Chapter Thirty-One Lillian
Chapter Thirty-One
Lillian
I hadn’t realized until that moment how I’d been holding on by a thread, desperate to have my family all in one place before time ran out.
Seeing Rosalynn and her father together now, our granddaughter nearby, felt like the culmination of a journey far bigger than anything our GPS had laid out for us.
Adrenaline all but seeped out of my toes, and I palmed the wall.
The nurse’s aide backed toward the door, away from my husband’s wheelchair. “I’ll leave you to your reunion. Just hit the call button if you need anything, Ace.”
Back in 1990, Grady and I hadn’t dreamed that those accessibility rights we sought for Rosalynn would be necessary for one of us as well.
The decades as a firefighter had taken a toll on his lungs.
An ultimately lethal toll. These days he was too weak to walk unassisted.
His broad shoulders hunched forward, an oxygen cannula hooked around his ears, with the thin tube feeding supplemental air to his nose.
The facility made a valiant effort at appearing homey, with overstuffed furniture and pastel paint, but in my mind, this would always be the place my husband had come to die.
He spread his arms wide, angling forward to hug Rosalynn and Elsie, one after the other. “How are my girls?”
Elsie hung on. “I’m not letting you go.”
“I’m doing so much better seeing all of you.” He pressed his fingers to the cannula, as if needing additional air to support his words.
“Well, I’m staying for a while, Ace,” our granddaughter promised.
His eyes darted to mine with a hint of worry before he looked back at Elsie. “Even though I feel sorry for the people struggling from the storm, I’m glad to see both of you.”
Grady’s nickname—Ace—had stuck at work after I told everyone at the station about our time in DC.
He’d earned the moniker from the protestor who’d overheated.
Thanks to Ace’s fast action, the gentleman had been stabilized until the EMTs could arrive.
Our experience with Rosalynn had made us all too aware of the dangers of autonomic dysreflexia.
A wound or stress below the injury site, even too-tight shoes, can trigger a dangerously high spike in blood pressure.
Symptoms varied . . . a brutal headache, blurred vision, slow or fast heart rate, goose bumps below the level of injury or sweating above. The list went on.
In that first year, we’d gotten a crash course in so many elements of Rosalynn’s care.
But the autonomic nervous system, which regulated so many other involuntary functions, concerned me most. That fear never let up.
Especially years later when she delivered Elsie.
The doctors had recommended an epidural, not because of pain, but to manage the risk of a stroke.
Just as I’d thrown myself into every nuance of Rosalynn’s care, I’d searched for a medical solution to keep my husband with me. For once, my beloved books had let me down. They had nothing more to offer me that would keep the love of my life by my side.
We’d come to the end of the road.
“Daddy,” Rosalynn answered, waving aside his concern. “We’re fine. None the worse for wear after our travel adventures.”
“And your house?” he asked our daughter as he reached backward in an unspoken request to hold my hand. “How did it fare with the hurricane? What about the arts center?”
Rosalynn’s fingers drifted onto Dusty’s head, stroking his ear between her fingers like a talisman.
“I spoke to my boss earlier today and the facility won’t be reopening anytime soon.
As for my home? I hear there’s some minor flooding inside.
Once conditions are safe for driving, the Realtor will send a company in to vacuum up any water and plug in dehumidifiers. ”
A fresh surge of anger hit me for the world’s worst son-in-law. Why couldn’t Seth get his act together like Grady?
“Where’s Seth?” Grady asked with barely contained disapproval.
“He evacuated.” Rosalynn’s smile was as forced as her father’s. “But I want to know about you. How are you feeling?”
“Moooom . . .” Elsie rolled her eyes as she hopped onto the corner of the bed and sat cross-legged.
“What’s he supposed to say to that? Ace, tell me all the scoop about this place.
Is the food terrible? Do they have good cable?
Or a decent streaming subscription? Is that hot manager dude—Mr. Nguyen—secretly a monster? ”
Grady threw back his head, his laugh hoarse but welcome.
“Oh, Elsie girl, I have missed you. The baked chicken is not too bad. The creamed spinach is repugnant. We have cable TV, plus a solid internet connection. And Ben Nguyen seems to be doing a top-notch job running a place that has the potential to be depressing.”
“Good to hear.” Elsie nodded. “I’m gonna have to get you some bling for your wheels.”
Something Elsie had asked me to help her do for Rosalynn on Mother’s Day a decade ago. The memory brought tears to my eyes.
“Daddy,” Rosalynn said, securing her hold on Dusty’s leash. “Elsie and I have some things to talk about. And I’m sure you and Mom would like a bit of time on your own. So we’ll see you later? Maybe for supper?”
“Out in the courtyard,” he declared, his brown eyes wistful.
“A picnic,” Elsie promised as she slid off the bed. “I’ll bring my guitar. I’ve started playing, like you.”
A blush tinged her cheeks as she admitted her new hobby. I wondered why she’d kept it a secret, but then teenagers could be ferocious about their privacy.
