A fresh round of sobs wrack my body as Grams pulls me into her arms. She strokes my back and shares words of comfort.
“She didn’t finish the blanket,” I manage, barely able to get the words out.
“Oh, honey,” Grams replies, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I’ll finish it, I promise.”
“And she didn’t get to meet my baby,” I choke out, the heartbreaking truth crushing me all over again.
The realization plays on a loop like a tragically broken record, and I’m not sure how I’m going to survive this. Her absence is already a gaping hole that I’m not sure will ever mend.
“That doesn’t mean your little one won’t grow up hearing all about her great-aunt Florence and her love for gossip and beautiful shiny things. I’ll make sure of it,” Grams says with a wistful smile.
“Promise?” I hiccup.
“Cross my heart,” she vows, making an X over her chest.
That’s a small comfort, particularly because it means Grams will have to stick around for a long time if she’s going to keep her promise—and she’s never broken one yet.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from being swallowed by grief paired with a sharp sting of hurt slicing through me at being left in the dark. I think about how I was curled up in bed last night, laughing at an episode ofSchitt’s Creek,totally oblivious that Florence had already passed across town.
I shudder at what would have happened if I’d gotten the news from a customer at the shop or while grabbing coffee if I hadn’t come straight here this morning.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask between shaky breaths.
“I wanted to tell you in person,” Grams admits. “And I didn’t want to put undue stress on you and the baby while you were home alone.”
My heart aches at the reminder that Heath is out of town. I’d give anything to have him with me. I’m not sure exactly when he became my person—the one I want by my side in sickness and in health, through every high and low—yet he’s not here when I need him most, and that cuts deep.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about me being a blubbering mess,” I manage to get out.
Grams laughs softly. “Don’t worry about me. Florence and I have been giving each other grief for years over who was going to kick the bucket first. I’m honestly shocked that she was first. I figured she’d stick around forever just to spite me.”
“How can you joke like that when your friend is dead?” My voice cracks at the end.
Grams looks at me with misty eyes. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry too. One of us has to keep it together, and with those pregnancy hormones, it’s certainly not going to be you.” She takes a deep breath and stands, holding out her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to my room, and you can lie down for a while.”
I glance around Florence’s room, a lump forming in my throat at the sight of all the treasures she’s collected and left behind. I keep the wrapped gift tight to my chest, hoping that wherever Florence is, she somehow knows how much I love her.
With tear-filled eyes, I turn back to Grams and take her outstretched hand, forced to face the harsh reality that no matter how much I wish otherwise, Florence is never coming back.
A few hours later, I wake up in a daze in Grams’s bed. I sit, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and glance around the room. She isn’t here.
For a fleeting second, I wonder where she and Florence disappeared to, but then the painful truth crashes over me as I remember Florence is dead. That word is cold and final, tearing open the wound I prayed would remain numb.
I pick up my phone from the nightstand and call Heath again. I tried reaching him earlier, but it went straight to voicemail, like it is now, and the silence is deafening.
I know I have an incredible support system ready to rally around me, but right now, there’s only one person I want to talk to.
IneedHeath.
He’s shown up for me in every way that counts these past few months, from the big moments to the seemingly unimportant ones. So where the hell is he when I need him more than ever?
My breathing becomes uneven, and I’m desperate for fresh air.
I leave Grams’s room and head for the exit, biting my lip to keep from crying as I pass through the lobby, unable to look at Florence’s now-vacant chair.
The weather matches my mood—cloudy skies and a light drizzle. Droplets cling to my hair and lashes as I wrap my arms around myself, hugging tight against the chill in the air and struggling to keep it together.
Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck, and I sense I’m being watched. I whip my head toward the parking lot, and a sob rises in my throat when I find Heath striding toward me, eyes fixed on me. I don’t think twice before running toward him. He opens his arms, taking me in his embrace as the tears start to flow.
