“I don’t want to miss it either!” Olivia shrieked, suddenly panic-stricken. She raced for her jacket and then dropped it, realizing her hat was still in the closet.
“No one’s missing the bus,” I said, helping Olivia into her jacket while Izzy went out the front door and started down the driveway, her black boots leaving footprints in the fresh snow. “Have a good day, Iz,” I called after her. She didn’t respond. So I responded for her: “Thanks! You too, Mom!”
I grabbed Olivia’s panda hat and stuck it on her head, pulling the ear flaps down. “Hey, Liv?”
“Yeah?”
“What was your grandma saying to you when I came in? When she was whispering to you?”
Olivia grinned. “I can’t tell you, Mom,” she said, pulling on her mittens and grabbing her backpack.
Goose bumps ran up and down my arms, each little hair standing up like a soldier at attention. My jaw clenched, but I forced myself to smile. “Oh yeah? Why not?”
“It’s a secret,” she said with a giggle, tearing out the door to follow her sister.
TWELVE
IF SHE HADN’T HADa hospice name badge hanging from a lanyard around her neck, I would never have guessed that the woman who showed up at our front door was the nurse Paul had hired. Teresa was wearing faded leggings, Birkenstocks over thick socks, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. Her wild, curly gray hair was in a loose braid that hung down between her shoulder blades. She carried a battered leather satchel and wore an amethyst crystal on a silver chain around her neck.
My first thought when I opened the door and shook her hand wasOh, shit, my mother’s going to hate you.
Moxie came and greeted her.
“Aren’t you a beauty,” Teresa said, giving Moxie’s ears a good scratch. Moxie reciprocated by giving her hand a few good licks.
“That’s Moxie,” I said. “If you’re not careful, she’ll cover you in dog kisses.”
“There are far worse fates,” Teresa said.
She would know, wouldn’t she—this woman who shepherded people from the land of the living to the realm of the dead.
“Come on in, my mother’s room is right through here.”
I led the poor unsuspecting nurse into my mother’s room and steeled myself for whatever snarky comment was to come.
Teresa dropped her bag on the floor, walked right up to the side of the bed, and took my mother’s hand.
I bit my lip. This well-intentioned woman definitely didn’t stand a chance. My mother was not a touchy-feely person.
“Mavis, it’s so nice to meet you,” the nurse said, her voice soothing and genuine. “I’m Teresa from Kingdom Hospice. I’ll be your primary nurse. You’ll see others, but it’ll mostly be me. You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together.” She gave my mother a smile that seemed to warm the whole room. “And I’m going to give you and your daughter my cell number. I’m available anytime, night or day. If you have a question, if you need anything at all, you call me. If I can’t help you, I promise I’ll find someone who can.”
Mother smiled, patted the nurse’s hand. “Saint Teresa,” she said. “I like your shirt.”
I blew out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“Thank you,” Teresa said.
“I used to love the Grateful Dead,” Mother said.
I looked at her, squinting like I was trying to bring her into focus, to recognize just who this person in the rented hospital bed was. “What? You did?” There was no hiding my shock.
My mother nodded and grinned. “Oh yes. Bobbi and I used to go to their shows.”
I barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding!” I couldn’t picture it at all: my mother noodle dancing with the Deadheads to “Fire on the Mountain” in a cloud of pot smoke.
“No, dear,” my mother said. Now I wassurethe sickness and meds were messing with her—she’d never called medearin her life. I looked from her to Teresa, suspecting my mother was putting on a show for the nurse. Playing the role of a tender and thoughtful parent, dying peacefully and gratefully surrounded with love in her daughter’s home.
My mother went on, “During college we followed them all over New England, up and down the East Coast, in fact. Bobbi was a huge fan—and it wasn’t just the music, it was the whole experience. It was quite a scene, really, the camps that would form around the arenas—a sea of tie-dyed T-shirts, tapestries, blankets, and tents in parking lots and parks. We sold jewelry at the shows.”
