“Yes, of course.” I grab her by the hand, and I’m about to lead her up the stairs and into the house when she stops me.
She brings my hand up to her mouth and kisses my knuckles. I go weak in the knees.
“I’m staying,” she says, her determined stance adorable. “Are you okay with that?”
Blood rushes to my head, making me woozy.
“You promise?”
“Yes. I love you, George.”
I gasp, not able to hold back my genuine emotions any longer. I pull her by the hand into my chest and hang on for dear life.
“I…, I…”
“What’s the matter, George? Need I remind you your Grandma Rosie was adamant one mustn’t ever forget their I love yous? And to think it used to flow so effortlessly off your tongue,” she teases.
I inhale a giant breath of air, and I’ve never been surer of the words leaving my mouth than I am right now.
“I love you too, Madison.”
***
I listen to Madison talk with the night nurse about my grandfather’s skin pallor and decreased appetite. Their words are hushed while they stand near his bed. She folds her arms against her chest, her pretty brow furrowed with concern.
I can’t believe she’s here. I can’t believe she told me she loves me.
Don’t forget to say your “I love yous.”
If she’s staying, I can continue to honor my Grandma Rosie’s request and say it daily. The thought makes me smile.
Pop seems comfortable this evening. His hair is neatly combed back from his face from his recent sponge bath, and his eyes are shut, his chest lifting and falling against the sheet with each breath he takes.
Late at night, when it’s been just the two of us, I often count his each inhale and exhale. It soothes me and lulls me intoa comfortable space. I suppose it’s part of my autism. My counting rituals bring me great peace, especially in times of uncertainty.
Having Madison here definitely helps, and I find myself not having the same urge to count anymore. A huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders, her presence a shining light in my dark world.
“Hey,” she says, coming up beside me. I feel her arm snake around my waist and squeeze. “Nurse Gale says he’s doing better with the new morphine dosage.”
“Good,” I reply.
I concentrate on her body next to mine, her warmth infiltrating my system. The flowery scent of her perfume and her voice soothe me. I could get used to this. For a few seconds, I allow myself to picture what it might be like—Madison living here with me. But I probably shouldn’t be focused on Madison. Right now, I should concentrate on Pop. But I can’t help myself.
“I can stay here with him while you get something to eat or shower,” she suggests. Tugging on my whiskers, she adds, “And maybe shave?”
“How do you know I haven’t showered or eaten?” I chuckle. “And what’s wrong with my beard, huh? I like it. Pop says it’s verydebonair.”
She cranes her head to look up at my face and laughs at the pitiful British accent I used on the word “debonair.” I’m lightas a feather, and I wonder how I’ve lived my life so mutedly. Madison is joy personified. She’s a Technicolor kaleidoscope rivaling the blooming summer flowers in my fields.
“Jenny called me.”
Her comment takes me by surprise. She pins me with a familiar look, one part hopeful, the other part making sure I’m tracking with her.
I nod, thankful for Miss Jenny. Knowing she came through for me gives me great peace. Maybe I can trust a few of the Heartsboro folks after all?
“I’ll shower and eat later. Pop usually rallies around this time, and I want to be here for it. He might even recognize you and say something. But don’t get your hopes up. It’s been hard for him to speak with all the drugs in his system.”
“I understand.”
