CHAPTER EIGHT
Emma
As I close the book,I feel lost in Grams’s old life, a new feeling of discontent holding my mind prisoner. I've learned about the Holocaust from books and in history classes, but what I’ve read over the past twenty-four hours doesn’t do reality the justice it deserves. This time in life became history when all the captives were liberated, but the stories continued on in the lives of the survivors. It’s hard to wrap my head around this story while I live with an abundance offreedom.
I glance up at the clock, surprised to discover it's been an hour since I sat down on this seat. I'm still debating whether to call Mom, but I don’t know anything, and it would only scare her. The only hope I have now is that no news is supposed to be good news, so I’m sticking with waiting it out a littlelonger.
I stand up and tuck the diary under my arm before pulling on the door handle of the waiting room. The opening invites in the bright lights to filter in from the hallway and with the gloominess of this room, it’s like moving from night to day. I don't hear any beeping noises or alarms, and no one is running around or shouting orders, which helps me remain semi-calm. Everything around me is still and silent as I approach Grams’s room, but as I peek inside, I find the room empty.Where did they take her?Why wouldn't anyone tell me? Could she have passed away and no one came to getme?
Terrified from the thoughts filling my head, I run to the nurses’ station, placing my hands down on top of the cool wooden countertop, waiting for someone to give me an ounce of their attention. The three-seconds I wait is long enough. “Excuse me?” I callout.
A nurse who is typing something into a computer turns around and walks toward me. “Can I help you?” she asks with a kind smile, one that does nothing to calm medown.
“Do you know where Amelia Baylin is?” The nurse looks past me, over to Grams’s formerroom.
“Are you family?” sheasks.
“Yes, I'm her granddaughter, Emma Hill.” My fingernails dig firmly into Grams’s book as I wait out the longest minute of my life. I may chew a hole through my lip before getting an answer. I know I’m probably impatient, but everything seems to be happening in such slow motion around here, and it’s causing me to take quick, deep breaths that are making medizzy.
She finally sits down at the computer she's closest to and types something in before peering back up at me. “The notes I have here says she's in surgery. That's all I can see from here, though. I'm sure someone will be down to speak with youshortly.”
“Surgery? Why wouldn't anyone tell me, orask?”
The nurse looks confused and apologetic as she holds her hands against her chest. “I'm so sorry, I don't have an answer for you. I can assure you she's in good hands, though,” she says, matter-of-factly.
As I stare back at the straight face in front of me, I can’t help wondering how many patients she watches come in and out of this department daily because she appears to be unaffected by the emotions of the patients and their loved ones on this floor. I guess to work here, you must become desensitized to a certain degree, but her eyes show a blank slate of emotion. She may be numb to it all, but I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. Leaving a family member without any inclination of what’s happening isn’t right. Someone must know something around here. My continued stare does nothing to earn me any extra information. Instead, the nurse points down the hall. “The waiting room is just around the corner if you'd like to have a seat in there.” As much as I’d like to tell her I've already been sitting in there for an hour, I know it won't do muchgood.
I should call Mom now. This is going to be bad. I head back to the waiting room, closing myself out from the rest of the world, alone…again. How have I been the only one in this room for so long? It's the ICU. Are there no other patients on this floor with family members who are waiting for answers? I take my phone out of my pocket and dial mom at work, thankful when she answers, rather than her boss who doesn't appreciate personal calls during the day. “Town Clerk’s Office. This is Clara, how can I helpyou?”
“Mom, it’s me,” I tellher.
“What's wrong?” she asks, anxiously as if someone just jumped up behindher.
“Grams is in surgery right now. I don't know what happened. The alarms were going off when I came to see her, and they told me to go away. I didn’t want to go, Mom, but they made me. So, I went back into the waiting room, and when I went back to see what was happening, she was gone. The nurse said...well she won’t tell me anything except that Grams is in surgery. That’s it; that’s all I know, and I haven’t been able to find out anything.” I’m speaking so quickly that I’m not sure what I’m saying. I think my words seem out of order, but I think Mom understoodenough.
“Why didn't you call me sooner?” Her words are just as quick as mine were, but louder. She sounds like she’s on the brink ofhysteria.
“I didn't want to scare you. Ijust—”
“It's okay,” she cries. “I'm coming over there rightnow.”
I hang up the phone, feeling like a monster. I shouldn’t have waited. It’s her mother, and she should be here.What was I thinking?I’m obviously not thinking straight. Plus, I have a splitting headache, and it’s blazing hot inhere.
Angry at myself, I toss my phone down onto the pile of magazines scattered along the small table. The thump of my phone landing causes the display to light up and I notice several missed text messages. I was so engrossed in the diary that I didn't feel my phonevibrate.
I can already guess who the texts are from, and I don’t want to read them. Mike doesn't give up. I have tried to break up with him so many times, and this is how it turns out each time. He begs and pleads for my forgiveness, resistance fails me, and I give in. Not this time, though. I don't have the time to think about him now. In fact, I don’t want to have time to think about himagain.
The screen on my phone goes black, and it feels like I’ve overcome a small hurdle—letting it go. I drop down into one of the seats and lean back as I rest the diary on my lap. Without anything else to focus on, my attention sways to the mutedTV.
Who needs sound when all you see is bad news from around the world? Suicide bombings, murders, terrorist attacks—it’s all so sad and depressing. I can’t bring myself to watch what the news is broadcasting tonight, so I close my eyes and block everythingout.
If they're operating on Grams, she must be well enough to undergo surgery, or they wouldn’t operate, but I still feel like there’s a heavy weight sitting on my chest. I clench my hands around the armrests and try to slow my breaths.It’s going to be okay. It has to be. I’m not ready to say goodbye toGrams.
The door to the waiting room finally opens. “Mom?” I ask before seeing anyone walk in. I should have considered that it could be anyone walking in and waited to see her face, especially since it's not her. “Jackson!” I try to stand but my feet feel like they are stuck in cement, as I fear what he has tosay.
Jackson sits down next to me and places his hand on top of mine. “Your grandmother’s in recovery,” hesays.
“Sheis?”
