30. Emory
30
EMORY
There’s an incessant pounding in my head. God, what is that? Make it stop. I only had like two glasses of champagne last night. I’m still in that state between sleep and consciousness, and this godforsaken pounding won’t stop. As I try to will it to stop, the mattress moves, and I hear the sound of retreating footsteps.
Luke. Where is he going?
The banging continues and I realize it’s not coming from my head. It’s the door. I start to come to and hear voices. I can’t make out everything because Luke must have closed the bedroom door behind him. Just parts of words and phrases.
“Lucas Collins,” someone says.
“Under arrest.”
“Assault.”
“Right to an attorney.”
The haze of sleepiness fades away, and I jolt up out of bed, sprinting to the front door. That’s when my heart falls. Luke is in handcuffs, a police officer holding onto his arm, guiding him down the walkway. He’s not resisting. Not fighting. He’s calmly walking with them.
No, no, no.
“What’s going on?” I yell, stumbling onto the front steps. One of the officers whips around to look at me. I don’t recognize him. Or the other one holding onto Luke. I know a lot of the local police officers because they often come into the ER to bring in or question patients. But I’ve never seen either of these men.
“Is this your wife?” the officer asks Luke, but he just shakes his head without even looking up at me.
I don’t know why that stings so much. I’m not his wife. Not even close. He could get in way more trouble if he lies to law enforcement, but…
Why won’t he look at me?
“Sorry, ma’am. If you’re not family, I can’t give you any specific details. All I can tell you is that he is being taken to Emberfield PD for booking. You can call the department’s main line in a few hours for further information.”
“Luke?” I look over at him, but he still has his head down.
The officers continue walking him to their cruiser, and one of them guides him into the back seat.
“Luke?” I say again, straining my voice. But the door shuts, and he probably can’t even hear me at this point.
The officer who spoke to me earlier comes up to me as his partner gets into the driver’s side. He has short blonde hair and looks to be in his mid-thirties. Now that he’s closer, his face does seem somewhat familiar.
“I’m Officer Reynolds,” he says, holding out a business card to me. “I remember you from the hospital. I was there on a B&E case a few months ago. Anyway, if you have any trouble getting through on the main line, you can call my direct line. I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, taking the card from him. I don’t know what else to say.
“No problem,” he says and rounds the car to the passenger side. I stand there in nothing but Luke’s T-shirt and watch as the car pulls out of the driveway and heads down my street. With the car gone, I glance over at my house and see Allie sitting on our front steps. She’s wearing the same dress as last night. Her hair is disheveled, and her makeup is smeared.
Jesus. Did she just get home? Did she even go to bed last night?
She stands up when she sees me, and I take my time walking over to her. We stand for a few moments, caught in an awkward web of silence, just staring at each other before I wrap my arms around her. Her hair smells like kelp shampoo and smoke. Campfire smoke? But I don’t let myself think too much about it. Right now, I don’t need to know where she was or who she was with last night. I just need her . I bury my face in her chest and sob, and it’s like coming home after a bad day all over again. Allie is my safe place, just like Gram.
I thought Luke was too. Was I wrong to feel safe with him? What did he do? The officers wouldn’t tell me anything, but I heard the word “assault.” Was this because of last night? Did Nate get arrested too? I can’t bring myself to call him yet. All the questions and possibilities swirl around my brain, making me dizzy. We both sit down on the steps, and she rubs my back like she used to. We sit like that for a while before I look up at her.
“What do I do?” I sniffle.
“I guess we just have to wait and call the precinct in a few hours. Or maybe…”
“What?”
“I know you’re not talking to Nate right now. But you also weren’t talking to me, and now you are, so maybe…”
“No.”
“Do you want me to call him?”
“No. Let’s just wait until we know more.”
“Emory…”
“Yeah?”
“You should probably take off from work today.”
