Quickly, my heart pounding, I reach into my bag and pull out my deck. I always keep my cards handy, a habit I picked up from Nonna. I spread them out across the bed, and then I grasp her frail hand in mine. There’s no time to waste—Mom doesn’t like to be alone for long. Nonna needs to tell me something important, and I’m certain it’s tied to what I’ve discovered about Mom and the secrets of my childhood.
Nonna has always been cautious, dropping hints and offering warnings, all while clearly fearing Mom’s reaction and her power, the very same way that I do.
But now, with time slipping away, Nonna’s urgency is palpable.
I think back to our last visit. Her warning about danger. Was she trying to tell me something? A message that I didn’t understand? We’ve always had a deep connection, so I close my eyes, tuning in to the energy between us, feeling for the slightest shift, the pull of something more. Nonna’s fingers twitch slightly, her grip tightening ever so faintly, and I know she’s guiding me.
My hands hover over the cards, and I pull one as if drawn by force.
The Moon. I close my eyes. A card of delusions, secrets, hidden truths.
When I pass my hands again, I feel something lighter, and I grab it.
The Star. A card of hope, healing, and renewal. I feel Nonna’s silent approval.
Finally, my hand is pulled to a far card that flips over to reveal the Ten of Pentacles. A card of legacy, of wealth.
I look at Nonna and the cards laid out before us, and though her eyes are clouded, I know she’s aware. She understands what they mean.
But I don’t. Why these cards? There’s something she wants me to know. Something I need to figure out. I don’t want her to see that I’m struggling, that the cards are eluding me, that I’m terrified that I’m losing my grandmother. All I can sense is that she herself is satisfied with the message.
She murmurs something as she looks at me, but I can only make out one word—sick. I feel my heart crack.
Outside, I hear footsteps. I don’t need Mom seeing this. I slide the deck back into my bag just as she reappears, Diet Mountain Dew in hand, her hair and makeup fixed but her face pinched with worry.
“My pack of Sun Chips is stuck in the vending machine, and it was my last dollar,” she says, her voice so disproportionately upset you’d think someone had run over her puppy. “I pounded on the glass!”
It’s clear she’s teetering on the edge of meltdown.
“I’ll go get them,” I say dutifully, and her face softens.
“Thanks, honey bunny.”
“Be right back, Nonna,” I say with a quick look at Nonna, who appears to be sleeping, before I race down the hall to the lobby.
The vending machines are one floor below—a longer hike than I expected, and it’s feeling like some absurd side quest—until I finally find the damn thing. The Sun Chips have fallen, ready for retrieval; they must have dropped after Mom gave up on them.
Great. Crisis averted.
On my way back, I see a commotion outside Nonna’s door, and my heart slams against my ribs.
Then I hear my mother scream.
I break into a sprint, but the nurse from earlier steps into my path, blocking me.
Inside, monitors are pinging, a doctor shouts, and another rushes into the room. I lunge forward, but the nurse—unreasonably strong for her size—holds me back.
“Let me in!” I demand, but she doesn’t budge.
I hear Mom’s voice, shrill and cracking. “Do something! You have to do something!”
And that’s when my fear turns to full-blown panic. I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of the monitors. The flat line. A piercing, steady tone that fills the room.
“Get everyone out,” a doctor yells, motioning to my hysterical mother. “I can’t work like this.”
The nurse abandons her attempt to keep me away, and instead heads to Mom. Unlike me, she treats Mom with kid gloves—folds an arm around Mom’s shoulders and leads her gently outside. If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d be impressed with her ability to intuit the situation—she knows immediately that my mom is chaos.
Inside, the doctor shouts commands: “One, two, three—charge!” The paddles jolt Nonna’s body. We wait an interminable minute and watch the heart monitor.
