Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
A Pearl of Wisdom
from Maeve Hearnshaw
“The heart never forgets.”
Juliet
Please stay.
The words had been a constant companion since Katy’s party, swirling and twirling in my head. I had the feeling Tallulah had meant just for the party—to not leave her side—but the plea had resonated with me, making me ask a question of myself that felt big, uncomfortable, overwhelming.
Did I have to go back to Michigan?
There were reasons to return, of course. My family was there. My job. My whole life.
But then there was here, where I felt at peace.
Where it felt like home.
It was early Tuesday evening, and I was volunteering at Juneberry, getting absolutely trounced in checkers by Renny. I’d already lost one game and was well on my way to losing another.
I wasn’t even trying to let him win. I was simply distracted.
By Tallulah, and the heartbreak she was trying to hide from Katy. From everyone, really.
By the fact that I hadn’t found a feather lately.
By how I hadn’t had any dreams of my grandfather in days.
I’d started wondering if the feathers had played a role in bringing those dreams to me.
Which sounded nutty but made a strange sort of sense.
When the feathers had been on my bedside table, I’d dreamed of him.
Since I’d used the feathers to make Katy’s dream catcher, there had been nothing. Nothing at all.
I was also preoccupied by the fact that Callum had texted this morning to let me know that the part for my car had finally arrived, and that it should be good as new in a day or two.
Which of course made me remember what Tallulah had once said, about how the car wouldn’t be fixed until I was ready to go.
Was I ready to go?
Grief had clouded my world for months now, but over these last couple of weeks, it had ebbed a little, letting light back in.
I wasn’t fully healed, but apparently, it was enough to set me on the right path forward.
A path that I suspected would lead me right back to where I was. In Forget-Me-Not. Because it had started feeling like home.
Waning sunlight splashed across the floors of Renny’s suite, creating prisms. We’d already talked about Tallulah’s new house.
She’d met with Georgia during her lunch break today to sign all the paperwork, and was hoping for a quick closing date so she could start repairs.
Katy had already picked out a spot in the yard to plant Baby Bill when the sapling was big enough.
Renny pointed at me. His voice was strained, thready, as he said, “Is this sudden moping because of Callum? Do I need to speak with him?”
The smile came easily. “Not Callum. He’s good. We’re good. Getting to know each other. We went hiking yesterday.”
He’d had the day off, and we spent it with Katy and Mary Joy, taking them to a nearby state park.
When we initially planned the date, we hadn’t intended to bring the girls along, but I thought Tallulah might like a day to herself.
The fact that she didn’t put up any kind of fuss when I suggested the idea told me my intuition had been spot-on.
Distant music floated down the hall and into the room. Lively notes, sparkly and bubbly. A concerto I knew but couldn’t name.
“I heard you took the little ones,” Renny said with a lift of his wiry eyebrows. He coughed once, twice, then added, “Hardly a romantic date.”
Even as I wondered who’d told him, I thought about how Callum had carried Mary Joy in a pack on his back for hours in the heat, never complaining.
More than once, I’d caught him tickling her toes, making her shriek with giggles.
He’d played This or That with Katy and me, which I realized was his way of trying to get to know me better.
I pictured him holding Katy’s hand, to help her cross a creek.
Then how he’d done the same for me. I saw him teaching Katy about the plants on the trail, pointing out poison ivy and prairie clover and wild sunflowers.
I saw him on a picnic blanket, trying to spoon baby food into Mary Joy’s constantly moving mouth without spilling.
I saw patience. And protectiveness. And selflessness. And love.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I said softly, feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Really now?” Renny puffed out his chest, smoothed his mustache. “Glad to hear it. What’s with the pout then?”
“Am I pouting?” I pushed my lips forward. Way forward.
“Please stop. That’s disturbing. I am disturbed.”
I laughed and slid a checker diagonally. “I’ll have you know duck lips are quite a popular pose for taking selfies.”
“How unfortunate.” He double-jumped two of my pieces. “I also noticed you deflected the question. Why the pout?”
I didn’t really want to bring up Tallulah’s pain, and talking about the feathers would possibly make me sound bonkers, so I settled on a topic close to my heart. “I was just thinking about my grandfather. I miss him. Most of all, I miss remembering him. I can only recall bits and pieces.”
