“Book? Grams, I don't know what book you're talkingabout.”
“My special book,” she says louder. “Please.” She’s clearly agitated with my confusion, but I've never seen any unfamiliar book in her house. The only books I’ve seen are the mystery thrillers she used to read, and I don’t think she’s referring to one of those. “Please find it and bring it tome.”
Dr. Beck places his hand on my shoulder, and as I glance over, he nods his head for me to follow him into the hallway. “I'll be right back,Grams.”
Mom and Annie don't seem to notice the exchange or the fact that I've followed the doctor out of the room, but I may have an easier time finding out more information without their emotions getting in the way. After walking around the corner, we stop, and Dr. Beck's eyebrows rise a bit. “I'd like to do this surgery immediately. The faster we can do it, the safer she willbe.”
I inhale heavily and release the air slowly through my pursed lips. This is so much to take in at once. “I understand. I'll do what I can to convince my mom and aunt that it’s what’s best. I don't think either of them are thinkingclearly.”
“Understandable,” he says. “I'm sorry you're going through this.” The kindness and sincerity written across his face breaks through the last of my strength I tried to maintain for Mom and Annie’s sake. Tears fall uncontrollably from the corners of my eyes, and I cup my hand over my mouth as I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing this wasn'thappening.
“I'm sorry,” I chokeout.
Dr. Beck wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks me down the corridor, stopping in front of the restroom. “I'll make sure to take good care of her, okay?” He dips his head down to grab my attention and focus. “Ipromise.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You’ve been really kind and I appreciate it.” Most doctors I’ve been around haven’t had such a passionate understanding of how difficult these sorts of events are forfamilies.
“Emma!” As the slightest bit of turmoil briefly lifts from my chest, another heavyweight drops down on the same spot, compressing all my organs into a painful mess. “Emma, there you are.” I glance down the hall toward the sound of his voice, wishing I was imagining it as I stifle a groan. Mike is jogging down the hallway with a phony appearance of worry written on his face. Is this a new act he’s tryingout?
Dr. Beck lifts his hand from my shoulder and presses his lips into a firm smile. “Well, I'll give you some space. I'll be back to check on your grandmothersoon.”
“Thank you,” I offer with sincerity as he takes off in the otherdirection.
Mike’s out of breath as he forcefully pulls me into him for a hug. “How's Grams?” he asks while cupping his hand over the back of my head. The exchange feels awkward andunnatural.
“No,” I tell him. “Don't dothat.”
“Dowhat?”
“Don't pretend like you suddenly care.” He knows I’m weak right now, and that’s hisgame.
He places his hand on my cheek, making a scene, here, in the intensive care unit’s hallway. “I love you. What more do I need to say? I just want to show you that I'm here. I want to behere.”
And I want to bealone.
After a nearly sleeplessnight mixed with worry and hope, I got up early this morning to search every nook and cranny of Grams's house, searching for the “special” book. Mom and Annie told me not to worry about it—that she must have been confused like the doctor said, but I sat awake for hours last night replaying her words in my head. They must have been right though because I don’t see any book out of theordinary.
I put everything in Grams’s room back the way I found it before heading into the hallway. As I place my hand on the doorknob of her bedroom, another tear falls from my eye as I consider the day we’ll need to clean this room out. I can’t bear the thought of losingGrams.
Just as I’m closing myself out of the bedroom, my focus settles on a small wooden box beneath the bed. I've seen it there for years, but it never spoke to me untilnow.
I reopen the door, fall to my knees, and crawl forward a few feet until the box is within reach. It's heavy and full, but I pull it out and find that it isn't just an old box. It has intricate carvings alongside the brass hinges and brackets. The wood is tattered and soft as if it had been touched a thousand times before, yet I get the feeling it has sat here, sealed shut, foryears.
Feeling a sense of guilt for prying, I remind myself that she asked me to find her book, and as vague as her plea was, I want to honor her request. I run my fingertips across the aged cover before releasing the clasps, then tug the lid open, listening to the groaning creak fight against the weathered metalsprings.
Inside the box there are stacks of old photos and a soft, worn leather-bound book with a red ribbon draped over the top. My heart races at just the sight of the book, wondering what it contains, and questioning what Grams may have hidden from us all these years. I'm not one to spy or eavesdrop, and this feels just like that, so I’m nervous to do much more with the contents. As much as I want to know what this is and what's inside, I carefully pull out the book and hold it against my chest, inhaling the scent of aged parchment paper. Beneath the book are several more Polaroids of Grams in what looks like her early twenties, standing in front of the Statue of Liberty with her beaming smile that has apparently neverchanged.
I have begged for her story, wanting to know what her life was like, but she was never shy about refusing to discuss the past. She always said, “The future is the only thing that matters.” In truth, I'm afraid of what I'd learn if she were ever to fill in the gaps of her life, but I also fear the day that her story could be buried alongsideher.
Leaving the rest of the box behind, I stand up with the leather book and eagerly make my way out to theJeep.
Less than a minute passes after settling into my seat when I feel the book staring at me—begging to be opened and brought back to the life it leftbehind.
My phone rings, and I’m thankful for the distraction as I pull it out of my purse, finding Mom's name on the display. I answer the call with a clear sense of urgency masking my attempt to sound calm. “Is everything okay?” Iask.
“Yes, yes,” she says. “We've gone ahead and scheduled the surgery for tomorrow morning. I just wanted to let youknow.”
Relief overcomes me, knowing I won’t have to argue with her about this decision. “I’m glad you agreed. I think it’sbest.”
