Chapter 41
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
EMMETT
By the time Aspen gets Gran laughing, I know we’re on borrowed time. We’d had a solid two hours with her. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my grandmother with this level of clarity for this long.
I know time is ticking, but I can’t look away.
That’s why this disease is so cruel. It tricks you into thinking you’re safe. Like the present is something you can hold on to. And when the slip finally comes, nobody escapes it untouched.
It’s subtle if you’ve never seen it before, but everyone in the room knows it’s coming when my grandmother’s focus starts drifting during lulls in the conversation.
The half-second lag before she answers. The way her laughter turns a touch nervous, like she knows she’s supposed to laugh but she’s not a hundred percent sure why. She’s trying to keep up appearances.
I want to fold her up in a hug and tell her it’s okay to let go. Sometimes the fighting is the hardest part. The pieces of her are still here, but they don’t stay long enough.
Her hands, folded in her lap, stop moving with purpose and start fidgeting.
Aspen notices right alongside me.
To her credit, she doesn’t change a thing, staying warm and present as she speaks to my grandmother the same way she has been the entire afternoon. The worried glance she shoots me is the only sign she sees it happening too.
Sitting on the edge of her chair, my grandmother’s free hand clasped in her hand, she listens to every word like it’s all that matters, smiling patiently, even when the memories start to loop back on themselves.
I pull my chair closer to Aspen’s, covering her bare knee with my palm and squeezing.
She still remembers the big things. My name. Her favorite horse. The way the kitchen was covered in flour every day the summer Rory decided she wanted to be a baker.
She even remembers yelling at me for sneaking beer into the barn.
“He was a terrible liar,” she tells Aspen.
“He still is,” Aspen responds.
She snorts. “You always thought silence made you invisible.”
Aspen laughs softly. “Yeah, Emmett, you’re too big to be a ninja. We see you.”
Gran studies her.
Really studies her.
Then, out of nowhere, her hand reaches for Aspen’s.
“You’re good for him.”
There’s nothing foggy about the way she says that.
“He carries too much. Always has. You make him . . . lighter.” My grandma’s thumb brushes Aspen’s knuckles like she’s grounding herself there. “Plus, you call him out on his shit, and lord knows he needs that the most.”
My chest tightens in a way I don’t fight.
Aspen’s voice is gentle. “I like him heavy too.”
That earns her a crooked smile from my other favorite woman.
“Of course you do,” she says. “Love’s not meant to be easy. It’s meant to be honest.”
Love.
I almost look away at the word.
I’ve loved exactly three people in my life—my grandparents and Rory.
Only, maybe now it’s four. It’s hard to say because what I feel for Aspen is nothing like I’ve ever felt before.
My grandmother looks at us like the answer’s obvious and bringing Aspen here already said everything I haven’t figured out how to yet.
Aspen’s confidence falters for a beat, her gaze flicking toward me like she’s unsure what to do with the word hanging between us.
I flip her hand in mine and thread our fingers together tighter, unsure what I mean by the gesture besides stay.
Having them here together feels surreal in a way I can’t fully wrap my head around.
I might not know much right now, but I know that I can’t bring myself to correct her. Not with these immense, terrifying feelings in my heart.
The silence settles for a moment stretched too long.
When Aspen breaks it, swinging her body back toward my grandmother I see it.
Her blue eyes lose focus little by little, like someone slowly pulling her farther away from us. The grip she has on Aspen loosens, her hand falling to her lap, picking at the blanket draped over her legs. She turns, glancing toward the door.
She’s looking for help . . . and not from us.
“Who are you? Where is Rory?” she asks, her voice shaking with panic instead of just age.
Hearing her name in my grandmother’s voice nearly buckles my knees every damn time.
Aspen looks at me.
I stand and pace. I should go grab Connie who had to step out.
When the sundowning starts, she bridges the gap in her memory that I can’t . . . because I’m not here enough.
Fuck. I drag a hand through my hair, trying not to come apart with her.
My grandma’s brow furrows. “She was here a second ago . . . I swear she was. And Mark—” Her gaze drifts toward the empty corner by the dresser and finds me instead of my grandfather.
“Mike, don’t stand like that. You’ll hurt your back.”
The silence in the room is suffocating.
Aspen looks to me. She doesn’t know my dad’s name. The only time I say it or hear it is in these moments—when my grandmother looks at me and sees the son she lost, the father that failed me.
I move closer, slowly, like she might spook if I rush her. Crouching at her feet, I grip the arms of her chair instead of taking her hands like I want to.
“Gran,” I say quietly.
It’s the wrong thing to say. She turns for the door again.
Then back.
Every line in her face pulls tight with confusion.
“Did you drive?” she asks suddenly. “We’re late.”
My heart stutters, but I keep my voice steady. “No one’s late.”
Her mouth presses thin. “Rory hates being late.”
Rory’s been dead for over twenty years. My father even longer.
But her memories don’t follow rules anymore. They pile on top of each other until the past and present become the same thing.
Aspen stands from her chair giving us space. She moves out of Gran’s line of sight but stays in mine, thumb between her teeth, watching carefully.
Close enough that I can still reach for her if I need to.
Before I can answer, the door opens softly.
Connie stands there, hands folded, already reading the room.
She meets my eyes, and her smile fades the second she takes in my grandmother’s face.
I give her the smallest nod of my head.
“Well, Monica,” she says warmly, “looks like visiting hours are winding down.”
My grandma blinks at her.
Then at Aspen.
Then back at me.
Something rearranges behind her eyes.
“Oh.” She exhales. “Was I talking too much again?”
“Not even close,” Aspen says.
Gran smiles at her—slow, affectionate, a little tired now.
“I like you,” she says plainly. “You stay.”
Aspen’s throat works. “How about I come back soon if you promise to get some rest and not give Connie too much hell?”
Her gray hair sways as she nods like that solves something important.
Then her gaze drifts.
And drifts.
And finally settles out the window.
Connie moves in beside her, light hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you ready for dinner, okay?”
Gran allows it.
I stand and move away. This part hurts the most—when it’s time to say goodbye but she’s forgotten who I am. Slipped back into a time where she didn’t even know I existed.
Her eyes snap back to me with startling clarity.
“You don’t let her go,” she says.
I don’t know who she’s talking about. She might not either.
I’m not sure it matters; both are true. I haven’t let Rory go, and the thought of losing Aspen already feels sharp enough to bleed.
My voice barely works. “I won’t.”
She searches my face like she’s memorizing it again.
Then softer—almost to herself—“She’s beautiful. You did good.”
And just as fast, it slips.
Her gaze slides past me.
“Mark?” she asks. “Is he coming for dinner?”
Connie meets my eyes again, almost apologetic.
I nod.
It’s time.
Aspen squeezes my hand once before letting go. She leans down, kisses Gran’s cheek. “It was so nice to meet you.”
Aspen and I walk out without speaking.
The hallway feels longer than before.
Outside, through the tall windows that line the hall, the light has shifted—blue bleeding into copper and pink. Evening is starting its quiet takeover outside.
Aspen exhales like she’s been holding it in for hours.
“She loves you,” Aspen says.
I shake my head. “She loved us.”
Aspen smiles at that.
And somehow, instead of wrecking me, the visit steadies something inside my chest.
We didn’t lose her today.
We got her.
That’s enough for me. It’s more than I could’ve asked for.