"Very well," I tell her. I lift my arm, allowing her to walk through the open door first.
"I'll be right back, Grams," she whispers to Amelia. "Don't get into any trouble."
I chuckle, hearing the thought of Amelia causing trouble in her nineties. I guess some things never change.
We're halfway down the hall when Emma presses her palms against her cheeks, and then releases a hearty sigh. "What a few days this has been," she says. "The strokes were so unexpected. Grams has been very healthy, and we have been fortunate over the years. I was with her when it happened. It was awful."
"There is nothing fun about getting old, Miss Emma. Let me be the first to inform you," I tell her with a sigh.
"Oh, Grams has said this many times," she jests in return. "She makes it known every day."
"I'm sure she does," I tell Emma, staring at her profile, wishing I had seen it when she was a baby—wishing I had seen her mother as a baby, too. I wonder how many times her facial features have changed since then. "Well, I'm certainly glad you were there to take care of her. You very well could have saved her life, dear."
I get the feeling that Emma isn't looking for such praise as she shrugs off my comment. "So, I know it has been a long day, but would you like to get a cup of coffee with me down in the cafeteria?" she asks.
I drop my good hand into my pocket as we stop in front of the noisy elevator. "I will never turn down a cup of coffee, young lady." I suspect Emma might be foaming at the mouth with questions for me—another trait I believe runs through her DNA.
With heavy eyes, Emma stares at the circled numbers above the chrome elevator doors. I can't tell if she's avoiding eye contact, or if she is searching for her next thought. I'm a stranger to her, and I know well how strangers make people feel.
"My favorite color is green," I tell her, offering another small fact about myself.
"Green, huh?" she asks, keeping her focused pinned on the blinking number four.
"Not just any green, though … sea green. It's not as dark as forest green and not as wimpy as chartreuse. It's the perfect shade of green."
Emma smiles in response to my reasoning. "I like the way you think, Charlie Crane."
Once inside the elevator, I'm not surprised to see Emma's eyes flicker along with the descending numbers above the doors. I would do just about anything to find out what thoughts are racing through her head. "I'm upset that I didn't know about you until this past week," Emma says, biting down on her bottom lip as if the words she is speaking cause her pain.
I remove my hand from my pocket and hold it against my chest as I shift my weight from foot to foot. "Life unfolds at its own speed, darling."
Emma doesn't seem to have a response to my old-timer's saying, but the elevator doors have now opened. Emma steps out first, leading us down a short hallway that smells of chicken broth and cabbage. They aren't my favorite scents, but I haven't eaten since lunch and I'm famished.
"Are you hungry, Charlie?" The way she says my name is the way any young person talks to me when they aren't sure if I'm borderline senile. Sometimes, I go with it. "It looks like they have soup and sandwiches over there." She points to a small buffet area beneath a glowing sign that says: "soups and sandwiches."
"Where are you looking, darling?" I ask, squinting my eyes off into the distance.
"Just over there," she says calmly, placing her hand on my back to guide me in the right direction.
"Those are soups and salads?” I ask her. "It just looks like a pile of rubbish to me."
Emma stops walking, and her cheeks brighten around her ears. "I'm so sorry. I can take you somewhere else. There are a few restaurants down the street. I should have known better. Hospital food is rotten."
I can't help the belly laugh rumbling through my gut. "My dear girl, I see the soups and salads. I smelled them long before we stepped into this cafeteria. The food here will do just fine. Don't you worry, okay?"
Emma looks mildly confused and taken aback when she places her hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean to offend—"
"Nonsense. You didn't offend me. I was messing with you. This man may be in his nineties, but I assure you, I am still as sharp as a tack."
"Apparently," she says with a quirked eyebrow—a look I recognize from her grandmother. "Well then, help yourself. I will grab two coffees."
"Do you trust me to find an open seat?" I ask, holding my hand up above my eyes like a visor as I glance at the empty seats.
Emma's lips twist into a coy grin. "Very funny, Charlie."
I'm distracted by watching Emma's mannerisms as she puts together two cups of coffee in the corner of the cafeteria. I take a tray and ladle the soup into a Styrofoam bowl. My stomach screams with added hunger from the variety of scents around me, and I take a wax paper wrapped sandwich too.
A young woman with a hairnet and tired eyes watches me as I make my way over to her with my tray so she can ring me up. She looks at the food I have on my tray and punches her fingers slowly against the cash register. "Ten dollars and thirty cents," she drones.
