Chapter Five - EMMA
CHAPTER FIVE
EMMA
THIS MORNING STARTED Gran’s first full day in a hospice house.
Brookline Hospice Care had an available bed for Gran, and they were very caring and professional while I completed the paperwork as Gran was moved into her room.
I need to go back to the assisted living facility she was in and gather the remainder of her things, then arrange the final billing from them.
The assisted living facility was my first stop of the day after finishing my coffee.
Gran didn’t have many things there, considering she didn’t need too much when she moved there from independent living.
As I walk out of the assisted living facility holding the box of Gran’s things, I start to tear up a little.
My Gran was such a larger than life character during the good times, and now it feels like her life is being reduced to a few trinkets and clothing items.
I slipped into the backseat of the waiting ride share and settle in for the short drive to the hospice house.
Putting the box on the seat next to me, I lift the lid and run my fingers over Gran’s favorite sweater.
I smile when I think of her sitting in her chair at home, a cup of tea on the side table, wearing the sweater around her shoulders.
She said it kept the chill off, never mind the fact that her chair and side table sat next to the fireplace that always had a fire going.
When I arrive at the hospice house, I’m greeted by the nurse, Kristin. She gives me a friendly and welcoming smile before giving me an update on Gran’s health.
“Your grandmother had a good night last night. She’s a little tired this morning, but responsive, which is good,” Kristin tells me.
“Is she awake?” I ask her.
“She was when I was in her room taking vitals a few minutes ago.” Kristin smiles at me.
“Thanks,” I reply as I start walking towards Gran’s room.
“Good morning Gran!” I say to my grandmother as I open her door. She’s sitting up in bed, resting quietly. Her head turns when she hears my voice.
“Good morning, my sweet girl. Come sit with me,” she says, holding out her hand for me to take it. I set the box of her things on a side chair, take off my coat, and then pull up a second chair to her bedside and sit down.
“How are you feeling today, Gran?” I ask her, taking her hand in my own.
“Oh, just dandy,” came her reply, followed by a small chuckle.
“I’m glad,” I say as I smile at her. “Is it okay if I sit with you for a little while?”
“You are always welcome, Emma. Don’t mind if I just lay here and rest my eyes for a while,” Gran answered.
“That’s fine, Gran. You need your rest.”
We sit for a moment before she says, “Tell me a story, Emma.”
“Which one?”
“You pick. Just tell me a story,” she replies as she settles into her pillow and closes her eyes.
I pull her quilt up her body and tuck it around her shoulders so she’s covered and keeps warm.
I share a memory of the first time she taught me one of her family recipes at six-years-old; a simple soda bread, which was a perfect starter recipe.
While it was in the oven, Gran showed me how to make fresh butter to go with it.
I watched with eagerness as the bread rose and baked in the oven, and was so proud of myself when it came out perfect.
Gran cheered when we shared that first slice with the freshly made butter and a cup of tea.
I feel the happiness of that moment in my smile as I finish the story and look at Gran, who is sleeping peacefully. I’m glad I got to share that memory with her.
Noticing the time, I stand and place a gentle kiss on Gran’s cheek.
“I have to go now, Gran, but I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. I love you,” I say to her. I give her one last hopeful look as I leave her room and close the door quietly behind me.
I walk out of the hospice home wondering how many more days I’ll have Gran with me. The bus ride to work gives me a chance to work through memories of my time with Gran and questions that won’t go away.
“Privet, Boris!” I call out as I walk through the door of the restaurant. I love having Boris for my boss, because I get to practice speaking Russian with him.
“Kak dela segodnya, Emma? How are you?” came his reply from the kitchen.
“I’m well. I was just visiting Gran before work,” I tell him as I put my things in the back and grab my apron.
“How is your babushka?” Boris asks me in his thick Russian accent. He’s wearing his black chef’s jacket today with the short sleeves. So many times I’ve seen him in a white chef’s jacket, so seeing the black was a little surprising. He only wears the black one for special occasions.
“Tired, but the nurses said she had a good night. I’m grateful for that,” I say as I go through my lunchtime checklist. “Something special happening today?” I ask him, gesturing to his jacket.
“This old thing? Marina told me she liked it so I wore it today to make her smile,” he replied. Marina is Boris’ wife, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her. They’ve become surrogate grandparents to me since I’ve been in Boston.
I smile at him and softly chuckle. Making my way to the front of the restaurant, I unlock the doors and wait for our first customers to arrive.
The day passes quickly. The lunch rush was busy as usual, and when we closed for a short time between lunch and dinner service, Boris let me play around in the kitchen.
He’s been teaching me Russian recipes in between shifts, kind of like how my gran would teach me Irish family recipes when I was younger.
I wish Gran was able to meet Boris. I think they could be friends, especially since they both love to eat.
During the dinner rush, I notice something unusual.
