Chapter 56 Care Packages and Dates
care packages and dates
Hannah
It’s been three weeks since the care packages started showing up on Mom’s doorstep.
The first came on a Saturday morning. Inside was a bag of strawberry Dum-Dums for me and a package of Almond Roca candies for Richard. I was exactly that-day years old when I learned they were his favorite.
With the candy was a novelty popcorn bucket, six bags of microwave popcorn, and two throwback DVDs: the original Sabrina and the 90’s remake.
I think Richard lit up as much as I did when he saw them.
Ever since he told me about their movie theater meet-cute, I’d been hoping Mom would wake long enough for us to watch it together.
And I know how much she loves listening to DVD commentary.
Of course Rowan had been attuned to all my ramblings.
At the bottom of the box, was a note.
Hannah,
Have a movie night with your mom. Pizza will be delivered at 6. Be sure to watch both versions so you can make the final decision on which one is superior. After all, there really is only ONE right answer.
Baby, this next part is for your mom so shield your eyes…
Lydia - Don’t tell Hannah I said this, but…the original is better.
We miss you both!
Love,
Rowan and Tess
Mom woke briefly that evening and I showed her Rowan’s message.
Her words were strained but she managed a quiet reply. “He’s a good one.”
She cracked a small smile before she drifted back to sleep a minute later, but it was enough to carry me through the evening and into the next day.
A week later, an in-home massage therapist showed up, table in tow, with instructions from a certain soldier-shaped man in North Carolina, to give me a ninety-minute Swedish massage. An hour after she left, a mobile nail technician arrived, prepaid to do full mani-pedis on Mom and me.
And last week, a bouquet of flowers was delivered with a bottle of champagne to celebrate my official acceptance of the role of Chief Philanthropy Officer at the children’s hospital.
The message on the card was just for me that time.
Sunshine,
Congratulations! Now, celebrate! You deserve it.
Love,
Rowan
And nearly every morning in between, before I can make any for myself, a hot cup of coffee magically appears on the porch. Each delivery with a message from Rowan scrawled by the barista on the outside.
Smile today, sunshine.
I miss you.
Take a walk this morning.
Tell your mom how strong she is.
Don’t lose hope, baby.
The doorbell rings while I’m folding laundry at the kitchen table. Richard sits at mom’s bedside checking her vitals. Thanks to his medical training, the hospice service only sends over a nurse once every few days.
“Expecting someone?” he asks as I breeze past.
“I thought I scheduled the grocery delivery for tomorrow.”
My face splits into a smile at the sight of the package on the welcome mat.
Not groceries. Something better.
I set the box on the coffee table and peel it open. Richard watches me out of the corner of his eye with a grin on his face, but I’m too giddy to be embarrassed.
Inside is a smaller box containing the dry ingredients for Maggie Shaw’s homemade hot cocoa, along with a recipe card. An attached Post-it says the refrigerated ingredients will arrive soon.
Bouncing on my toes, I bite my lip and dig around to see what’s next. I pull out an electric blanket, revealing the note I’ve come to expect at the bottom of the box.
Hannah,
Put on your comfies, make some hot chocolate, and come sit under the stars with me. I may not be there with you, but we’ll be looking at the same sky. I’ll call you at 9.
Love,
Rowan
“Lover boy strikes again.” My head snaps up at Mom’s ragged voice. The words come out scratchy, sputtering into a cough.
I don’t waste a second. I crawl into the bed and sidle up next to her. “Hi, Mom.”
She gestures weakly toward the card in my hand. “What’d he write this time?”
Her wince is evident when I hold the note up for her, so I end up reading it aloud.
“I’ll make you some broth,” Richard offers. Before he heads to the kitchen, he swipes Mom’s cell off the side table to put it on the charger.
She watches his exit with a look on her face that makes my heart clench.
I lean in so only she can hear me. “He’s been here everyday.”
Slowly, her heavy-lidded eyes drift to me. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s all there in the upward crook of her mouth.
“In fact,” I say, brushing hair from her temple, “I think he’s a little obsessed with you.” Her cheeks hitch a bit higher. “And I suspect the feeling might be mutual.” One finger and then another curls over mine on top of the blanket—a silent confirmation. “Maybe you should tell him.”
She coughs once. “Meddling now?”
“Learned from the best.”
Her lungs wheeze when she huffs a soft laugh. I suppress the concern in exchange for an encouraging smile.
Richard appears at the threshold to the kitchen. “Hannah, we’re out of broth. Could you run out and grab some while I give Lydia her next dose of meds?”
My brows pinch together and I reach for my purse. I know how important it is to feed her when she’s alert like this and the market is only a few blocks away.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, Mom. Try and stay awake if you can.”
Her smile is as weak as the nod of her head, but I still find myself thankful for any smile at all.
The checkout line was longer than normal, so I’m pushing fifteen minutes by the time I return.
When I step inside, Richard’s glassy eyes meet mine. A wave of dread crashes over me for half a second before I notice Mom’s head turn. She’s still alive.
