Those days hollow me out.
My thumb hovers over the screen while the phone keeps ringing. The nurses always tell me that showing up matters, even on the bad days. But when she’s frightened and combative, I can’t help wondering if my presence only makes things worse.
One final ring.
It’s about to go to voicemail.
I shake off the—What did Carl call it?—tunnel vision, and answer.
“Hello.” My voice comes out tight.
“Hi, Emmett. It’s Connie.”
Connie isn’t just a nurse, she’s been my grandmother’s friend since before I moved her into long-term care.
“Oh, hey.” I pace the garage to burn off the unease crawling through me.
“Where have you been, kid?” I was nineteen when Connie moved into the apartment next to my grandmother’s place, andin a lot of ways, was still a kid at the time. I was out of my depth, and she’d helped me navigate a lot.
“You know how it is during the fire season.”
She hums like a woman who’s heard every excuse in the book. “I do. But I’ve seen Carl around town.”
Well shit.
Like Timberline Peak, Coyote Creek—where my grandmother and some of the crew live one town over from Bramble—is brimming with its own small-town gossip mill. Normally, I’m able to avoid it. My camper van is parked at the edge of town on a plot of land I lease from Vail Ward. The loose association with the man who has Bramble by the balls is enough that most people steer clear.
But Connie knows me better than most.
“You’re really something, you know.”
“By something, you mean a delight?” I ask.
“A delight.” She laughs. “Do you hear him, Monica?”
“How is she?” I ask, every sharp edge rounding out. Only one—no, two—people have that effect on me. My grandmother and Aspen.
“If you came to visit you wouldn’t have to ask.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” I repeat. The want is more complicated. Of course I want to see my grandmother, but each visit leaves me feeling like a tree hollowed out by lightning.
“Is that because of the little incident you’re not telling me about?”
“Fucking Carl,” I grumble. “This feels like a HIPAA violation.”
“HIPAA doesn’t apply here. Besides, all he told me was you weren’t home, and you’d had an accident.”
“Still.”
“What the hell, Emmett. You didn’t think it would be good to give us a heads-up. You’re her only family. What if something had happened?”
“I’m not her only family. She’s got you, and you’re worth more to her than me.”
Connie’s exasperation bleeds through her huffed breath. “Monica would disagree.”
