Chapter Fifty-One – Fawn
Finally, I’ve managed to leave the motel. I’m dressed, makeup done. The last week has scraped me raw, but I can’t hide anymore. I need to be strong.
Delilah texted me this morning. Apparently, she’ll be back in two days.
She and Cal have gone on a wild notion to Oklahoma.
But Dee being Dee, it’s like she can sense I’m down; even a thousand miles away, she keeps asking if I’m okay.
I’ll fill her in when she gets back. I don’t know if I can verbalize everything that’s happened over a call or text.
Pulling up at the nursing home, I’m hoping visiting Grandpa will help. However, it seems quieter than usual, as if the building is holding its breath.
Most residents are in their rooms, curtains drawn to keep out the heat. The nurses don’t seem keen on making eye contact; perhaps it’s too hot, they’re too tired, or they just intuitively feel what I’m carrying.
The threshold of Grandpa’s room feels like a physical barrier. He’s sitting by the open window, observing the birds. He seems so blissfully oblivious. I pause briefly in the doorway before joining him.
“Hey,” I whisper, testing the word to see if he recognizes me.
He shifts position, giving me a soft smile that’s also kind of distant, then goes back to gazing out the window. Maybe he thinks I’m a nurse. Maybe I’m just another face to him. I sit down next to him anyway. I always will.
Gray clouds are rolling in, heavy and low, as if they’re carrying something. “Look at those clouds,” I state. “It might finally rain in Ivywood.”
He hums, still looking out at the garden. “Just what the ducks need.”
I smile despite the ache pressing behind my ribs. “How have you been?” I ask.
“I’m okay, just very tired.”
“Me too,” I admit.
There is silence between us, calm and comfortable. Full. I feel him turning to me, looking at me as if he is trying to commit my face to memory, and I see a small glint of recognition. I hold my breath for a second, desperately hoping for even the smallest chance he knows who I am.
“I’m so proud of you, Fawn,” he says, the words tumbling out fast, urgent, like he’s afraid if he waits, they’ll vanish. “You’ve come so far.”
He places his hand on the arm of the chair; his eyes are glassy, filled with emotions he can’t quite articulate. “There were times . . . times when I was so worried about you.” His lips quiver. “But just look at you now. I’m so proud of you.”
I press my palm over the back of his hand, tracing the raised maps of his veins.
“I really needed to hear that, Grandpa,” I whisper, tears slipping free as I smile through them.
He turns his head back to the window, and just like that, he’s gone. The recognition leaves his face as the moment slips away, as if it never even happened. I’m nobody again, just a quiet presence in the room.
It hurts, but it doesn’t take away what just happened. He remembered me, even if it’s just for a minute. It still matters.
He’s proud of me.
Those words are mine to keep, to hold on to when everything else seems to be falling apart. I wish I could tell him everything — how frightened and lost I am. I wish I could hear his calm words and wise advice.
But I can’t.
So, here I am, sitting quietly next to him, holding on to the pride he gave me like it’s a precious gem, something that might just be enough to see me through.
My grandpa slowly lifts his frail hand and points toward the window. “A robin.”
I follow the line of his finger. A small robin is perched on the ledge, breast puffed out, chirping as if it has something important to say.
“Aww,” I say, more to myself than to him. “That could be Grandma or Dad, sending us a message.”
“Or Mary . . .” he replies quietly.
My heart hitches, missing a beat entirely. “Mary?” I repeat. “Dylan’s mom?”
He doesn’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed on the bird. “She passed away.”
“What do you mean?”
“In her sleep,” he says, flat, simple, like he’s talking about the weather.
The armchair screeches as I bolt upright, my heart thumping so loud, it actually pains me.
No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
As quickly as I can, I sprint down the hallway, past the doors, ignoring the nurses. My boots thud against the floor, my lungs struggling to draw breath. Mary’s door is wide open. The room feels wrong — too empty, too quiet. The bed is stripped, white lilies splayed across it.
The world dissolves. My breath is stolen from me and the floor feels like it’s rising up to meet me. Dylan’s face flashes in my mind.
He needs me.
Without a second thought, I turn around and dash back to Grandpa’s room, landing on my knees in front of the chair. “Hey,” I choke out, forcing a smile through the panic. “I have to go. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
He smiles at me, soft and far away, already somewhere I can’t reach.
As I bolt out of the nursing home, I search for my phone. My hands are shaking uncontrollably as I dial Dylan’s number, and I get his voicemail. I try Torin’s, but it goes straight to voicemail too.
“He needs me,” I cry out, tears spilling freely now. “Fuck! He needs me.”
I don’t give a crap about the coach. I don’t care about threats, rules, or consequences.
Dylan lost his mom, and right now, nothing matters more than getting to him.
I slam myself into the driver’s seat and toss my phone on the passenger side.
When I try to start the car, the engine splutters and then dies.
“No! Not now!” I shout, wrenching the key out as I turn it once more. “Please,” I beg, forehead dropping to the steering wheel. “Please start. Please.”
The car stays dead, silent and useless.
Two heavy thuds echo in the car as I lash out at the wheel. I’m trembling, caught in the crossfire of a scream and a sob.
Trying one last time, I turn the key, holding my breath like it might help.
Nothing.
I jerk the door open, spilling out of the car as my breathing comes in abrupt gasps. The forest skirts the perimeter of the parking lot, leading toward the main road to his house.
Dylan needs me; I don’t care how I get to him, just as long as I do.
Slamming the car door, I don’t hesitate and start sprinting. The first clap of thunder growls overhead, low, the sky getting darker quickly. My lungs are burning, my legs screaming at me to slow down, but I don’t.
Rain starts to spit between the branches, my heart pounding so hard, it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I don’t care if I fall or get hurt.
I’m well into the forest now. The trees press in like they’re trying to encircle me. My boots catch on a fallen log, sending me stumbling. Not thinking, I kick them off and push through; my feet are bare, my knees cut.
Pain and blood don’t exist to me right now. There’s only one thing on my mind, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else, and that’s Dylan.
Branches lash out at me, and thorns catch in my hair, pulling with all their might before slicing across my cheeks.
Keep going.
Keep going.
My breathing is ragged, my lungs on fire, my feet screaming in agony. The earth is hard and unforgiving, with roots reaching out to snag at my ankles, but I don’t falter.
All I know is, Dylan has lost his mom, and I will not let him face that kind of pain without me.
I’m running for every time he’s been there for me.
For every time he’s saved me.
For him and Torin.
I’ll run until my last breath if I have to.