I take a deep breath to hide my momentary panic, but the relief is short-lived. Mom looks like she’s been crying. Richard intercepts me, takes the bag from my hand, and disappears into the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” I ask, lowering to the chair beside her.
Another cough. I offer a sip of water and she takes it eagerly. She winces through an arduous swallow, her muscles working twice as hard to perform the most basic of functions.
Noting the half-eaten bowl of applesauce on the table, I grab some chapstick and give her lips a fresh coat. “You want some more applesauce?”
She shakes her head, finds my hand, a little more desperately this time. I grasp hers firmly between both of mine.
“I’m okay, sweetheart.” A long pause, lungs laboring. “He helped me respond to some texts.”
I want to keep the conversation going. Ask who she was texting, what did they say, did she talk to Richard. But her energy wanes by the second and I don’t want to bombard her with questions.
Her gaze scans my face in long sweeps, side to side, up and down. Several beats pass without a word.
“Mom?” The single syllable is edged with a concern I’m incapable of hiding.
She squeezes my hand, lids already fluttering, and whispers, “Enjoy your date tonight, Haddy girl.”
A moment later, sleep pulls her back under.
“What are you thinking about?” Rowan’s voice, smooth like whiskey, comes through the line. We’ve been quiet the past few minutes, the sound of waves crashing the shore lulling me to reminisce.
I burrow deeper under the electric blanket to ward off the September chill. “This whole thing of you at the beach in shorts while I’m risking limb loss seems unfair.”
Despite the fact I’m not a beach person, I appreciate its allure.
When Rowan said he’d brought Tess to an oceanfront rental in the Outer Banks to get some R&R before her surgery on Monday, I might have been struck with a twinge of jealousy if for no other reason than baseline body temperature.
It’s not even technically fall yet, but I already miss the summer warmth.
“Limb loss?” he deadpans.
“I either lose a toe to frostbite or this blanket burns me alive.”
His deep chuckle lands somewhere behind my rib cage. Images of his dimples flash behind my eyes, and I smile. I miss him so much.
“Is that what you were thinking about? How big of a cold-weather baby you are?”
“Rude,” I whine. “And no. I was actually thinking about Maddy.” A wisp of a cloud floats across the moon, and I angle my head against the back of the patio lounger to admire it. Rowan stays silent, breathing softly, patiently. “Are there clouds where you are?”
“No, only stars tonight.” Wood creaks from his end like he’s shifting in his deck chair.
“Maddy and me always liked cloudy nights the best,” I murmur. “We used to do this all the time, summer nights looking up at the stars. Our moms would share a bottle of wine on the patio while we sprawled out on the lawn just…watching the sky.”
The stars, the moon, the blue haze of the clouds, it was all very awe-inspiring to a couple of pre-tween girls whose life aspirations revolved somewhere between astronaut, professional puppy rescuer, and Chad Michael Murray’s love interest in A Cinderella Story.
What I’ve learned about grief is you never know exactly when it shows up or when it leaves or why the most mundane of daily activities can feel so insurmountable. I couldn’t tell you a single detail of any of the conversations Maddy and I had under these stars—they were completely forgettable.
Laughs between friends, though? Gwyn’s hearty chuckle and Maddy’s schoolgirl giggle punctuated by a tiny snort—I still hear them on the breeze under this night sky.
The sky that felt like it belonged to us.
It’s the only explanation I have for why Mom and I stopped coming out here after they passed. Without them, it all felt hollow.
Absently, I wonder what will linger most once Mom’s gone. What will be the first thing I forget.
“You’re quiet again,” Rowan nudges. “Tell me.”
“The night we met, I told you about them.”
“I remember.”
I twist my finger around the corner of the fleece blanket. “For so long, I questioned why I unloaded my trauma on some guy I didn’t know. It was so unlike me, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, it all felt safe with you.”
Waves swell, leaves rustle under a soft breeze.
“You sat in Nana’s chair,” Rowan says.
The woman from the waiting room who gave blood to try and save my best friend’s life.
The woman who whispered sentiments of hope and strength to Mom and me.
Six years later, when a kind stranger invited me out to the dock and offered me hot chocolate and a rocking chair, I’d never in my wildest dreams have suspected it was all hers.
And when that oak of a man wiped my tears, spouting a similar tune of hope in the face of unimaginable grief—I never could have imagined he’d learned it from her first, like hope itself coursed through his veins as identifiable as DNA.
A deep breath. “Remember when I told you I didn’t think running into you was a coincidence?” I hum in agreement. “And I was always meant to find you?”
My mouth goes dry. “Yeah.”
“I think I was meant to do a lot more than just find you.”
I tuck my grin into the collar of Rowan’s hoodie. “Like what?”
“I’m not allowed to say yet.” I love you. “And all of this…you and me…” I imagine him gesturing into the void, perhaps to the stars as though we were written into them. “It’s always been bigger than us. That’s why you felt safe.”
“Because the universe knew I needed you?” The big army man with the patient eyes, soft touch, and kind heart.
His voice is steadfast like the mountains in the distance and the ebbs and flows of the tide. “No, baby. Because we needed each other.”