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I smiled back. “It’ll be nicer when you quit this job and we move to Palm Springs and open a cat café.”
He winced. “I’m allergic.”
“You are?” I blinked, surprised. “How could I not know that?”
“It never came up,” he said, laughing. “Is this a deal-breaker?”
“I guess it could be a hairless cat café.”
“Sounds disgusting. I’m in,” he said, and kissed me again. “Get home safe.”
But I didn’t go home.
The idea of talking to Shelly had lodged itself in my mind, and I kept returning to it as I drove. It wasn’t just that I wanted to ask her about Jack; it was that she knew things about Mimi, answers I had no other way of ever getting. She was the one person left who had known my grandmother when she was younger. She had stories, memories. Even her son had said so. And if she couldn’t talk, there still had to be a way for me to ask questions and let her answer them.
The bridge that led back to Mount Desert Island loomed ahead, but I was already slowing, pulling a U-turn and driving back in the direction of Willowcrest.
Not long after, I was back in the parking lot where I’d kissed Adam goodbye just an hour before. I parked at the far end and consideredmy next move. Adam had said that Shelly didn’t do visitors, which could mean one of two things: either that she didn’t get many visitors, or that she was one of the residents with limits on who was allowed in to see her. I briefly considered texting him and then decided not to risk it; if I was breaking a rule by visiting Shelly, better that I didn’t get him involved. I got out of the car, pulling my hood low over my head, and approached the entrance. I was in luck: Tasha, the receptionist, was standing at the opposite end of the sidewalk, hunched against the cold with her back turned to me. She was holding a vape pen in one hand, her phone in the other, and she was talking animatedly to someone on the other end. I caught a snatch of her end of the conversation (“and I was like, ‘That iswaytoo much puke for one person,’” she was saying), and then I was through the door, head down, hurrying around the corner and toward the residential wing where Mimi had lived.
It was just after five o’clock, dinnertime, and my heart sank as I realized that I had timed this poorly, and Shelly had probably already been wheeled down to the cafeteria. But when I turned the last corner toward what had been Mimi’s room, I found I was in luck: her door was closed, and beside it, a small white light was glowing to show that she was still at home. Even if I had time to ask her only a couple of questions, it was a start.
I knocked and then tried the handle, which turned easily under my palm. “Hello,” I called, slipping through the door. There was only one light on, a table lamp at the far end of the room, but I could see Shelly sitting in her wheelchair beside it. She was faced away from me, looking out through the glass sliding door that opened onto a small deck. In the summer the deck had a nice view, a small pond with a fountain where ducks swam. I’d sat there sometimes with Mimi, watching the birds while she reminisced. But the pond was invisible now, covered in snow, the fountain shut off for the winter.
“Hi,” I said, hovering inside the door. “I’m Delphine. Miriam’s granddaughter. We met—or, I mean, we saw each other. At the funeral. I hope you don’t mind . . .”
I trailed off, waiting for an answer, then realized that of course I wouldn’t get one. Shelly was half-paralyzed; she couldn’t even twist around to look at me, let alone tell me if she minded whether I was here or not. I pulled the door closed behind me and moved quickly into the room, so she’d be able to see me.
“Anyway,” I was saying, trying to sound cheerful, “I wanted to visit you. I was hoping I could ask—”
The rest of the sentence died in my throat as I neared Shelly’s chair. She still hadn’t turned to look at me, and now I understood why.
Shelly was dead, her head rocked back at an angle, her eyes open and bulging. Her face was a mottled purple, and her tongue dangled grotesquely from her mouth, where a thin foamy dribble of saliva tinged with something dark—blood, I thought—had escaped from one corner and run down toward her chin. I stared in horror, wondering if I should try CPR even as my rational brain pointed to that protruding tongue, that mottled skin, and told me it was much too late. For several long moments, I didn’t move.
And then from the hallway came the sound of voices, a light knock on the door. “Miz Dyer,” a woman’s voice called. “Sorry, we’re just a bit behind schedule. It’ll be just another moment.”
My guts twisted with panic. I told myself I could stay, let them find me here and try to explain—but my body was a step ahead, my hand already reaching for the handle on the sliding door. It opened easily and I slipped through without a sound, closing it quickly and hoping that the cold wouldn’t linger in the room. A low railing ran around the deck and I climbed over it, brushing away the handprints I’d left in the snow, sinking shin-deep into a drift as my feet hit the ground. I gasped as snow filled the open tops of my boots, then clamped my hand over my mouth: in the room I’d just left, a light had come on. I slunk back against the side of the building, waiting. Wondering if they’d seen me.But no shadow appeared at the glass door, no one opened it to peer out. Instead, there was a pause, and then another voice—male this time, and familiar—said, “Oh, Jesus. Is she—”
I hugged the wall, crept around the corner of the building, and ran. I knew how the rest would go. I didn’t need to hear it.
19.
Adam called me the next day to tell me that Shelly had died. “I’m really sorry,” he said before I could tell him I already knew. “I mean, I know you didn’t really know her, but I feel bad that I didn’t bring you in to see her yesterday when you said something about it. I just had no idea she was in such bad shape.”
“Was it another stroke?” I asked, realizing as I did that I had decided not to tell him, or anyone else, that I’d been there last night.
“I think so. I was on movie night duty on the other side of the facility, so I only heard about it this morning.” He paused. “Do you want me to find out?”
I thought of Shelly’s mottled skin, the lolling tongue, and shuddered. Did I need to know anything else? All the questions I’d wanted to ask her were about her life. Her death, which I’d already seen too much of, was none of my business. “No. I don’t need you to do that.”
“Okay,” he said. “I should go. Will I see you later?”
“Not today. Too much packing. And...” I hesitated.
“What?”
“It’s just, my mom looks at me sideways every time I leave the house, and I’m running out of excuses.”
“Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth,” he said, and before I could answer, he added, “Just think about it. I love you.” There was a beep as the call ended, no time for me to say,I love you too.