Shit. I forgot I even had work. I rush back to Luke’s house and grab my phone from the nightstand. It’s a little after eight. I can still make it, but Allie is right. I need to be accessible today. I type out a text to Sandra, the colleague I covered for a few weeks ago, to ask if she can return the favor. Thankfully, she responds right away, so I email the nurse manager, letting her know about the switch. The front door creaks, and I see Allie standing in the entryway.
“I’m gonna go take a shower, but then I’m all yours. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Al. We still need to talk, but…thank you.”
She nods her head and walks out.
What do I do now?
Before I can even make a plan, my phone rings. My heart nosedives and I think it’s Luke using his one phone call. I answer without even looking at the caller ID.
“Luke?”
“Hi um…may I please speak with Emory Caldwell?” the female voice on the other end asks.
“This is she,” I reply, my heart beating out of my chest. Is this someone from the police station?
“Hi, Ms. Caldwell. My name is Julia. I’m a nurse at Summit Grove Assisted Living. Your grandmother is absolutely fine. Nothing to worry about. Actually, she’s better than fine. She’s having a lucid day, and she’s been asking for you and Nate. I assume that’s your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Well, anyway, I wanted to let you know in case you or your brother wanted to stop by today. She hasn’t had many of these days lately, and I know she would love to see you.”
“Yes, thank you for letting me know. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I—’ll tell Nate.”
A lump forms in my throat at the prospect of calling him, but Gram is lucid. She’s asking for me. For us. I can’t keep that from Nate, regardless of how angry I am.
“Wonderful. We’ll see you soon, then,” Julia chirps.
“Sounds good. Thanks again,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Of course. Take care. Bye.”
I end the call and pull up Nate’s number. My finger hovers over his contact for several seconds before I tap it. He answers on the first ring.
“Emory. What’s going on? Any news?”
“What?”
“With Luke. I’m working on getting him out, but it might take a while. There’s a lot of red tape. Have you heard anything else?”
“How do you—” But then I realize. He called Nate with his one phone call. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Nate is his best friend. His ride or die, like Allie is for me. Luke knew I saw him being arrested. I just let them take him away. I didn’t even put up a fight. Why would he call me? What was I going to do?
“No, Nate. It’s not about that. Gram is lucid.”
“She’s…” I hear him suck in a breath. “She is?”
“Yeah. She’s asking for us.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten,” he says quickly.
“No, Nate. I can…” But I hear the two tones signaling he has already hung up. Despite everything, I laugh to myself, remembering how he did the same thing to me when he first told me I was getting a new neighbor and was being super shady about it.
How much has happened since then.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Nate’s Range Rover. The silence stretches between us, with nothing but the sound of his engine humming and his blinker occasionally going off. Of course, he doesn’t even put on the radio to cut the tension because he’s a psychopath. I reach out to turn it on, but he moves my hand away.
“Em…”
“Not now, Nate. Let’s just see her.”
He nods his head with uncertainty and moves his hand aside, allowing me to access the touch screen. As I click on his favorites, the car immediately fills with the sound of electric guitars and steady drumbeats. Classic rock, of course. I roll my eyes, but it’s better than the deafening silence. I don’t know this song, but Nate taps his fingers on the steering wheel and subtly nods his head to the beat while mouthing the lyrics. Sometimes it feels like music is the only thing that brings him joy these days. He taught himself how to play the guitar when he was in middle school, but he gave it up when he joined the football team. Now he doesn’t have either.
“What do you want to listen to?” he asks, glancing over at me. He knows we don’t have the same taste in music.
“This is fine,” I reply flatly.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Em,” he says. “You have to know that’s the last thing I would ever want.”
He looks over at me to gauge my reaction, but I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t want to see the regret or pleading in his eyes. It doesn’t matter if he meant to or not. The fact is, he set me up to fail. I guess he was set up to fail too. He was still a kid, raising a kid. But he grew up. At some point, he had to have realized he was hurting me more than helping.
I say nothing as we pull into the parking lot of Gram’s facility, but when Nate goes to get out, I stop him.
“You can talk to her first,” I say. “But I don’t want to be in there together. If she’s lucid, she’ll be able to sense something is up, and she doesn’t need to be involved in this. It’s between you and me. Tell her I’ll be there soon and make up an excuse to leave when I come in.”