Rosalynn turned to her daughter. “Here are the keys to the van if you want to get the guitar while I find some snacks to tide us over until supper.”
She pitched the ring with the fob to Elsie before cuing Dusty toward the door as they disappeared into the corridor, chatting softly.
Even comfortably.
Could this be the time Elsie would finally ease up on her secrets and come clean with her mother about whatever had made her want to run?
I hoped so, for their sakes and for my own so I could turn my full attention to my husband as we navigated this bittersweet ache.
Although as fast as the thought came to me, a panic started to well at the notion of days full of “lasts.”
Last family reunion.
Last time to greet autumn together.
Last kiss.
The magnitude of it all overwhelmed me. Had I rushed to Sullivan’s Island as an escape, to give myself something—anything—else to worry about? The thought made me feel small and cowardly.
And most of all? I felt alone.
“Lillian?”
His voice pulled my attention back to the man who would always hold my heart. “Yes, Grady? Do you want help getting back in bed?”
“I’d prefer to sit here, by you.”
“So would I.” I dragged a chair closer and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“Is she really okay?”
“Rosalynn or Elsie?”
“Both,” he said. “But let’s start with Elsie. Did you get to the root of why she wants to leave home?”
“She hasn’t been forthcoming, but she’s softening. I think she and Rosalynn may be talking it through out in the garden—finally.”
“I hope so.” He rested his head against mine, his breaths shallow. “I’m glad you were there to help her evacuate. I wish I could have—”
“Shhh,” I whispered in a kiss against his chest. “I absolutely won’t have us wasting time with regrets. We did enough of that in the past before we found our future.”
He hmmm-ed in response, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and drawing me closer. “What’s this I hear about you being approached to run for Congress?”
How had he found out? I’d been so careful with the calls and correspondence. “Who’s been talking?”
“Elsie texted me. She overheard you and Rosalynn talking about it after you left the hotel. She’s proud of you.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “So am I. Care to share details?”
I knew he wouldn’t let the subject go until I explained. “The congressman from our district is retiring. The party thinks I would make a competitive candidate. They have some backers.”
There had been more, so much more, but the rest didn’t matter and I didn’t want to give him fodder to press.
“When do you begin putting together your campaign staff?” He paused. “Lillian, you are accepting, aren’t you?”
He knew me too well.
“I’m not interested.”
He chuckled, then coughed softly before continuing, “Don’t try to bs me. I can see right through you. This is the sort of challenge you dreamed of when you went to law school. You want this so much, you’re salivating like your mama’s in the kitchen frying up some chicken.”
I’d flown through undergrad as fast as possible in South Carolina, before going on to finish law school a semester early.
I’d already known where I needed to land next.
That time in Washington, DC, had imprinted itself on my internal compass.
The day I passed the Virginia bar exam, I’d shown Grady the listing for a job on a deep-sea charter boat out of Alexandria.
He’d supported my dream, and he deserved his turn, I’d insisted.
Rosalynn had graduated and had a marketing job. We were free to leave South Carolina.
He’d lived that dream for over two decades. Except even all that fresh ocean air couldn’t erase the damage from years of smoke inhalation.
I swallowed down the grief and thought about his question. We were only ever honest with each other these days. With so little time left, we couldn’t waste even a moment on games or avoidance. “I do want it. Someday. Not now.”
“Because of me.”
I shook my head and breathed in the scent of him, trying to block out the antiseptic medical air. “Because the time isn’t right. I need to focus on my family.”
“Your family is focused on you too, Lillian. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.” He angled back and tucked a knuckle under my chin, looking into my eyes. “Let me put it this way. Being a team means sharing the sadness and the joy. Let us be a part of this incredible opportunity.”
I could see his point, however . . . “There’s no guarantee I would win. It’s a long shot.”
“There’s also a significant chance you could pull this off,” he retorted with far more confidence than I had in myself. “And when you’re out there standing up for all the Rosies in the world, I would be right there with you. A part of those victories. Even after.”
His words stole the air from my lungs until my breathing became as labored as his. I couldn’t form words. I could only hold on and listen, as if I might anchor him in the world for a few extra days.
“Understand this, though, Lillian. I’m not finished yet. Sure, the doctor said I might only have weeks left, but he also said I could live for months. I’m bargaining on the latter.” He folded my hands in his. “It would be the honor of my life to applaud you when you accept the nomination.”
“Grady, I don’t know—” My voice cracked.
“You don’t have to decide anything today. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
I cradled his face in my hands, his skin freshly shaven, and I grieved that someone else had the privilege of helping him today. “I can’t think of anything but you.”
He kissed me. Not long. Or passionately. But so much more than that. With a connection forged in surviving the storms of life.
Easing back, he asked as if reading my mind, “What are we going to do about Rosalynn’s loser ex-husband?”
Anyone else would have thought that question came out of the blue, but we were so in sync these days I wasn’t surprised. “Thankfully, he’s not our problem, since he’s off partying in Biloxi. This time is just about us and our girls.”