Page 17 of Speak from the Heart

“You should probably just go, Emily,” Sue says gently from beside me, and I nod, though I don’t move at first. My heart patters so fiercely I can’t move my feet. I watch as Jess sets his daughter in his truck before I turn to Sue and follow her directive. Without another glance back at them, I step toward my car and enter it with heavy feet and an even heavier heart.

+ + +

“It sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder,” my sister says to me when I call her shortly after I pull onto the highway.

“PTSD? I thought only military personnel suffer such a thing,” I state even though I know that’s not true.

“Post-traumatic, Em. It could be from anything.”

“What are you thinking? Think something happened to her? Did her mother or someone else do something to her?”

“I don’t even want to make a guess. It makes me sick to think her mother said or did something, but we all do things we don’t mean to do. As parents, there are always things we wish we could take back. We’re still only human,” she says, dispelling wisdom to me like Nana used to do. Grace should have been a counselor for all the years she’s counseled me. “Where’s the mother again?”

“I actually don’t know.” It’s not like Jess and I are close enough to share our personal history, and I’d never ask Nana, knowing I’m unable to trust her answer. Still, I’m just as curious. Where is his ex-wife?

“Did she die? Divorce?”

“Grace,” I breathe out. “I don’t know.”

“Do you like him?” she says next, and I choke as I grip the steering wheel.

“What? No, of course not. He’s not my type.”

“And what is your type, Em?”

“Educated. Worldly. Sophisticated.” I sit straighter with each word, enjoying the roll of them off my tongue but admittedly not so confident in what I’m saying.

“Want some advice?”

“Not really,” I say, knowing she’s going to offer it anyway as my big sister.

“Don’t have a type. Be open-minded.”

I snort. “Well, he’s certainly not.”

“How do you know?” she says, then quickly adds, “And why do you care if you aren’t interested in him?”

I hate when my sister is right. I don’t want to like him, but the concern in his eyes yesterday when Nana insulted him made an impression. Maybe because he showed sympathy without pity after what happened on Nana’s porch. Sue and Joe are concerned too, but I can’t go to them for what I need.

Comfort. Compassion.

Jess had silently offered me these things, and I’d refused.

Yet isn’t that what I’m offering his child? Could it be that Jess and I are somehow alike?

“Grace, what am I going to do about Nana?” I ask, hoping to switch subjects.

“Give yourself a break,” she replies, and I don’t even know what that means.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you haven’t had time off in forever. Spend some time with her. Enjoy yourself a little bit.”

“Grace,” I say her name, hardening my voice. “The house is a wreck. The yard is in shambles. I’m not on vacation here. I’m here because Nana is losing her mind.” My voice rises along with my stress.

“Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I just think . . .” Her pause makes me want to close my eyes, but I’m driving. “I just think it might be good for you to slow down a bit. You could use this time to reflect a little.” Her voice gentles, but I don’t know what she’s saying because she isn’t actually saying anything. Reflect on what?

“I don’t have time for reflection. I need to concentrate on the road,” I state, though there isn’t another car for miles, and thank goodness because I’m speeding. My heart rate matches the pace of the tires on the asphalt.