Chapter 21
On the way into the house, Grandma had slipped into some kind of fugue state, staring glassily into the distance as Anna sat her on the side of the bed and carefully washed her feet.
Thankfully there were no cuts, but her skin was just pale tracing paper and blue veins stretched over bones, transparently white in places and yet dotted with brown, as if rot was quietly starting to set in already, and the soles were dry and cold with a chill that came from the inside.
Only when Anna was carefully easing Grandma back against the pillows did a tension grip her body before she let out a gasp and finally relaxed. Light came back on in Grandma’s eyes.
“Grandma?” Anna asked tentatively.
“Anna?” Soft. Afraid. Confused. No edge of disapproval. Grandma, but not Grandma. “What are you doing here?” Her pale lips trembled and her eyes filled with an awful, terrified realization. “What was I doing?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Anna pulled the covers up to her waist, but Grandma wouldn’t settle.
“Why do my feet sting?”
“Just relax. I’ll get you a warm drink.” Jesus, why did Mom have to be on the night shift? “That’ll make you feel better.”
“It happened again,” Grandma said, and began to cry. It was quiet and heartbreaking and made Anna want to block her ears so she didn’t have to hear it.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said instead. “You’re fine.”
“I’m not, though, am I?” Grandma paused and caught her breath, stemming the flow of tears, her usual steel remerging. Anna felt a surprising bud of pride burst into life inside her.
“Where was I this time?” Grandma asked.
“Outside. In front of the house on the ground.”
“Oh dear Lord.” Grandma sank back against the pillows. She looked shattered. “Did I wake you?” She frowned. “Why are you fully dressed?”
“I went out for a … for a walk. Needed some fresh air. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left you.”
“If you hadn’t gone out, you might not have found me.” Grandma looked at her. Her eyes were dark pools of emotional exhaustion, but her mouth tilted upward slightly. “And fresh air. Is that what they’re calling cigarette smoke these days?”
A flush burned on Anna’s neck. Shit. Here it came. The disapproval. The disappointment. “I know you don’t like smoking, but—”
“Oh, but how I miss that taste,” Grandma said. “Still. After all these years.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Cigarettes?” She stared. “You?”
“Uh-huh. I used to sneak out just like you when I was young. Not much older than Caroline, if I’m honest. Different times then. But when you say you went out for ‘fresh air,’ how does the phrase go, don’t that word a … well, that word—er, and don’t lie to someone who knows the truth?”
“Bullshitter?” Anna almost laughed the word out.
“Yes,” Grandma said. “That word.” She paused. “Bullshit.” It came out with determined force, as if Grandma wasn’t sure she could actually say it. Anna did laugh this time. It had been a long time since Grandma had made her smile.
“I find myself living in those days more. The long-ago days. Before I met your grandfather and got married and grew up. You’ll find it out yourself when you’re older, but even without this”—she waved her hand around her head—“this thing happening to me, it’s your youth that haunts you most when you’re at the wrong end of time. ”
Anna said nothing. Her youth haunted her enough already, and she was still in it.
“I guess having Dr. Burdett around brings back memories too,” she said eventually, tentatively.
Maybe they’d been talking about the murders.
Maybe that had dug itself into Grandma’s subconscious.
They say a girl died here. It was creepy as fuck, though.
“Must be strange after all this time.” It was odd talking to Grandma like this, like real people.
She wasn’t quite sure how to do it. She was walking across verbal marshland.
One misstep and she’d be sucked down into a bog of snippy anger.
The way things between them normally were.
The way she, Grandma, and Mom dysfunctioned together.
“Ah, Johnny,” Grandma said. “Yes, I guess he does, although sometimes I think we remember things differently. He was never for me. But yes, he sees me, not some old, decrepit woman.” She gazed at the bedroom wall as if a flickering film of the past were playing there.
She stared for so long, Anna thought she was “going” again, but then she sighed.
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “For bringing me inside. It must be quite frightening when I’m like that. Whatever that is.”
“It’s fine. Anyway,” Anna said, not sure how to deal with the gratitude, getting to her feet. “I’ll let you sleep.” She gave Grandma a half smile and headed for the door.
“Anna?”
She turned.
“Yes, Grandma?”
The old woman was sitting up, alert—decided on something. Strength had come back to her steel spine. “I think I would like one of your cigarettes.”
Anna didn’t move. Tonight was turning into one of the strangest she could remember. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh yes, I most certainly would.” She pushed the covers back and stepped into her slippers. “And you know better than to argue with me. Pass my robe, dear, and then let’s go outside. We can’t have your mother smelling it.”