“That's for sure,” he agrees. “I can imagine it might be hard reading her words out loud likethat.”
“She’s very detailed with her descriptions, and it’s hard not to envision what she went through, you know? I mean, she’s my grandmother, and it’s just so hard to comprehend her enduring that kind of abuse. On top of that, I never knew any of her concentration camp stories before now. It seemssurreal.”
“She’s lived quite a life,” he says. “Thankfully, you’re saving it by going out with me tonight.” He puffs his chest out, and his face brightens with a silly grin. “It's all in a day's job—saving lives and going out with pretty granddaughters of my patients. What a way to make a living,huh?”
“How many granddaughters have you been bribed into taking out?” I ask—partially joking, maybe a little serious. I'm sure he's kidding. I can't imagine too many grandmothers use their lives as bait for their unmarriedgrandchildren.
“Oh, you're only the second, don't worry,” he says with an accompanied wink. “I have to get going, but if I don't mysteriously run into you again before tonight, have a greatafternoon.”
“You too.” He is like a breath of fresh air, and I can’t help the curiosity I feel while watching him walk away. I want to know more about this man who seems too good to betrue.
“Code Blue on floor eight. Dr. Beck, paging Dr. Beck.” My moment of light-hearted ease is gone as I hear the alert on the loudspeaker. Dr. Beck’s name and the eighth floor is immediate cause for panic since that’s the floor Grams is on, and I know what code blue means. However, I don’t know how many patients he has on the eighthfloor.
I circle around for a moment, looking for the nearest elevator, then break into a run when I spot one. I desperately slap my palms against the elevator buttons until the doors open, and I do the same with the “close door” and “eighth floor” buttons on the inside.Hurry. Please.It feels like forever before the elevator reaches the eighth floor, but as soon as the doors open, I hear alarms and beeping noises blaring from different directions. I can’t help feeling terrified of the unknown, and the fear has made me forget which room number Grams is in, so I start running in what I hope is the right direction. I must have circled the entire floor before I see nurses coming and going from a room near the end. That's her room. Eight-eleven.No, no, no. Please, be okay,Grams.
Though I'm running, I feel like I’m on a treadmill, or like the hallway is growing longer by the second. I can't seem to reach her room fast enough, and my chest tightens with guilt for leaving Grams’s side.I shouldn't have been so worried about answering emails.When I finally reach her room, I see doctors and nurses working on her. It confirms that the alarm sounds are coming from her room, and her heart looks like it's flatlined according to the flashing monitor. I just pray they just took the wires off to work on her, not because they’re givingup.
Jackson looks over at me for a split second. His face is white, and his forehead is glowing with beads of sweat under the bright light. “Emma, you need to go into the waiting room.Now.”
“Is she going to be okay?” I cryout.
“Emma, please, go,” he saysforcefully.
I clutch my chest as tears barrel down my cheeks. Please, God, don't take her from me. I need her. I just want to be selfish a little longer and keep her here. I slowly make my way to the small waiting room that we were in yesterday before we found out what had happened. This time I’m alone, though, and I’m debating whether I should call Mom and Annie now or wait until I find out what's happening before I scare them. I should wait a few minutes. I think this is the right thing to do. I hope itis.
I fold over as I drop down into a chair, pressing my fingertips into the sides of my head while trying to breathe in and out slowly.Please, let her beokay.
Minutes go by, and I still don't know what’s going on. I feel completely helpless and alone sitting here, so I take the leather diary out of my bag and hug it to my chest. Did I do this? Was reading the diary to her too much for her heart to handle? I don't understand why she wanted me to read this to her sobadly.
Charlie. He was the initial reason for me finding the book. So far, I haven’t read anything about a Charlie,though.
With each silent passing minute, I grow more impatient, and my hands move on their own accord as I pry open Grams’s diary again. I need to feel close to her voice—herwords.
