"Okay then, I'll probably be gone by the time you get home."
"Right," he snickers. "You'll be asleep in my bed. This drama is unnecessary, Emma, so just stop. I have to get back to work now that I've wasted my entire lunch break listening to your empty threats."
You’re the one who called me; I want to tell him. "Okay," I calmly say again. "Have a good day?" I hang up the phone and wish I could erase Mike from my life as easily as I could delete him from my phone contacts. Whatever the case, I need to remove that man from my thoughts for a bit so I can put on a smile for Grams. She can always tell something is wrong by the way I blink.
I let myself into her house, finding her leaning against an end table in her living room. "Grams, what's wrong?" I ask.
She appears startled as she jumps and clutches at the collar of her blouse. "Emma," she huffs. "I wasn’t expecting you."
I look past her, toward the microwave. "It's two fifteen on the dot," I say. It's the same time I come by most days. Mom checks in on her in the morning before she goes to work, I usually check on her midday, and Aunt Annie checks on her just before dinner time. Thankfully, we all live in a close vicinity.
"Oh, right, right…sorry," she says.
"It's okay," I tell her as I gently place my hand on her shoulder and guide her into the family room. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," she says, the word vibrating against the hollow of her throat.
"Are you in pain? What's going on?" I ask, immediately filled with concern, but I already know about the palpitations she was getting earlier.
"I think I'm going to die today," she says, sounding helpless.
"No, you're not," I say as I help her take a seat.
Grams sits carefully, sinking into the plushness of her worn heather gray recliner. "I'm ninety-two, Emma. It's seventy-four years longer than I expected to live."
I take a seat on the arm of the chair and rest my head on her frail shoulder. "Why are you talking like this?" I ask.
With an exhausted sigh and a slight shake of her head, she replies, "I don't know." Her hand drops to her lap, and her eyes go wide as if she's staring through a wall across the room, or staring at a ghost. "It's just the truth. I shouldn't be here." I'm very confused by what she’s saying, and I wish Grams would explain herself a bit more. "My heart aches. My hands are shaky and my voice always quakes, but I know I’m not ready for the end."
I spring to my feet. "I'll call 9-1-1, then your doctor. Did you take a baby aspirin this morning?"
"No," she snaps before tugging at my arm so I'll sit back down. "It hurts inside. I’m scared."
"I don't understand what you're talking about?" She doesn't speak this way. She’s strong and brave, never afraid.
"It has been more than seventy-four years," she says again.
"Since what?" I ask.
"It isn't important," she says as she presses her head into the indentation she has made on her chair over the years. Her eyelids close, and she places her soft hand on mine. "Emma, you will always be my sweetheart. You know that, right?"
"Grams," I shout, startled. I press my hands into her shoulders and shake her. "Grams!"
No, no, no! I run to grab my phone, trembling as I dial 9-1-1, and the world freezes in time as I wait what seems like an eternity before my call is connected.
CHAPTER TWO - EMMA
Minutes have turned into hours as Mom, Aunt Annie, and I sit in the waiting room, panicking with anticipation. How did she know something bad was going to happen today? We don't even know if Grams is alive, and the feeling of the unknown is making us sick to our stomachs, which is evident since there are no words exchanged between us.
"She was acting kind of strange right before it happened," I mutter while plucking a loose thread off my torn jeans.
"Like how?" Mom asks.
"I don't know. She was talking about it being more than seventy-four years for something. She seemed confused."
"Seventy-four years?" Annie repeats.
I place my phone down on the little wooden table in front of us, annoyed by the constant vibrating messages from Facebook, incoming calls, and work emails.
"Who is sending you so many messages?" Mom asks.
"I don’t know," I mumble against my fist.
"Well, can you tell them you're busy with a family emergency?"
Rather than doing that, I lean forward to shut the phone off completely, but of course, Mike must call at the exact second I'm pressing the power button.
I pick up the phone since I've already somehow pressed the answer button. "What?"
"Really? We're there now?" he asks with exasperation like he’s the one I should be concerned about right now.
"Mike, I don't have time right this second. Grams passed out—we’re at the hospital. We don't know what’s going on. It's just not a good time. We’ll talk later."
"Oh, shit, Emma, I’m so sorry," he says. "Which hospital are you at?"
"Mass General," I say. Not like it matters to him.
"I’ll be right down."
"Mike, no, its fine—" He disconnects the call. It is neither the place nor the time to try and reconcile our problems. I’m sure he has an apology floating around in that empty head of his, and he thinks he’ll catch me in a moment of weakness with Grams being ill, but I don't want to hear it today.
"Don't tell me he’s coming down here?" Mom groans.
"What was I supposed to do? He hung up on me."
"Well, call him back and tell him no. It’s family only."
She's right, and I go to call him back, but just as I find his number, a doctor opens the door to the tiny waiting room we’re occupying. We all stand as if waiting to be sentenced in a courtroom. "Doctor, what's going on?" I ask.
The doctor is young, maybe fresh out of residency, but I already appreciate his bedside manner, seeing the reassuring smile on his face. "Amelia is going to be just fine," he says.
Without thought, we all lunge at him and wrap our arms around his neck. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much," I tell him. Out of the three of us, I'm probably the only one who can speak since Mom and Annie are crying. "So, what was it?"
We peel ourselves away from the poor man, and he pulls up a chair as the four of us take a seat. The doctor has kind eyes—a look that emanates ease and comfort. His smile is sort of charming, and it’s clear he knows how to handle a roomful of teary eyes. "First, I'm Doctor Beck." He places his hand on his chest before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I’ve been the one taking care of your mother—grandmother," he says, looking between Mom and Annie, then me. "Amelia did have a mild stroke, but we were able to dissolve the clot with a special drug meant specifically for these situations. Fortunately, we were able to prevent the stroke from progressing and doing more damage."
"But you just said she was okay?" I question.
"What's the damage?" Mom finally asks.
Dr. Beck sits up and leans back against his chair, maintaining a level of comfort, which keeps us calm. "As of right now, there doesn't appear to be any physical damage other than a very slight weakness in her left arm and leg, but she does seem a bit confused, which is normal after a stroke."
Annie is breathing heavily, losing herself in thought like she often does. I know her well enough to assume she’s going through the long list of "what ifs" in her head. "Will the confusion subside?" she asks.
"In most situations, it resolves itself with time. In my experience, I’ve seen mild cases of memory loss or delusion, but with cognitive therapy, it's something that can improve." Dr. Beck folds his hands on his lap as he continues to explain everything to us in a way we understand. "To be honest, though, we should be focused on the fact that this could have been much worse, and since you acted so quickly, she has minimal damage." Mom and Annie place their hands on my back, silently thanking me for being there when this happened. It was just luck, though. I hate to think what could have happened if I wasn’t there.