He steepled his fingers, and his brown eyes were full of empathy as he said, “Not remembering must feel like added grief. Atop of losing him. An extra helping, so to speak.”
I nodded, surprised he understood. Not many did. “A double whammy.”
“As if one helping wasn’t enough.”
I slid another checker across the board. “Exactly.”
“Life is much too hard,” he said, adjusting the oxygen cannula under his nose.
I nodded. He would know.
“What kind of things have you remembered about him?” he asked.
I smiled, thinking of those fragments, as I told him about the teddy bear picnic, the unauthorized zoo trip, the way he’d gently brush my hair in the mornings.
Renny steepled his fingers, his gaze on me. There was a twinkle in his eyes. “He sounds like a man who loved you—loved his family—very much.”
I nodded. “He was. I know that. I just wish I could remember more of his life. Of the time we had together.”
“I can tell those moments are in your heart, even if you can’t remember them. I hear the love in your voice.” Then, in one smooth move, he jumped my last three checker pieces, clearing the board and chuckling. “You should ask Katy to give you lessons.”
Laughing, I said, “I don’t think you really want that.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” He coughed, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the corners of his mouth.
I’d been with him for about an hour now and could see his energy waning, so I cleaned up the game. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat? Or are you ready for me to go so you can get some rest?”
“I’m just fine. You know, you sounded rather official right then.” He stood and made his way to the bed, taking tentative, small steps. “You’re enjoying volunteering?”
I hurried to help him with his oxygen tank, then pulled back his covers so he could slide in between the cool sheets. Once in bed, he leaned forward, and I fluffed his pillows behind his back, giving him support to sit up.
“Very much so,” I said.
“Maeve mentioned she’s going to be hiring another nurse soon.”
“Oh?” I sat in the upholstered chair next to his bed and tried to pretend my heart hadn’t just started bopping around.
While volunteering here, I couldn’t help but notice the work done by the nurses.
In addition to administering medications, managing symptoms, changing bandages, charting, they listened, they cared, they nurtured.
The amount of time they were able to spend with each patient—and their family—was something I’d always wanted out of my career.
“It’s not an easy job to work here. You’ve got to use your heart as much as your head. You’ve got to be compassionate. Caring. You’ve got to be willing to lose in checkers. Don’t suppose you might know a nurse who’d be interested in applying for the job?”
“Maybe,” I said, trying not to sound overeager.
Was I really thinking about staying here, in Forget-Me-Not? Like, seriously considering it? Picking up and moving my life down here? Starting fresh?
I was.
It made me giddy and nauseated at the same time.
But why not? I was happy here.
My family would understand that. Right?
“I’ll take a maybe. Now, tell me more about your family,” he said, as if knowing I’d just been thinking about them. Then he started coughing again. I jumped up and got him a glass of water.
After the fit passed and he took a few sips, I set the glass on his nightstand, next to an iPad, his cell phone, and a stack of books, most of them from the library.
But atop the teetering pile was an old green book, clothbound and tattered along its edges.
I bent to read the spine. Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman. It appeared well used. Well loved.
He saw me looking. “A gift from my Walt, way back when.”
I sat down again. “I heard you talking about him last week with Callum.”
A smile ghosted across his face. “Have you ever been in love, Juliet? The kind of love that’s all-consuming? The kind that takes over your life, heart and soul?”
I ran a finger along the chair’s trim, a thick cord of yellow velvet. “Not yet.”
Though I wondered if what I was feeling for Callum was love stirring, starting, awakening.
“Give it time,” he said.
Time. It was the one thing Callum and I didn’t have.
Not unless I moved here.
My chest tight, I said, “Where did you two meet? You and your Walt?”
“Here, in Forget-Me-Not. He arrived much like you did, lost and in need of direction. His car broke down in front of my house. Orange smoke.”
I knew from Tallulah that meant Walt had a painful decision to make.
Renny looked at me. “It was the early ’60s. A hot June day. He came inside to use the phone, and that was that. I fell fast, I fell hard.”
His voice was stronger now, as if his memories had given him a surge of energy, strength.