There’s a table in the back of the restaurant, tucked away in the corner and close to the kitchen.
Tonight, a man came in and sat at the table about halfway through the dinner service.
I didn’t think much of it at the time as we were busy, and he was just another customer.
What struck me as odd was that he sat there alone, just watching people.
He ordered his food, and when he was finished, he just continued to sit there and watch his surroundings.
Nobody joined him at any point. It was even more odd that his attention was focused solely on me.
I didn’t know this man, and I certainly had no idea why he would be sitting here for most of the dinner rush just following all my movements inside the restaurant.
“Hey, Boris, do you have a minute?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen as the final guests finished up their dinners.
“What’s wrong, Emma?” Boris asks as he wipes down one of the counters.
“There’s this man sitting at the corner table near the kitchen. He’s been here most of the dinner service, and he keeps staring at me. He finished his meal hours ago, but he hasn’t left. It’s making me uncomfortable,” I tell him.
“Let me take care of it,” Boris says as he puts down the rag he was using and walks out of the kitchen. He returns a few moments later.
“There’s nobody at the corner table, Emma,” he says.
What? “There was someone there the whole night. I know there was,” I insist.
“Emma, I believe you.” Boris puts his hands on my shoulders in a reassuring gesture. “Whoever was there when you came in the kitchen, is not there anymore. If this happens again, tell me immediately.”
“I will,” I tell him. Normally, I can just shrug off weird things happening, but I’ve never had someone just sit down and stare at me all night. It’s unsettling and scary, and now I’m a little freaked out.
“Do you need me to take you home?” Boris asks.
“No. I think I’ll be alright. My apartment is not that far away,” I assure him.
“Doesn’t matter. I can drive you home if you need me to,” Boris insists.
“I’ll be okay, Boris. I promise I’ll let you know when I get home.”
“Good. Now go straight home before I change my mind,” he tells me with a fatherly tone in his voice.
“Yes, sir.” I grab my things and put on my coat as I walk to the front door of the restaurant. Boris locks the door behind me, and I start walking the ten blocks to my apartment building.
The walk home from the restaurant usually takes about fifteen or twenty minutes, depending on how fast I walk.
I got the waitressing job just after I moved to Boston, and picked the apartment because it was within an reasonable walking distance.
The area my actual apartment building is located in is okay during the day, but can sometimes get a little sketchy at night.
I cross the last street and turn onto the street where my building is. There seems to be an extra street light out tonight, so I feel a little more cautious and uneasy.
Before I know what’s happening, I see a shadow step out from between two buildings. An arm wraps around my waist and a hand, large enough that I can’t breathe, covers my mouth so I can’t scream. I’m pulled in between the buildings and shoved against the wall.
“You need to shut up and listen,” I hear the man tell me in a deep voice. He’s wearing a mask, so I can’t tell who he is, but his eyes are a dark brown that burn with fury and intimidation.
“No!” I scream when he releases the hand covering my mouth. I reach up with my hands to hit him, or scratch him, or do anything to get him to let me go and get away.
When nothing works, I use all the strength I have and drive my knee between his legs and into his groin.
He releases me and doubles over, grunting in pain and calling me several horrible names under his breath.
I take this as my chance to run, but I don’t get very far.
The man recovers quickly and reaches out to grab my hair, pulling me backward and slapping my face before I fall to the sidewalk.
My hand goes up to grab my cheek where he hit me, trying to protect my face. The masked man grabs me by my coat and shakes me.
“Don’t ever try that again if you know what’s good for you,” he says threateningly.
“Leave me alone,” I cry. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Listen here, bitch. You’re in more trouble than you realize,” the man says, slapping me across the face again.
This hit lands a little harder, and it makes me see stars. The ringing in my ears is so loud that I can’t hear what he’s saying anymore. I’m on the sidewalk, stunned, with the masked man standing over me and yelling threats. I have no idea who he is or what trouble he’s talking about.
I see him raise his hand to hit me again, but the hit doesn’t land. Instead, I see the masked man yanked forcefully backward and away from me.
The stars begin to clear from my vision, and I see this new man punching the masked man in my defense. I hear him say something, but can’t make it out clearly because my ears are still ringing. The masked man falls to sidewalk, but quickly recovers and runs in the opposite direction.
The new man comes over to me and kneels down to get close to eye-level. He’s huge; easily well over six feet tall, maybe closer to six and a half feet tall. He offers me his hand and helps me sit up. It helps clear the stars at the edges of my eyes, and lessen the ringing in my ears.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He has a Russian accent and a voice so deep that if this were any other situation, it would sound seductive.
“I don’t know,” I respond as I try to stand, but fail. He helps ease me back to the sidewalk to collect my bearings.
I know I should be terrified of this stranger considering everything that just happened, but as I look in this man’s eyes, I can’t help but think that I’m safe with him.