He says nothing but nods his head. I know I’m breaking his heart. He’s wanted it to be the three of us again for so long, but I need to protect Gram. She doesn’t need to see this.
I wait in the car for a good twenty minutes before I climb out and head into the building. Julia, the nurse who called me earlier, greets me with a smile and nods toward the hallway where Gram's room is located. I come to a halt at the wooden door, which still has the eucalyptus wreath I placed there a couple of months ago. Gram says it has healing properties.
I twist the door handle and push it open, peering inside before I’m noticed. Gram is sitting in her favorite chair in the living area of her studio while Nate is kneeling in front of her, cupping her cheek. He looks like a little boy again, and for a single second I see that childish twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay, get off the floor already,” Gram chides. “Stop fawning. You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”
Nate chuckles and obeys her orders, sitting down in a chair opposite her.
“That’s better,” she says more gently now. “So when am I getting great-grandchildren? You’re getting up there, Nate. And I don’t have forever.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” Nate says, laughing. I can’t remember the last time he seemed so at ease.
She’s his safe place too.
“What are you waiting for, then?”
I smile to myself. Gram is nothing if not persistent.
“I’ll work on it,” Nate says. “Promise.”
She seems content with that answer.
“And where is this sister of yours?”
“She should be?—”
“Right here, Gram,” I call out, making myself known. I give Nate a look, and he stands, grabbing his phone from his pocket and pretending to answer it.
“I have to take this,” he says. “I’ll be back.” He looks back at Gram, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“I love you,” he tells her.
“I love you too, baby,” she says as he gives my shoulder a quick brush and walks out.
Gram turns her attention to me. “Eavesdropping again, Emmy?” Aside from Opa, she’s the only person who has ever called me that. And I’ve kept it that way on purpose.
I arch my eyebrow in confirmation. “Maybe.”
She laughs and goes to stand, but I put my hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
“Don’t get up, Gram. I’ll come to you.”
“I’m not an invalid,” she complains.
“I know, but this is how it used to be. You’d be sitting in your chair at home, and I’d come home and fling myself onto you.”
I kneel down, just like Nate did earlier, and wrap my arms around her, taking in her fresh, clean scent.
And then a dam breaks, and I can’t control it. The tears start pouring out, staining her gray and maroon striped shirt. It makes me think of Nate’s Spiderman shirt and how Gram’s tears dotted it that day we lost him in the city.
“What’s wrong, baby girl?” she coos, patting my back.
“I—I think I’m in love,” I say, and it’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, let alone anyone else.
“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. Why the tears?”
“I’m scared.”
“It wouldn’t be love if it weren’t scary,” she says, twirling a lock of my hair in her fingers.
“But why is it so hard? I just—it seemed so easy with you and Opa.”
Gram barks out a laugh. “Love is never easy, child.”
“But you never fought. You never yelled. He tap-danced for you.”
Gram’s brows furrow in confusion for a fleeting moment. Then, a memory lights up her eyes, and another fit of laughter escapes her lips.
“The day we lost Nate. I remember. I was ready to wring his damn neck. He was supposed to be watching you two. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost—” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t cry. “He did that to remind me we had company. That you and Nate were standing there watching. We never wanted to fight in front of you two.” She runs the back of her hand along my face, wiping my tears. Her hands are warm and soft. I close my eyes, reveling in her touch. Who knows how many more days I will get her like this? Days when she knows who I am and can remember something that happened years ago.
“We fought, Emory. Like every couple fights. We had tough days. Days when we didn’t talk to each other. Days when it felt like love wouldn’t be enough. But we never wanted you and Nate to see that. You both had been through so much already, losing your mother at such a young age.”
I pull back from her, searching her eyes—hazel like mine.
“This whole time I thought Opa was distracting you from the pain, making you forget.”
