21. Preston
PRESTON
Can it be true? Am I actually looking forward to volunteering this afternoon?
Okay. Maybe I’m not looking forward to it. That would be like looking forward to a dentist appointment. I’m not dreading it, though, which is just as much of a surprise as we walk from the truck toward the revolving doors leading into the lobby.
“What if they don’t assign us to the oncology department today?” Easton looks and sounds about as worried as I was for the split second I had the same thought earlier, before the solution jumped out at me.
“We just go there without asking for an assignment.” The button on the panel glows bright when I press it to call the elevator. “If anybody asks why we’re there, we tell them we were only checking on our friend.” Though I doubt anybody will care so long as we look like we’re keeping busy.
It’s wild. I’ve seen her like this before.
I know she’s sick. There’s still no way to prepare myself for the way my stomach drops at the first sight of pearls sitting through a chemo treatment.
There’s something very wrong about somebody our age going through this.
Get it together . I’m not helping anybody by standing around, getting lost in my thoughts.
Especially not once she notices us watching from outside the room.
“You’re kidding,” she mutters when we step inside. I can’t tell if she’s glad to see us or what.
“We heard there was a patient in here who needs cheering up.” My head swings from side to side as I look around the otherwise quiet room with its empty chairs. “I guess that means you.”
She doesn’t look surprised. Not exactly happy, but not surprised. “Are we making this our thing now?” she asks, smirking up at us. “You just, like, showing up when you know I’m stuck in one place?”
“Come on.” Easton cranes his neck to look out into the hall, like he’s making sure nobody is paying attention. “We have to be here, anyway. They might make us empty out bedpans, otherwise.”
When she arches her eyebrow, I know what she’s going to say. “And I’m supposed to feel bad about that? I might start screaming at somebody to get you out of here.”
“You could use the company.” Like I did the night we found her, I sit close to where she’s sitting with her feet up. She looks small in her chair, almost swallowed up by the blanket. It’s not easy, but I have to remind myself how she hates feeling pitied.
Easton asks, “Are you always alone when you do this?”
“Yeah.” That’s a sore spot. I can tell from the way she lifts her shoulders a little. Defensive. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind having a little peace and quiet.”
In a hospital? Where there are people walking around all the time? “If that’s how you feel about it, we can leave you alone.” I even stand like I’m ready to go.
“I mean, you’re already here.” She waves a hand at the chair. “Sit. Keep me company, I guess.”
Like I was ever really going anywhere. Flopping back down, I ask, “Why isn’t your grandma here with you?”
Her lips pull together in a thin line across the bottom part of her face. “Why do you have to make it sound like it’s weird? It’s not like she doesn’t care.”
I’m sure she does care. I mean, we didn’t even spend an entire meal at the house, but it’s obvious she cares. “That’s why I asked, ’cause it seems like she cares so much. I figured she’d be here, making sure you’re all right.”
“Maybe she’s weirded out by hospitals,” Easton mutters.
“She’s definitely spent enough time in them, between me and Grandpa and herself.” I don’t know why she is so determined to keep everything locked inside. It’s like pulling teeth to get a simple answer. And even when she starts to explain, she speaks so slowly. Like she’s searching for every word.
“What’s wrong with Grandma Lois?” I ask. Am I a little sharp? Maybe. But she seems like a nice lady.
Emma almost smiles, but it doesn’t last long.
“She had a mild stroke a couple of years ago. Not long after Grandpa died, actually. I really want her to take it easy as much as she can. I…” She gets an uncomfortable look on her face while she stares at her lap.
“I need her, you know? She’s all I have now. So I want to take care of her.”
Easton looks at me. I look at him. Neither one of us knows what to say.
We’re not exactly in touch with our feelings. We don’t sit around discussing what’s going on in our heads or how things affect us day-to-day. Not beyond bitching over stuff that pisses us off, anyway.
But this is different territory. It’s uncomfortable. At the same time, I want to know. I want to hear about her life, even if all she can talk about is struggling. Not because I feel like getting off on her misery, either. I’m having a hard time remembering when I wanted that.
“And it’s just the two of you?” I ask. “Aunts, uncles? Cousins?”
