Page 36 of Speak from the Heart

“What if she—”

“Don’t say it.” Grace cuts me off, her voice sharper than moments ago when she teased me about Jess. “Just . . . take it one day at a time. Remember that she’s lived a good life and done what she wanted to do. And take each day as it comes.”

Grace is correct in many ways. Nana has lived a good life. She worked as an advice columnist during a time when women hardly worked outside the home, and she held that career for almost thirty years. Times change, she told me when the newspaper association cut the column. Her position allowed her to work from home and mail in her articles. Then she faxed them and eventually emailed, which was still in its infancy at the time.

Will I still be working at City’s Edge in another twenty years? The thought makes me shiver. I’m nowhere near the accomplishments of my grandmother. By my age, she’d had a marriage, a child, and a thriving career. What do I have off that list?

I push away the hollowness in my chest and eventually end the call with Grace. Next, I contact my boss. I’ll need another week, at least. It’s a Sunday, so he isn’t at the office, and I decide to contact human resources instead of leaving him a message. I’m within my rights to take another week. It’s not ideal, and I understand that as I have stories pending and appointments to make, but someone else can fill in for me. It’s what the newspaper has done for years when other people take the time they need or the vacations they deserve. Not to mention, I can’t deal with my boss’s disappointment.

As I re-enter Nana’s room, I note she’s awake.

“She’s been asking about you,” a nurse tells me. She’s just checked Nana’s vitals, which seems to be a continual process.

“Nana,” I whisper, my voice cracking on her name. “How are you feeling?”

“The radio,” she says, her voice raspy from disuse. “Where is the radio?”

“I’m getting it fixed, Nana. Remember? When you go home, it will be waiting for you.” I swallow at the lies I tell. I have no idea when the radio will be repaired or if Nana will be returning to her beloved house.

“It was a gift for John.”

My eyes close at the reminder of my grandparents’ love for each other. I vaguely remember this story. In the tradition of marriage gifts, something made of wood was the proper present for a fifth wedding anniversary. My grandmother gave my grandfather the wood-encased radio, telling him she hoped they’d still have it when they celebrated year twenty-seven, signified by music. Grandpa gave her a porch swing. Not the same one Jess and I sat on, as the original only withstood the elements for so long, but still, a wood slat porch swing was his gift.

So we could listen to the music on the front porch.

I don’t know why the memory comes back to me, but I hear my grandfather’s voice in my head. I miss him. I miss my mother. I miss Grace.

My eyes leak at the thought I’m going to miss Nana.

I don’t know how we’ll make it one day at a time, as Grace suggests.

Later in the day, Jess comes to the hospital with an overnight bag he says Sue Carpenter packed for me. He also brings me a handful of daisies.

“I cut them from her garden. I thought it might brighten up the place a bit.”

My eyes fill with liquid again. Jess reaches for my upper arm and rubs at my bare skin, which has been chilled by the air conditioning in the room. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll sit with her.”

Nana has already fallen back into her morphine-induced sleep. She needs lots of rest to ensure recovery, the doctors told me. Her body is older, but she can heal. It will just take some time, which I suddenly don’t feel is on my side.

I shouldn’t leave Nana, but I do need a minute to walk away. I enter a visitor’s shower room and once undressed, simply stand underneath the spray, allowing the tears to mix with the water pouring over me.

What am I going to do?

How am I going to do this?

Finally, the tears stop, but I still don’t have answers. I dry myself, change into fresh clothes, and return to Nana’s room.

“She hasn’t moved,” Jess says, sitting next to her bed, hands steepled under his chin as if in prayer. He looks up at me. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I know, but you still need to eat.” He stands and circles the end of her bed. “I’ll go down to the cafeteria to get you something.” His hand comes to my arm again and rubs as though he’s afraid to touch me, afraid to offer me more.

That might be because you pushed him away last night, Emily.

I did, frightened I’d crumple before him. Today, I feel a little stronger physically. My head is the weak part. So many thoughts. So many concerns.

Surprising me, Jess steps closer and leans in to press a kiss to my temple. “Let me help.”