“Callie-girl?” Grandma looks up, squinting like she’s trying to be sure she isn’t dreaming.
I’m across the room before I can blink, arms around her, holding tight to a frame that used to have more softness, less bony edges.
She hugs me back with surprising strength. “You’re late,” she chides softly. “I kept telling them you’d come. They kept telling me to eat more breakfast, but it was no hardship. It was my favourite.” The smile she gives me is almost conspiratorial. Herold self breaking through for a moment that I want to hold onto and stretch out.
Her voice is thinner than I remember. But stronger, too. More grounded.
“I’m here,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She pats my cheek. “Your face… you look tired.”
I shake my head quickly, wiping my eyes. “Just worried.”
“That’s my job,” she says, giving me one of the crooked smiles that was her way of telling me off when I was a kid, because she never once raised her voice at me. “Not yours.”
A soft knock and a doctor enters. She is mid-forties with friendly eyes; her coat properly buttoned rather than wrinkled and half-open like the last doctor who barely cared.
“Good morning,” she greets us with a smile, looking at both of us. “I’m Dr. Hirsch. We completed Juliet’s transfer this morning.”
“Transfer?” Grandma frowns, confused. “I liked the other place.”
“No, you didn’t,” I say gently.
“But they had pudding.”
The doctor smiles, and it lights up the room. “We have pudding here, too. Better pudding.”
Grandma brightens at that.
The doctor continues, flicking her finger over her tablet. “Juliet has vascular dementia with intermittent breakthrough agitation. Her cognitive tests this morning suggest she may respond well to a small medication adjustment. If so, we can move her to one of our lower-dependency apartments, morecommunity access, more autonomy. More living your own life without our unnecessary interference.”
My chest cracks open with hope.
“She could have her own place again?” I whisper.
“With the right support,” she confirms. “You’re not quite there yet, Juliet, but I’m optimistic.”
Grandma pats my hand. “See? Told you I’d outlive all the bad days.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out thick and wet. I glance behind me and find Dariy standing silently in the doorway. Watching us. Watching me. Making sure I don’t say anything I shouldn’t no doubt.
Grandma’s attention drifts as the doctor checks her vitals. Eventually she tires, and the nurse suggests she rest. I fuss too long over her blankets and kiss her cheek twice before forcing myself to leave the room.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us, the tears I’ve been holding spill over.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I say as we leave the building, Dariy nodding goodbye to the nurse at the desk, pausing to tell her something I don’t catch.
“This is more than I could ever do for her. You gave her dignity back. Hope. It’s like bringing her here has added time on that the other place was taking away.”
Dariy’s jaw flexes like the words hurt him.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” I whisper. “Whether you trust me or not. This means so much to me.”
His gaze sharpens. “We met under extenuating circumstances. It’s natural for you to behave in a way to save yourself. How canI trust what you say, when you could be saying what you think I want to hear?”
That strikes bone.