She shakes her head slowly. “My mom was Grandma’s only child, and all of the extended family on that side lives all over the country.
They came for my parents’ funerals, and for Grandpa’s.
But those are the only times I’ve really seen them.
And my dad’s family life wasn’t really good—he didn’t have a relationship with any of them.
I don’t even know where they live or if any of them are still alive. ”
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with years worth of family holidays playing across my memory. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Ski trips, summers at the beach.
“And you said before that you came to live here because there were better treatment options, right?” Easton leans forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at her.
Studying her. I know the feeling. Like I want to see inside her head.
The more she lets us see, even little bits at a time, the more I want.
“Yeah. We lived in a pretty small town and the nearest hospital was far away. That made it really hard when she had the stroke, too. It would take me forever to get back and forth to visit, and sometimes, I would stay in a motel nearby, but it started to add up after a while.”
“And then you got sick,” I murmur. It’s hard to imagine. One thing after another.
“At first, I blamed it on being worried about her. Especially when she came home from the rehab center, and I still had to go to school during the day. We couldn’t afford a nurse all day long, only a few hours at a time, and it stressed me out.
I was doing as much of the housework as I could, too—the cooking, the shopping. ”
Fuck me. Just hearing her talk about it is exhausting. All that responsibility at such a young age. On her own.
No wonder she’s so damn tough. We must have looked like a joke compared to the shit she’s battled with.
“You figured it was wiping you out.” Easton frowns when she nods.
“But then I started losing weight because it was harder and harder to eat, and it felt like I was picking up every bug that came around.” Then she snorts and chuckles.
“You know what Grandma did? I took her to a follow-up appointment with her doctor, and she told him everything that was going on with me because I kept telling her I didn’t have time to go to the doctor between taking care of the house and taking care of her and going to school.
He wrote me a referral to get blood drawn that same afternoon, and… here we are.”
I am liking Grandma Lois more and more all the time.
“So, you being stubborn—that’s not a new thing,” Easton muses.
I’m glad he said it, because it makes her laugh, but I’m not in the mood to joke right now.
It’s hard to imagine what she just described.
I’ve never been through anything close to it.
We see a little less of Mom all the time, and we’re not supposed to know it’s because she can’t get off the pills, and of course, there’s this Sarah situation.
Finding out my sister was being abused isn’t a highlight of my life, but it’s nothing compared to what Emma has going on.
Have I ever had to take care of a sick person? Was there ever a moment in my life when I worried I would be completely alone? Because that’s what would’ve happened to Emma if her grandma died. She would’ve been alone. Completely. It must’ve been terrifying.
And all of that happened before she got what could’ve been a death sentence.
She has been through more in eighteen years than some people go through in fifty.
When I think about how pissed I was when Dad told us about our volunteer hours—not just pissed, enraged—it makes me feel sort of small. Like I have anything to complain about.
I can’t shake those thoughts as we leave for the night, once Emma is finished. She won’t let us drive her home. No big surprise. “I told you. No pity.” I don’t know if she thinks she’s being brave by stonewalling us in the parking lot.
“There’s a difference between pity and basic common sense, you know.” I’m wasting my breath, obviously. “At least let us follow you home to make sure you get there okay.” She can’t argue with that. Maybe she doesn’t have it in her.
When we’re in my truck, ready to follow her, Easton elbows me. “What’s with asking permission to follow her? Like we need permission.”
“She needs to feel like she has a say.” When she pulls out of her spot, I follow. “I’m starting to understand the way she thinks, I guess.”
I’m starting to understand a lot more than I did before. Some of it has to do with knowing more about Emma, seeing things through new eyes. The rest, I think, has to do with paying attention. Looking deeper.
Like when we reach the house, which is one of only a few single-story buildings on the block. Easier for Emma—and Lois, now that I think about it, even though she seems energetic enough. Maybe she has her bad days.
“You don’t need to come in.” Emma might say one thing, but I see a different truth in how long it takes her to reach into the car for her backpack before closing the door. How winded she seems, how she takes a second to lean against the car before pushing away from it.
“Yeah, right.” I don’t say another word or even look at her before I take the backpack out of her hand. Easton winds an arm around her shoulders, and I watch from behind them as she stiffens at first but ends up leaning on him by the time we reach the porch.
