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‘Holly?’ Nate says, his voice deeper and grittier than usual.
I shake my head. My heart is racing and I can’t think.
‘Hols, you there? Can you hear me?’
I pull the phone away from my ear and clear my throat with a rough cough. ‘I can hear you,’ I whisper, moving the phone back.
‘Are you okay?’ Nate asks.
‘No.’
‘Okay, sorry. Stupid question.’
A rustle in the bed behind me grabs my attention, and I spin around to check on Nana. She’s still sleeping, but she’s slipped into an uncomfortable half-sitting, half-lying position. The pillows piled behind her are forcing her chin to press against her chest. I bring my shoulder up to my ear and balance my phone between, freeing my hands. I hurry over to the bed and take care not to wake Nana as I adjust the pillows and try to make her comfortable.
It’s almost impossible to fix the skyscraper mound into anything workable, so I slide my hand gently between the back of Nana’s head and the top pillow as I pull out some of the middle pillows and toss them onto the nearby chair. I take a moment to savour the warmth of her head in my palm before I ease her back into a much more relaxed position, lying flat.
‘Holly, you still there?’ Nate’s voice scrapes against my ear like a rusty nail.
‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘I’m here.’
‘I thought you’d hung up there for a second,’ Nate says.
I exhale sharply, yielding to the pain in my chest as my heart breaks. It shouldn’t be like this. I don’t have time for messy breakup drama right now. I only have time for Nana.
‘What do you want, Nathan?’ I say.
‘I… I…’ Nate pauses, and I wonder what he’s doing. Stopping to scratch his head or wishing he’d never called. ‘Annie is sick,’ he says as if I didn’t know.
I don’t want to be on the phone any more. ‘You know she has cancer,’ I snap.
‘I know. I know. I just mean… is this…?’ Nate pauses again, and this time I can hear him rustling with something in the background. I allow him the benefit of the doubt and assume he’s fidgeting because he needs the distraction. ‘Is this the end?’
Silent tears sweep across my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. ‘Yes,’ I bring myself to admit, perhaps more to myself than to Nate. ‘Yes, it is.’
Nate sniffles, and I wonder if he’s crying, too. He’s not really the emotional type, but I know he has a soft spot for my grandmother. Maybe this has all genuinely come as a shock to him.
‘I’m sorry, Hols,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘I’m so sorry for everything.’
I shake my head. I don’t want to discuss everything. Not now. Even if Nate’s apology is sincere.
‘I have to go,’ I say.
‘Okay. I understand,’ Nate whispers. ‘Please, Hols, if there is anything I can do, please let me know.’
I grunt and roll my eyes. ‘Goodbye, Nathan.’ I slide my phone back into my pocket and turn around to stare out the window.
Nate should be here with me. He should rub my back and tell me to be strong. He should hold me in his arms and kiss my forehead the way my father does with my mother. He should tell me that everything will be all right, and he should say it even if he doesn’t believe it. And I should listen to it even if I don’t believe it, either. It shouldn’t be like this. Nothing should be like this.
I stare outside for a long time. The garden seems so much smaller now than when I was a kid. The apple trees scattered haphazardly around the lawn don’t seem as tall any more, and the gate feels closer, just a stroll away. When I was young, Nana’s farm felt enormous, and Ben and I could fritter away happy hours running around until we were weary and ready for bed. We’d come inside, mucky and with grass in our hair, and settle at the kitchen table for some homemade brown bread. I pine for those carefree days now, and I wish with a burning intensity that I could turn back time.
Dark clouds gather overhead and cast a shadow across the pebble stone driveway. I look up and know it’s going to rain, heavily. It seems fitting; as if the weather has taken it upon itself to wash the past away. I realise I lost myself in my memories, and I’ve been staring out the window for quite some time. I freeze, suddenly feeling alone. It’s as if Nana’s not here with me any more. I drag my hands around my face, pulling my skin until it’s taut and stiff and stings a little, objecting to the strain. I want to turn around and check on her, but I’m scared. I’m terrified. I drop my hands and clasp them together like in prayer as I spin on the spot.
Nana is pale, and I can’t hear the hum of her wheezy breathing that I’ve become accustomed to. I scurry to the bed and hover close above her. She’s so still. So calm. Too calm. I place my hand on her chest, and the sound of my own blood coursing through my veins pounds inside my skull. Finally, I feel her chest rise and slowly fall. Her breathing is undeniably laboured, but she’s still here. She’s still with me.Thank God.
