I wanted to believe him. Wanted to focus on the fact that she’d survived this latest crisis, that the machines were still beeping steadily, that I hadn’t lost her yet.
But yet was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.
They let me back in after another hour. My grandmother looked the same—small, fragile, still hooked up to machines that breathed for her and monitored her and kept her tethered to this world.
I took my place in the chair beside her bed. Took her hand. It felt even more delicate than before—like she was becoming translucent, fading.
“You scared me,” I told her. Keeping my voice light even though nothing about this was light. “That’s twice now. Let’s not go for three, okay?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just lay there breathing with mechanical assistance, and I sat there holding her hand.
Jack brought me breakfast I didn’t eat. Insisted I drink water. He put a blanket around me when I started shivering even though the room wasn’t cold.
Night came again. Time was losing meaning—everything blurring together into this endless loop of waiting and watching and trying not to think about what came after.
I must have dozed off at some point because I woke to voices. Quiet. Coming from beside the bed.
Jack was sitting in my chair. He’d moved it closer to my grandmother, and he was holding her hand, talking to her in a low.
“—told me once that love was a verb,” he was saying. “That you could say you loved someone all day long but it didn’t mean anything if you didn’t show up. If you didn’t do the work.” He paused. “You showed up for Pauline her entire life. Never once made her feel like she was a burden or an obligation. You just loved her. Every single day.”
I stayed still. Didn’t want to interrupt whatever this was.
“I’m going to do the same thing,” Jack continued, his voice softening. “I’m going to show up for her. Every day. For the rest of my life if she’ll let me. Because you were right—she’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was an idiot for letting her go the first time.”
My throat closed up. I could see my grandmother’s face from here—still slack from the stroke, eyes closed—but something about her expression looked peaceful. Content.
“So you don’t have to worry,” Jack said. “I’ve got her. I promise. I’ve got her.”
My grandmother’s eyes opened. Not fully. Just slightly. But enough. My heart lurched to my throat.
Her mouth tried to move. The stroke had stolen her words, but her working hand squeezed Jack’s, then reached—shaky, weak—toward me.
I was out of my chair before conscious thought, taking her hand, leaning close.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “We’re both here.”
My grandmother’s gaze moved between us. Back and forth. Her eyes were clear despite everything—still bright, still knowing, still her.
Her hands pulled—weak but insistent—bringing our hands together, Jack’s and mine, pressing them together with fingers that trembled but held on.
The blessing was wordless. She couldn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. Everything was in her eyes—love and approval and peace and goodbye all tangled together.
“Grandma—” My voice broke.
She squeezed our joined hands once more. Her eyes said what her mouth couldn’t:take care of each other.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her skin was cool. Papery. Fragile in a way that made my chest ache.
“I love you,” I whispered against her skin. “I love you so much.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. A small smile touched her mouth—content, peaceful, like she’d been waiting to see this exact moment before she could rest.
CHAPTER 19
Pauline
The morningof my grandmother’s funeral, I woke up and forgot she was dead.