“She knows we know, right?” he asks before Emma unlocks the door. “No more lying about Grandpa?”
“She knows.” The fatigue is already worse. Like every word takes effort, like turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open is too much.
“Look who’s here!” Grandma Lois is beaming from ear to ear from her spot on the couch, where she is covered in a blanket. It looks like she might have fallen asleep and only woke up because we walked in.
“Yeah, look what the cat dragged in, right?” Emma smirks up at us. “I’m pretty tired. I think I might go straight to my room.”
Lois stretches, then sighs. “I’m feeling a little worn out myself tonight. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, or I could heat up soup and biscuits.”
“Why don’t you get your rest, and we’ll take care of that?” I offer. “Have you eaten? I’ve been known to heat up a mean can of soup.”
“You are too charming for my own good,” she chides, shaking a finger and everything. “But no, thank you, I had a heavy lunch. I only wanted to stay out here to be around for Emma if she needs help.”
“We’ll take care of that,” Easton offers. “You go ahead.”
I would back him up, but there’s a framed photo on the wall over the couch that’s caught my eye. A wedding photo, the bride and groom smiling wide. She has Emma’s eyes and button nose.
“My parents.” Emma notices me staring and now she stares with me. “Mom’s wearing her pearls. Look familiar?” Sure enough, there’s the necklace. She doesn’t sound angry or like she wants to rub it in. She’s tired. Sad.
“Did you find all of the pearls?” I ask as she turns toward the hallway.
“No, there were definitely some I didn’t find.
But I grabbed most of them.” When we reach her bedroom, she opens a small jewelry box on her dresser and pulls out a velvet drawstring bag, shaking it gently so I can hear the whisper of the pearls inside before putting it away.
My chest gets tight when I remember her crawling around because of my stupid, clumsy mistake.
“Do you usually go straight to sleep?” Easton asks, sitting on the bed. “When we don’t show up for lasagna?”
“Usually, yeah. I end up spending the rest of the night in bed, watching movies on my laptop.” The sigh she lets out when she sits tells me she doesn’t have much left in her.
“What do you need? What can we get for you?” I need to feel useful. I can’t shake the memory of the necklace. Those pearls meant a lot to her and her mom, and she had to watch them scatter all over the sidewalk.
She must really feel like shit, because for once, she doesn’t argue. “There are cans of ginger ale in the fridge and crackers in the pantry. That would be good. And if you guys are hungry,” she adds as we leave the room, “help yourself to whatever. Grandma won’t mind.”
It’s Emma I care about now. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I did anything like this. Taking care of somebody. Meanwhile, she had to take care of her grandma and a house and the bills and all that. This is the least she deserves.
The very least. It isn’t enough.
By the time we return to the bedroom with the crackers and soda, plus a bag of chips for me and Easton to snack on, Emma is dressed in a nightgown and is halfway through climbing into bed. “Mind if we hang around?” Easton asks. “We could watch a movie. Get you anything you need.”
She bites her lip but gives in quickly. “Sure. Just don’t expect much out of me. I’ll probably fall asleep.”
While Easton skims through movies to watch, I help her get comfortable in the middle of the bed with pillows behind her head. It gets me thinking. “Do you sleep in your wig?”
A frown creases her forehead before she grunts. “Not usually. But…”
“Do whatever it takes to be comfortable. For real,” I urge, looking at my brother.
“Definitely,” he agrees. “Take it off. I’m not scared of a bald head.”
It takes a handful of slow, deep breaths to give her the courage to do it, but she does. That’s what matters. She trusts us enough to slowly peel the wig away.
God, she’s beautiful. I would rather cut out my tongue than say it—I know how she would take it, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
That doesn’t change how my heart stutters and my mouth goes dry while she leans over to place the wig on a stand next to the bed.
She’s so beautiful. So much stronger and fiercer than I ever could have imagined when we first met.
But even the strongest people need help. Protection. And when she falls asleep between us with her head touching my shoulder, it hits me that she trusts us both enough to let us help her a little.
There’s no real reason why I should feel so damn proud as my eyes start to close and sleep pulls me under, but I do.