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‘I don’t know. It’s not like her.’ I fight a sense of dread. ‘I hope she’s not going to just leave it. I mean… I want to… to say goodbye.’ My face starts to crumple.
‘Oh, babe.’ Kev pulls me into a hug and I bury my head in his shoulder.
‘Has it been too hard, Kev? Having him visit every month?’ I whisper the words against
his chest, not sure I want to hear the answer. The truth.
‘It’s been hard,’ he answers slowly. ‘But it was always going to be hard, wasn’t it? No matter which way it went.’
‘I hate thinking that I made it worse.’
‘Worse for who? Grace?’
‘Us.’ I let out an unruly sob, my fists bunching in his shirt. ‘Have I made it worse for us?’
Kev eases back, his hands on my shoulders. ‘Heather, you’ve done your best for this family. Nobody doubts that.’ He gives me the glimmer of a smile. ‘Not even Amy.’
I smile back through my tears, grateful for his words and yet still so uncertain.
The days pass and I still don’t hear from Grace. A week, and nothing. I leave her a message, and then another. I ask her what happened, and then I ask her to call me back because I’m starting to worry. What if something bad has happened? What if Isaac has come down with meningitis, or has been hit by a car? My imagination goes into terrified hyper drive.
One night I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the computer. I turn it on, the screen casting an electric glow in the darkened room. I type an email.
Grace, what’s going on? Why have you not been in touch? – Heather
Maybe it’s too abrupt, but I’m feeling too strung out to moderate it. I push ‘send’ before I can have second thoughts. It’s eleven o’clock at night, and it’s not inconceivable that Grace is still up, still on her laptop, billing hours or whatever it is she does. I wait an entire hour, just staring at the screen, but no emails pop into my inbox.
A couple of days later, two weeks after Grace stood me up, she finally calls. I’m at work, and I’m not supposed to take personal calls, but when I see her name flash on the screen of my phone I slip into the office’s one bathroom, little more than a broom closet with a toilet and a tiny sink.
‘Grace?’ I sound incredulous and a little accusing.
‘Hi, Heather.’ She sounds exhausted. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call. And that I didn’t come out there a few weeks ago.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Because something clearly is, judging from the tone of her voice, the tiredness. ‘Is Isaac…?’
‘Isaac’s fine.’ A pause; it feels like she’s debating what to say. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says, but I’m not sure whether I should believe her.
‘Why didn’t you come?’
‘I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind.’ That seems unlikely, but I stay silent, waiting for more. ‘It’s been…’ She lets out a rush of breath. ‘Really busy.’
‘So will you and Isaac come as usual next weekend?’ His visit is less than two weeks away.
Grace lets out a shaky laugh that, shockingly, holds the threat of tears. ‘Oh, Heather…’
I panic, because Grace never sounds like that. So emotional, so weak. ‘Grace, what’s going on?’
‘I can’t talk about it now,’ she says on a shuddery breath. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it.’
For a few seconds I can’t speak. ‘Why not?’ I finally manage, the two words squeezed from my throat.
‘I…’ Grace pauses. ‘I haven’t been feeling all that well.’
I don’t know how to respond to that, how to feel. Is she lying? Is she really sick? What if she’s just done, and she’s making excuses to keep Isaac from me? ‘Grace,’ I choke out, ‘I thought we were going to have a conversation about this first.’
‘Oh, Heather, it’s not that.’ She sounds exasperated as well as exhausted, like I’m just too much work for her. ‘Look, I’ve barely missed a visit in seven years. Just let me duck out of one, okay? Just one.’ Her voice breaks, and I feel a mix of guilt and confusion. What is really going on here?
‘Just one?’ I press. ‘You’ll come next month?’
