CHAPTER TWO
Emma
Minutes have turnedinto hours as Mom, Aunt Annie, and I sit in the waiting room, panicking with anticipation. How did she know something bad was going to happen today? We don't even know if Grams is alive, and the feeling of the unknown is making us sick to our stomachs, which is evident since there are no words exchanged betweenus.
“She was acting kind of strange right before it happened,” I mutter while plucking a loose thread off my tornjeans.
“Like how?” Momasks.
“I don't know. She was talking about it being more than seventy-four years for something. She seemedconfused.”
“Seventy-four years?” Annierepeats.
I place my phone down on the little wooden table in front of us, annoyed by the constant vibrating messages from Facebook, incoming calls, and workemails.
“Who is sending you so many messages?” Momasks.
“I don’t know,” I mumble against myfist.
“Well, can you tell them you're busy with a familyemergency?”
Rather than doing that, I lean forward to shut the phone off completely, but of course, Mike must call at the exact second I'm pressing the powerbutton.
I pick up the phone since I've already somehow pressed the answer button. “What?”
“Really? We're there now?” he asks with exasperation like he’s the one I should be concerned about rightnow.
“Mike, I don't have time right this second. Grams passed out—we’re at the hospital. We don't know what’s going on. It's just not a good time. We’ll talklater.”
“Oh, shit, Emma, I’m so sorry,” he says. “Which hospital are youat?”
“Mass General,” I say. Not like it matters tohim.
“I’ll be rightdown.”
“Mike, no, its fine—” He disconnects the call. It is neither the place nor the time to try and reconcile our problems. I’m sure he has an apology floating around in that empty head of his, and he thinks he’ll catch me in a moment of weakness with Grams being ill, but I don't want to hear ittoday.
“Don't tell me he’s coming down here?” Momgroans.
“What was I supposed to do? He hung up onme.”
“Well, call him back and tell him no. It’s familyonly.”
She's right, and I go to call him back, but just as I find his number, a doctor opens the door to the tiny waiting room we’re occupying. We all stand as if waiting to be sentenced in a courtroom. “Doctor, what's going on?” Iask.
The doctor is young, maybe fresh out of residency, but I already appreciate his bedside manner, seeing the reassuring smile on his face. “Amelia is going to be just fine,” hesays.
Without thought, we all lunge at him and wrap our arms around his neck. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much,” I tell him. Out of the three of us, I'm probably the only one who can speak since Mom and Annie are crying. “So, what wasit?”
We peel ourselves away from the poor man, and he pulls up a chair as the four of us take a seat. The doctor has kind eyes—a look that emanates ease and comfort. His smile is sort of charming, and it’s clear he knows how to handle a roomful of teary eyes. “First, I'm Doctor Beck.” He places his hand on his chest before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ve been the one taking care of your mother—grandmother,” he says, looking between Mom and Annie, then me. “Amelia did have a mild stroke, but we were able to dissolve the clot with a special drug meant specifically for these situations. Fortunately, we were able to prevent the stroke from progressing and doing moredamage.”
“But you just said she was okay?” Iquestion.
“What's the damage?” Mom finallyasks.
Dr. Beck sits up and leans back against his chair, maintaining a level of comfort, which keeps us calm. “As of right now, there doesn't appear to be any physical damage other than a very slight weakness in her left arm and leg, but she does seem a bit confused, which is normal after astroke.”
Annie is breathing heavily, losing herself in thought like she often does. I know her well enough to assume she’s going through the long list of “what ifs” in her head. “Will the confusion subside?” sheasks.
