie Price, but she's not expecting me, and, um…” How exactly was I going to explain the part about how she didn’twantto see me, either?
The receptionist cocked her head, pleasant hazel eyes blinking. And blinking. “Let me guess. Things are strained,” she said, matter of fact.
Now it was my turn to blink. “Yes. Exactly.”
“We get a lot of that. It’s complicated when a loved one is placed in a permanent care facility. Would you like me to notify Ms. Price, or would you like me to page Beverly, the nurse who works on her wing?”
I nodded like a kid who'd been asked if she wanted ice cream for dinner. “Beverly. Please.”
“It'll just be a moment.” She picked up the phone and rested an elbow on the desk. “Mr. Stein, no changing the channel without everyone's okay,” she called out.
An elderly man in a newsboy cap and high-water gray pants waved her off and sank down into a chair. Mr. Stein had apparently wanted to watch Wheel of Fortune.
“Beverly will be here in a moment.”
“Thank you so much.”
Eamon and I stood to the side and waited, not wanting to clog up the entrance, although no one was coming or going, which seemed so incredibly sad. The receptionist went back to her festive decorating and I decided that it was at least a good thing that pleasant people worked here.
“You must be Katherine,” a warm, familiar voice came from behind me.
