Chapter 81 Georgia
Georgia
It’s only a week later when I call Junie’s doctor to ask for home hospice. The plan for them to swoop in when she began to
struggle has been agreed upon for a while now. A tender team of nurses and home health aides slip in and out quietly, administering
medications to make her comfortable. They are sweet and kind but move around in a way that says they know this time isn’t
about them. They bring a hospital bed that we switch out for Junie’s regular bed, and I decorate it with a swath of feather
boas.
Junie calls the staff who visit her “angels with the good stuff.”
I stay by her bedside, the rest of the family rotating in and out. I set up a makeshift bed beside her. I bring her Twizzlers
she doesn’t really eat, and we watch reality television. Puds is anxious and paces; I give him all the attention I can manage.
It’s when Junie stops making jokes that I know the end is near.
Her appetite slowly disappears, and she begins to sleep for much of the day.
I put on the shows she loves, and I wonder if she can hear them.
I wonder if the sound of them will tempt her back, if I could convince her to stay for a few more minutes.
I don’t remember when I started measuring my life in minutes rather than the greedy days, weeks, even months I was once so willing to consume without a second thought.
I so desperately cling to each and any moment I get.
She’s not herself, but I’m happy with fragments or crumbs of her because it’s better than nothing.
It’s better than having to accept it being over.
That the little sister who has always lived in the very center of my heart, the person whose well-being is and always has
been at the forefront of my mind might just simply . . . stop. That her phone calls will stop. That she won’t be here to live
in this house that she has made cozy and so very her. That she will leave a dog who adores her confused and alone.
It’s impossible.
And where does it leave me? Who can I even be without her? So much of me exists only in relation to her.
The doctor comes this afternoon, and everyone is here. Cece and Tina, Dad and Eddie. Me. I ask him how much longer, and he
says it’s impossible to know. Some patients look like they’re close and live weeks longer. Others slip away faster. He doesn’t
stay long.
All of us are circled around a sleeping Junie. Tina fluffs and tucks Junie’s covers. Eddie adjusts some of the monitors for
no obvious reason other than to have something to do for her. Dad crouches beside her and runs a palm over her forehead, whispering
about how he loves her. Cece stands beside me, and I wonder for a moment if she’s the person looking out for me.
When I glance over at her, she reaches out and rubs my back. “You’re doing so well for Junie.”
I swallow at the pinch of tears threatening and nod swiftly. “My best.”
We linger for a while, quietly for the most part, occasionally sharing fun stories about Junie. After about an hour or so,
Dad pulls a buzzing phone from his pocket.
“Looks like there’s a bad weather alert,” he says. “Tornado watch and a big storm coming through.”
“We should all probably head home before it hits,” Cece says.
The others murmur their agreement and begin gathering their things. The aunts and Dad go first, and Eddie lingers.
He crosses the room to me and pulls me into a long hug.
I let out a deep breath and for the first time today, I feel my shoulders relax, my breath settle. I stay there in Eddie’s
arms and let his strength hold me up. I don’t want to talk, and he seems to understand because he doesn’t move or flinch.
He remains steady and solid for me, like he’s always been, and like I so very desperately need right now.
Minutes pass. Precious minutes spent in his arms, and I feel like I’m being recharged. Like I’ll have enough steam for the
next leg of keeping watch.
Eventually I pull back. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Eddie nods. “Do you want me to stay?”
I glance over at Junie in the bed. “No. You should go. But thank you for asking.”
He nods and drops a gentle kiss on my forehead as he squeezes my hands. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I hold on to the tips of his fingers as he pulls away, and before he goes I tell him: “I love you, Eddie.”
He grins. And the first thing I think is how Junie would love this look on his face. “I love you too.”
Eddie’s gone for fifteen minutes before I hear the thunder rumble as promised.
It’s a comfort to know they’ll all have made it home safely, and Junie and I will be cozy and safe at the Clementine.
I go to the chair at her side and perch on its edge, and the rain rattles at the windows, the wind whistling.
I sit for a while and listen to the power of the storm outside, and it feels less lonely to know that we’re not the only ones sitting in the middle of unrest. I find Junie’s hand in the covers and grasp it gently in mine.
I talk to her, like I’ve come to do routinely here in our little house.
“Thank you for bringing me back home, Junie. Really, I’m not sure where I’d be without it—floundering for sure and pretending.
I’m so lucky to be your big sister. Really, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. The only one I’ve really enjoyed, if we’re being
honest. Anyway, I’m thinking about maybe going back to school for hair, so I can help Tina with appointments. I don’t know.
Maybe yes. Maybe no. Maybe just part of me is a little scared. Aren’t we all?” I laugh a little, trying to imagine the joke
Junie would crack. “I just wish you could stay too.”
I sit quietly for a while longer, the thunder quieting as the whistling winds blow the storm onward. I think about Junie and
everything I want to tell her. Everything I want to somehow cover in advance so it’ll hurt less when she misses it in real
life.
Junie’s eyes flutter open. They are glassy and pale, staring across the room, but eventually her eyes make it to mine. Her
lips move. “Peach.”
My heart lifts, explodes really, if I’m honest, at this morsel of her offered up at my feet. “Junie Bug.” My hands squeeze
hers and I lean in closer, over her. “The others just left; I might have to lie about you being awake.”
She’s only spoken a few times in the last week.
“Storm,” Junie says. Her words are papery, like they’ve been made out of borrowed time. “Please, check my garden.”
My brow crinkles. “I can’t leave you now. You’re awake.”
Junie’s eyes close then open, like she’s drifting back off.
Her eyes close, and she’s back asleep. And like the—her—big sister I am now and forevermore, I heed her call. Like the sucker I am, I pull her covers up, and I walk out into the
house, through the living room and into the kitchen. I glance briefly out the window, Puds wagging at my feet. It may be a
fool’s errand, confused words from a hazy mental state, but I go. Because it’s Junie who asked.
At the back door, I see the storm is mostly passed.
I slip into Junie’s clogs and open the door.
I take the two steps down, and it’s otherworldly outside.
Over to the east are the dark gray and blue clouds, and over the garden and over to the west is a golden twilight, warm light scattered by the drizzle left in the air.
I walk through her planters, check her birdbath, even look at the gutters, and not a thing is out of place.
I walk the outskirts and check the fence, glance around for downed branches.
I stop in the middle and prop my hands on my hips for a final look.
It’s then that I glance back up.
A textbook-perfect rainbow in colors red through violet streaks across the sky with such vibrance that a gasp escapes me.
It couldn’t be. Could it?
But how? How could she know or see?
And then I realize. I know.
Oh, Junie.
I spin around and sprint to the house, up the steps, blood rushing in my ears. The back door hangs open behind me. The clogs
come off as I tear through the house to get to her.
No. This can’t be. She wouldn’t, not when I was gone.
But she would, she very much would.
When I return to her room, the monitors tell me I was right. The signal shows her heart is not beating.
She’s gone.
She left when my back was turned, slipped out quietly in one big act of mercy.
And she left me with a rainbow.