But do I mean it this time?
I slip the phone into the seat pocket and stare out the window at the airplane wing, the blinking navigation lights illuminating the night sky. Of course I mean it.
I’m choosing the gentle one. The kind one. The one who calms me and respects me. I’m choosing someone who will understand and forgive me for the weeks of silence I’ve put him through.
At least, I hope and pray he will.
“I’m coming home,” I whisper again.
Back at the restaurant, I had a mind-blowing revelation.
Falling in love with George Jamison is the most obvious thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
George
“He looks different today,” I say to Betty Lou.
Her smile is empathetic as she pats my shoulder. “Sweetie, you need to be prepared.”
“I am.” My voice is husky, my eyes wide, and my entire body trembling with disbelief. I’ve known deep down for several days it’s the beginning of the end.
The hospice nurse explained how no one really knows when it will happen. But one thing is for sure. Pop’s death is imminent. It could be a few days or even a few hours.
Earlier, I'd pulled Jenny aside when she stopped by to deliver some of her famous chicken salad and baked goods.
“Can you please do me a favor?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Anything for you, George.”
“Could you please contact Madison and let her know…” I choked on my words, but Jenny seemed to understand.
“Of course. I’ll call her right away.”
That was yesterday, and I wonder if Jenny ever got around to calling Madison or if she forgot. Maybe she’s been too busy with her Inn and the café? Perhaps she thought about it and decided it wasn’t a good idea after all?
Sitting on my grandfather’s front porch steps, I twirl an autumn gardenia bloom in my hand. The subtle scent tickles my nose, reminding me that my Grandma Rosie is always nearby, which comforts me.
I stare at the empty barnyard, Kip and his cronies gone for the day. Buttery shades of yellow and orange stain the horizon as I wait for the hospice nurse to finish bathing Pop.
I have zero energy, and as I look out at the only homestead I’ve ever known, I wonder what my life will be like afterward. When he’s finally out of pain and at peace.
I like to think he’ll be greeted by Grandma Rosie in heaven. She’ll be so happy to see him again. I can picture them dancing in the clouds, smiling and laughing, and saying their “I love yous” over and over again. Maybe they’ll even look out for me while I’m stuck down here. Perhaps they’ll become my guardian angels? The thought makes me smile.
Betty Lou announced a few days ago that she was planning on leaving Heartsboro and moving farther south to be near her grandchildren once her services at the farm were no longerneeded. I don’t blame her. Miss Betty’s years of caring for Pop after Grandma Rosie’s death are about to end, and it’s okay. I’m a grown man and can take care of myself.
But can I?
Am I really going to sell Pop’s house and part of the land to Kip Johnson? I still go back and forth with my decision. It doesn’t help that Kip has been incredibly kind and seems genuinely concerned for me. But I know him better than anyone; his words and actions are a mask he wears in front of everyone. It’s been annoying how he constantly reassures me that he will be the one to look out for me after Pop passes, especially when we become neighbors.
Yeah, right.
I run my sleeve against my nose and sniffle. As often as I’ve gone over this, I know I have no choice. I need someone to manage the farm and the business. Kip has proven he knows what he’s doing, and with him at the helm, I can keep focusing on my flowers and not worry about the big picture.
But it still doesn’t sit right with me.
The sound of tires on gravel diverts my attention from my melancholy stare at the sunset. I stand and swipe a hand across my bearded face, ready to greet the courier service delivering more morphine. It’s the only drug that keeps my grandfather comfortable.
