“She’s gone, Callie,” he whispers, his voice broken-hearted. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. Grandma passed away in her sleep. It was peaceful. And quick. She went to lie down and when I checked on her, she was already gone,” he rattles off monotonously, as if he’s speaking about someone else. Someone other than his mother and my grandmother.
“What?” I whisper, shocked.
“She’s gone,” he repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself. And then, “I’m sorry, Callie. That’s emergency services. They’re here. Let me call you back.” Dad disconnects the call.
I stare at the screen, stunned.
Grandma passed away. I knew it was coming; we all did. But it doesn’t lessen the surprise of knowing, the hurt of feeling her loss.
My shoulders curl inward as I hunch forward and stare at the spot between my shoes. I don’t know how much time passes but when a heavy hand lands on my back, I jump.
My face snaps upward and my gaze slams into Gage’s.
“Whoa, hey,” he says softly, sitting beside me. “I was calling your name.”
I stare at him, trying to form words. None come out.
“Cal, what is it? What happened? Are you okay?” His brow furrows and his narrowed eyes flood with concern. He looks around, as if searching for a threat.
I open my mouth and a horrible sound bursts forth, like a wild animal.
Gage grips my upper arms. “Look at me, Calla Lily,” he demands.
I do, falling forward into the soft brown of his eyes. Into the safety they provide.
“What happened?” he repeats.
“She’s gone,” I manage, saying the exact same words Dad used. “My grandma passed away.” Saying it aloud somehow makes it true and now, the tears come. They form as tiny pockets of moisture in the corners of my eyes but once the first tear slips over and falls onto my cheek, they all follow. A torrent I can’t control.
Gage pulls me into his arms. He wraps me up and hugs me against his chest and I bury my face against his sweater as I sob. My shoulders shake and I break apart.
But Gage holds me together.
Once the jagged crying spell passes, Gage takes my hand and leads me from the stands, from the stadium. He drives me to my hotel in downtown Knoxville, pinches my keycard from my wallet, and settles me into my hotel room.
“Come here, sweetheart.” His voice is low and even. I follow him into the bathroom as he flips on the shower, tests that the water is hot, and hangs a robe on the back of the bathroom door. “Take your time, Callie. I’ll be waiting outside, and I’ll order room service.”
“Okay,” I blubber. “Okay.”
Gage closes the bathroom door and I strip slowly. My skin is pale and my eyes are devoid of everything except heartache. I take a long shower, steaming up the bathroom mirror. But when I emerge, dressed in a fluffy robe, hamburgers and fries, a cheesecake and carafe of coffee, and a bottle of wine await me.
“You didn’t have to order all this.” I gesture toward the food.
“I wanted to,” Gage says easily. He ushers me into a chair.
Once we’re settled and eating, he smiles at me. “If you want to talk about her, I’d love to hear everything you want to share.”
Tears pool in my eyes and I realize I do want to talk about her. I want to tell someone about how kindhearted and lovely she was. About how she sewed my Halloween costumes from scratch and made a mean icebox cake—the hit of our summer block parties. I open my mouth and the words flow.
I share memories of my grandmother with Gage for hours. He asks questions, laughs with me, and helps lessen the burden of her loss. That night, when the wine kicks in and the grief of the day catches up to me, sleep finally beckons. Gage tucks me into bed, kisses my forehead, and promises to call in the morning.
He calls every morning for the next few days to check on me. And when I toss a single white rose on Grandma’s coffin and look up, it’s Gage’s eyes that center me and give me the strength to get through the service.
I swallow, shaking the memory from my mind.
Other memories, moments, filter through.
Like how he sent me flowers when I signed one of the big Valencia soccer players.
