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“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jesse
Her hand in mine is the only reason mine isn’t shaking. “You have to sign in.” My tone is apologetic and I don’t know why. Lulu doesn’t care.
She picks up the pen on the end of a metal chain, filling in her name and phone number. When she gets to the column where she has to fill in the name of the resident she’s here to visit she turns to me. “Jack,” I say. “Logan.”
“All the J names.”
“They almost named me Journey.”
“Like the band? Really?”
“No. Not really.”
Her tongue peeks from between her teeth as she finishes filling in the sign-in sheet, and it calms me. The curve of her mouth and the way her hair falls over her forehead, in her eyes, the few tendrils that have come loose from her ponytail and curl at the back of her neck. These pieces of her that have become a part of my everyday view, so much so that not knowing if or when I’d see them again was a loss I felt in my gut, in my bones. I’m grateful for the chance to see every piece of her again.
Fred, a nurse, gives Lulu a visitor’s pass and buzzes us into Pop’s residence. “He’s in the day room,” Fred says, so I lead her there. The day room has a day care vibe to it, which I find infantilizing, but fortunately the residents like it for the most part. It’s bright, decorated in pastel colors, with a lot of textured fabrics. The TV is almost always on but there’s also art, music, games. Pop likes to sit by the window.
He leans close to the pane, interested in something I can’t see.
“Hey, Pop.”
He doesn’t respond but I don’t expect him to. I prepped Lulu on all of this on the drive over, but I still feel the urge to explain, to make excuses for behaviors that he has no control over. Lulu sits in the chair beside his.
“This is Lulu,” I say.
“Hi, Jack.”
Pop doesn’t quite smile but he was never much of a smiler. We’re similar that way. He quirks his lips and she beams back at him.
“Do you want a coffee, Pop?” I ask. There’s a coffee machine in the hallway.
He pats the pockets of his sweatpants. “I—I don’t have my wallet.” He sounds puzzled by this fact.
“I’ve got it.” I pat his shoulder and suppress my grin when his mouth twists, proud of himself for pulling off one of his oldest tricks. He’d “forget” his wallet when we’d go out for dinner or hit the concession stand at the movies and make me pay for both of us. He’d always get me back. I’d find bills stuffed into my sock drawer, my coat pockets, the drink cup in my SUV.
“You want one, too?”
“Sure,” she says. “Decaf?”
Clarice tries to dance with me as the machine spits out the coffees. She’s already dressed for the evening in a green dress and kitten heels. I let her take my hands. She hums a tune that sounds vaguely familiar and spins under my arm before winking and drifting away.
I walk slowly back to the day room, trying to balance three paper cups filled with hot coffee. I stop in the doorway. Lulu and Pop sit closer together now, leaning toward each other. She talks mostly, her hands punctuating her words, and Pop nods.
“And basically, that’s how I got into studying history.”
“Hmmmm,” he mutters as I set the cups down on the table beside him. “Yes.” He nods.
“Thanks, Jesse,” Lulu says, holding one of the coffee cups in her hands like she’s cold.
Pop makes observations about the birds perched on the power lines and calls Lulu my grandmother’s name, Rose. By the time we’re ready to go, his voice is scratchy from disuse. I don’t think he’s spoken this much in months, but if anyone can get him talking, it’s Lulu.
We walk him back to his room and I get him situated in the chair by his window. He’s fixated on his television, one of those fishing shows, something he never watched before he was sick. I kiss the top of his head anyway.