“He did,” she says. “For a moment. Just enough to remind me that we still had a job to do. But even the best distraction doesn’t make the pain go away. I lost my daughter, and for several terrifying minutes, I thought I had lost my grandson, too. He couldn’t erase that pain, but he could postpone it, I guess.”
She lifts her hand from my face. “We weren’t perfect, Emory. But when we hit a snag, we pushed through it. We fought for our love, just like your mama.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve never met your grandparents on your father’s side,” she says, placing her hand over mine. “He came from a wealthy family, and they didn’t approve of him falling in love with a nurse. She was never going to be good enough for them. But she was head over heels for him. I remember the day she came home and told me about the dark-haired man she helped that day at work. He got into a fight with his brother and ended up in the Emergency Room. She cleaned the cut on his face, and they chatted until she was called away to help someone else. But before she left, he managed to get her phone number. She was thrilled when he called her later.”
My jaw could not be further on the floor. I have never heard any of this. I knew my mom was a nurse, of course. It’s part of the reason why I wanted to become one. Gram always told me stories of how my mom was a healer ever since she was a little girl. I wanted to heal people too. But I didn’t know that’s how she met my dad.
“Brian was good to her. It was clear he loved her too. We had our concerns, of course. We knew he came from wealth and that his family expected him to marry within his class, but when they sat us down one day and told us they were expecting a baby boy, we could not have been happier.”
“Nate? They had him before…so, that’s why they got married?”
“No,” she replies. “They had him because they were in love, they got married because they were in love, and they had you because they were in love. They fought against all the obstacles trying to bring them down. Your father’s family cut him off financially, so he started his own business. It was hard, starting from scratch, but he always made time for you kids and your mother. Until she died…and then he stopped fighting. He didn’t know how to fight without her.”
“So you took us in, and he married his job.”
“Yes,” she says with an apologetic look in her eyes.
“So love brings you down no matter what. If you break up, it kills you. If you stay together, it kills you. There’s no winning.”
“No, Emory. What happened with your parents was tragic. But not everyone loses love so easily. Your grandfather and I had forty years together, and his love didn’t kill me. It made me stronger. I’m not a fool, Emory. I know why I’m here. I know who you are now, but I might not tomorrow,” she says sadly, her eyes dropping down before rising to meet mine. “But his death didn’t put me here. It started before he died. Just little things. I would wash my hair twice because I couldn’t remember if I had already washed it. I would go to the grocery store and not remember why I was there. Opa knew. But I didn’t want to worry you kids.”
“I—I didn’t know. I thought it was because he left you.”
“I’m sure that didn’t help. But it was always going to happen. It’s life, Emory. Shit happens, but we pick up the pieces.”
I snort. Leave it to Gram to make it seem so simple. She’s right. Dad lost my mom. She lost Opa. They both grieved in very different ways. My dad didn’t allow himself to feel. He threw himself into his work, ignoring the pieces of her that still remained. Gram allowed herself to feel too much. Maybe it made her dementia worse. Maybe it didn’t, but at least she didn’t hurt the people who were still there. There’s no right way to grieve, but I have to think you can do better than neglecting your children. Dad didn’t pick up the pieces. He let someone else pick them up.
One thing is clear. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let that happen. I’m going to take responsibility. I’m going to fight for Luke the way my mom fought for my dad.
I lift my head up and kiss her softly on the forehead. “Thank you, Gram,” I say. “For everything.”
“I would have done it a hundred times over.” She smiles. “Now go home to your man.”
If only it were that easy.
I stand up and walk over to the door.
“Ik hou van jou, Gram,” I say, echoing the words my grandfather used to say to her in his parents’ native language. I love you.
“I know, baby. Me too,” she says.
I leave the room feeling stronger than when I entered. Nate is standing in the hallway. I'm not sure how long he's been there or if he overheard any of our conversation, but I don't really care. He's spent my whole life trying to shield me from the world, and now it's time for him to help me fight for it.
I can tell the moment he looks at me that he senses something is different, but I don’t have time to sit around talking about it.
“Let’s get him out,” I say and turn on my heel, walking tall as I head out of the building.