37
The next day, I make the rounds of Summerside, pinning flyers for clients on every grocery store, church, and community hall
bulletin board I can find. The day after that, I paper the town of Waldon. I stop at the local hospital and put up flyers
there—most of them are aimed at clients, but some for workers as well—then I make the rounds of the local shops. At the bakery,
the cashier brightens when she sees the flyer and tells me that her great-aunt is desperate for some help.
“I’d do it myself,” she says, “but she won’t let me. I think it’s easier for her to ask a stranger for help. She feels like
she’s a burden to us.”
I smile and give her my cell phone number, and she promises to pass it along to her great-aunt. Then she gives me a free iced
coffee and a chocolate chip cookie.
I walk back out into the sun and head to my car, sipping on my iced coffee as I drive to Jim’s house. I don’t think he’s done
any laundry since I left, and I want to tidy up his kitchen a bit as well.
When I pull into the driveway, there’s another car there, a red Honda with a New Brunswick license plate. I peer at it in
interest. Jim’s son and daughter-in-law were supposed to arrive yesterday for a visit. They were taking him out for dinner
last night at a restaurant in Summerside.
As I climb the creaky porch steps, the front door swings open, and a tall man in his seventies steps out. My first thought is that this can’t possibly be Jim’s son—he’s old enough to be my grandfather himself. But then I remember that Jim is ninety-six, which means even his youngest son is in his midseventies.
“Hi, there,” I say brightly. “I’m Emily.”
“Ah—Emily, of course.” Jim’s son reaches out and shakes my hand warmly. I see why Rose called him a “total looker.” Even though
he’s older, he has a really handsome smile and a swoop of wiry hair. “My father’s told me about you. I’m Herman.”
“Nice to meet you. Sorry to interrupt,” I add. “I was going to do some laundry, but I can come back later if now’s not a good
time.”
Herman’s expression changes. “Ah. Well. I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.”
I blink. “No?”
His smile softens, and he gestures for me to sit down on Jim’s wicker chair. I ease into it, feeling my heartbeat change.
“I’m afraid my father passed away last night,” Herman says. “I just found him an hour ago. He must have passed during his
sleep.”
I stare at him, hearing nothing but the slow, steady thump of my heart in my ears.
“Passed away,” I say numbly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I—” I turn my eyes to Jim’s neighbor’s fields, seeing nothing. “I’m so sorry—”
Herman shakes his head gently. “This was how he wanted to go. And he’s missed my mother terribly.” His eyes are sad, but his
lips curve up softly. “It was his time.”
I sink back into my chair, feeling—
I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
“Is he still—here?” I croak.
Herman nods. “The coroners should be here any minute. Did you want to see him?”
I stare at him. Do I want to see him?
“Yes.” I stand. “Yes, of course.”
I walk through the house somewhat woodenly, feeling like I’m moving on autopilot. Herman doesn’t follow me, which I’m distantly
grateful for. I need to do this alone.
Oh, god. I can’t do this alone.
I can’t do this at all . I’ve never seen a dead person before. I’m not ready, I can’t do it.
My feet come to a stop outside of Jim’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar. I can see the familiar mahogany dresser where I
used to put his folded clothes.
A horrible grief is swelling up within me, stealing the air from my lungs and forcing a huge, hot lump into my throat. But
my body moves without my permission—my hand pushes open the door, my numb feet carry me inside.
And then all the grief falls away in a whoosh as I see Jim lying there on the bed.
Ah.
There he is.
I don’t know how to explain it, but looking at the relaxed lines of Jim’s face and the strange, unearthly smoothness of his
skin, I don’t feel sad anymore. Or rather, I don’t feel sad for him. I feel sad for myself, because I’m going to miss him
so damn much.
But Herman was right.
It was his time.
I move closer to the bed and sit down on the edge of it. The old mattress creaks under my weight. The bedcovers are pulled up to his chest—he’s wearing the soft flannel pajamas that he would never let me wash—and his hands are resting loosely at his sides. I slide my hand into his. His skin is cool and dry, his fingers loose and unmoving under mine.
Tears are slipping down my cheeks, but they aren’t of grief, exactly. There’s a sharp, almost painful sort of happiness in
them.
“I’m really going to miss you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer me. Of course he doesn’t. He’s far beyond me now. His story has come to its end.
I look into his face and remember the low sound of his laugh, and the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled, and his knee tapping
along to the Diamonds’ song “Little Darlin’.”
I hum a bit of the tune, smiling through my tears, and squeeze his hand one last time. I take a deep, shaky breath and turn
to leave. As I do, my gaze lands on his bedside table. There’s an old pair of glasses, a tattered paperback book, and a notebook
folded back on itself. Jim’s written two short lines in his wide, slightly wobbly hand.
Emily is a great comfort to me. I highly recommend her services.
I give a watery laugh and look back at him, tears streaming freely down my face. Then I lean down and kiss his soft, papery
cheek.
“Bye, Jim.”