If I didn’t know better, I’d claim my shoes are made of granite. I don’t really want to go inside and see my aunt, once energetic and inspiring, in bed. Technically, she’s my great aunt. Maureen Printz worked well into her sixties, flying all over the world. She’d tell me about all her travels, making the planet seem like a magical place, rather than the rough, thankless life I’d experienced on the streets before she came along. She was my very own knight in shining armor, rescuing me from myself.
Above all, Aunt Maureen had believed in me.
I pause on the sidewalk, considering turning back as the shadows try to fog me over.
Maggie gives me a gentle look. “She probably isn’t awake. It’s late. She’s ill...” I don’t want to say goodbye.
Maggie loops her arm through mine, snugging me closer and pulling me forward. We stand outside the entryway. The mossy smell of the river combines with the aroma of roasting coffee, the yeasty waft of Guinness, and the faint yet ever-present burning of tobacco. Or perhaps I’m just remembering those distinct smells of the city rather than letting myself get too close to Maggie’s sweet rosewater scent.
“I’m not good at goodbyes,” I say.
“You’re not good at hellos either.”
We both laugh lightly.
“But I thought I got a positive review from you.”
“Water guns,” she reminds me, pointing her fingers like a pair of pistols. “But I’m here to help you work on that. Anyway, how do you know it’s goodbye?”
“Because she’s in hospice care. You know what that means.”
We cross into the foyer. A few chairs are against one wall, a table with some outdated magazines, and a desk with a single light glowing dimly. It’s quiet yet peaceful.
“What do you believe?” Maggie asks. “Do you really think this is all there is? That goodbye means the end?” She eyes the cross on the wall.
“Well, no,” I hedge.
“Then have faith,” Maggie whispers.
Without another word, her hands are around mine and she bows her head. We remain that way, each of us sending silent prayers up to God while we wait for the attendant to return.
A few minutes later, someone clears their throat. “Apologies for the delay. Short-staffed this evening. Nurse Milly has a stomach bug and we can’t have her around our residents. May I help you?” The older man’s voice rises and falls like my own lilting Irish accent, bringing me unexpected comfort.
“We’re here to see Maureen Printz,” I say in a clearer voice than I expect.
“Oh, you must be her nephew. She talks about you every day. Thank you for the generous donation.”
“Happy to help. You do incredible work here.”
The man nods and then comes around from the desk to lead us to the room. “Don’t tell anyone, because I’m not supposed to have favorites, but she’s mine. Maureen has the best stories.”
My eyes tickle, but a smile rises to my lips. “That sounds about right.” When I went to live with her in Boston, she’d tell me wild stories of adventure.
Before we enter, I whisper into Maggie’s ear and can’t help but get a breath of her sweet rosewater scent. “Prepare yourself, Aunt Maureen is a hoot. She’s as elegant as she is?—”
“A jokester?” Maggie asks, filling in for me.
I chuckle because she’s not far from the mark.
“Must run in the family.”
All the same, I take a deep breath as the attendant opens the door.
“There’s my lad,” Maureen says in a raspy voice when we enter.
Maggie follows me.
Aunt Maureen reclines in bed and the light in the room forms a dim golden halo, but her eyes are as bright as ever. “Who’s this lovely lass?”
