“It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Let’s hit the road. We’re going to see him right now.”
THIRTY-TWO
MAYA
The ridefrom Boston College’s hockey arena to my hometown is a little over two hours. An accident slows us down because a car spun out on the ice and has blocked two lanes on the highway. It makes it take forever to get out of the backed up traffic, pushing our arrival time on the GPS.
Every minute added is torture.
We checked flights first, but everything’s still grounded because of the fresh snowfall.
Our only option is to drive and the slow progress only makes my anxiety worse. My stomach is a messy tangle that won’t settle while I methodically move the balls on the spiral ring Easton got me back and forth on the prongs.
My parents send me a photo of Grandpa in his hospice bed and it hits me harder than I expect to see him like that. His body looks so frail and his wrinkled hands have a mottled grayish tinge. I’m only able to look at the photo for so long before a stabbing pain lances through my gut. I put the phone back on the grip mounted to the dashboard.
Not long after we left, Easton told Reagan I wouldn’t be home, but he’d bring her car back in the morning. She sent me a long, supportive message. I can’t read through all of it beforemy vision blurs again because I don’t want to believe this is even happening.
I call Mom on speakerphone shortly after to give her an update on our progress once we finally leave Boston city limits, biting my lip raw. As soon as it connects, I don’t give her a second to talk.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“We’re just getting out of the city now. How is he?”
She pauses, saying something to Dad. “He, um. He’s out of it, but the nurses have assured us that he’s not in any pain. Dad’s sitting with him now and holding his hand. They told us it’s comforting if we keep talking to him so he knows we’re with him.”
My throat grows hot, muscles strained. “I’m on my way. Tell him I’m coming.”
“Okay. Drive safe.”
“We are.”
Easton’s jaw is set when I glance at him in the shadows of the car. He goes as fast as he can, though I can tell from the way his knuckles turn white when his grip tightens on the wheel that if it was safe, he would floor it for me to get me there as quickly as possible.
My aching heart squeezes in gratitude. I’d never get through this if I didn’t have him by my side.
Without looking, he reaches for my hand, always able to sense when I need him. I grab it as a lifeline, closing my eyes.
Grandpa’s smiling face is there when I do. Pressure builds in my head and tears seep beneath my lids, clumping my lashes when they spill down my cheeks.
At some point, exhaustion gets the best of me. I drift off in a fitful sleep.
I startle awake when I hear Easton talking in a low, serious tone. I don’t know how long I was out for, but I dreamed of Grandpa hugging me the day I told him I got accepted into Heston. The sense of hope and peace from the dream shreds to pieces as reality slams back into me.
We’re still on the highway. It’s after midnight and we’re about thirty minutes away.
“Yeah.” Easton glances at me. My phone is pressed to his ear. “Okay. We’ll head to your parents’ place. Send me the address. Thanks. I’ll have her there soon.”
His sympathetic expression puts me on high alert. I fiddle with the strap on my purse, sitting forward when he puts the phone back on the dash mount.
“What’s going on? Why are we going to my parents’ house when Grandpa’s at the hospice center? I need to be with him right now.”
He sighs, reaching for my hand. I tense, heart pounding. His thumb rubs my knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” he starts quietly. “That was Ryan. Your grandfather just passed away ten minutes ago. Ryan said he was holding on, but then it happened quickly.”
“No,” I whisper brokenly.
