Page 97 of Her Pretty Words

Her thin lips part. “You think I can keep this from her? She spent weeks crying herself to sleep that summer. She frowns whenever she looks in the direction of your house. I don’t even think she realizes she does it. It’s like muscle memory at this point.”

“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up. Now is not the time to talk about this, and later I can convince her not to say anything to her granddaughter.

“When my husband gets home, he’s going to be just as upset as—” She stills. The denial seems to slip away when her face pinches into something akin to torture. She lets out a blood curdling cry and I feel myself tense. I have no idea how to comfort her. She shakes her head repeatedly and cries so hard that sound no longer comes out. I know better than anyone that I can’t take her pain, so I stay with her while she drowns in grief.

I’m numb to it after an hour. She cries herself to sleep and I drape a knitted blanket over her. I drift off until the sun rises.

Daylight spills through the windows and birds squeak the way they do every morning. Time is relentless when you grieve,because when your entire world seems to have been cut in half, everyone around you moves forward. I slowly make my way off the couch and grab a glass from the cabinet. I fill it with water and chug the entire thing when I hear her stir awake.

There’s a brief moment upon waking where tragedy can’t touch you. When you open your eyes, assuming it’s an ordinary morning. The peace you’re granted in those initial seconds is another kind of torture, because after a few seconds of serenity, you remember everything.

I watch it happen before my very eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I say. She cries for several minutes. I notice the sweat coating her skin right when she groans and touches her jaw, eyes shut tight in pain.

“Mrs. Brookes, are you okay?” I set down my water glass and make my way to her, but before I can even reach her, she vomits all over the floor. She inhales air like she’s deprived of it. “It’s going to be okay,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket and dialing 911.

It all happens so fast. The EMTs strap her to a backboard and lift her into a rescue truck. I hop in my car and follow them to the hospital. The nurse informs me that she was able to contact her family.Macy.Will I see her?

Hours tick by with machines and wires hooked up to a sleeping Mrs. Brookes. There’s a breathing tube shoved down her throat. Nurses come in and out of the room, and a doctor tells me there were complications from the heart attack. He says they are doing everything they can.

I’m completely helpless, and the only thing I can do for Macy’s grandma is hold her hand while the numbers on the monitor slowly drop. The steady rhythm of her heart changes from what it was moments ago, and then the line goes flat.

A bunch of medical people rush in, one of them pressing on her chest to do CPR. I squeeze her hand through all of it, thecrunch of her bones breaking with each compression. I wince with each one, clenching my jaw when bile rises to my throat. It’s too much, too painful. I suddenly shout, “Stop! Please, just let her go.”

A bead of sweat drips off the person giving CPR. She keeps going for a few moments, when someone else says, “I’m calling it. Time of death?—”

I don’t listen to another word. I gently release her hand and amble out of the room. She doesn’t need me anymore. She’s with her husband, and somewhere among the stars, I hope my family is there to greet her too.

I think of Macy, and how she’s about to find out from a stranger that she lost her grandma in less than twenty-four hours of losing her grandpa. I convince a nurse to give me her phone number from Mrs. Brookes emergency contacts. I call Macy from a payphone, and she answers on the first ring.

“Hello?” she asks, her voice pitched with concern.

“Macy,” I breathe.It’s so good to hear your voice.“I’m so sorry, but your grandma didn’t make it…” I squeeze the phone. “She’s gone.”

The line goes silent for several heartbeats. “Was it painful?” she asks in a soft, sad voice.

“She went in her sleep,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. That’s all she needs to know because she ends the call with a click.

Chapter 38

Grayson

Now

Somewhere at the cusp of waking up, I have the sensation of something cold and wet touching my face. I blink a few times to clear my vision. Is that…gray fur?I sit up quickly, pulling the comforter up to my shoulders.

There is a dog in my bed.

“Sorry! Come here, girl!”

My eyes set on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m up in an instant, eating the distance between us. I place my hands on Macy’s delicate shoulders, my eyes take her in, and my mind tries to convince me that I’m dreaming.

I pull her to me and twist my arms around her lower back. “Mace,” I breathe. She lets out a little huff like the embrace is too tight. I think it’s perfect, but I don’t want to hurt her, so I loosen my arms a bit, which she must think is the end of our hug because she steps back.

“Hi, Daniel Grayson.” Her soft hands rest on my jaw, and she grins up at me.

I turn my head to kiss her wrist and I inhale the vanilla scent of her skin. “Hi, Macy May.” I hook a finger beneath her chin, so her face is angled toward mine. “I missed you so much, baby.” Her cheekbones pinken. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Home,” she whispers. “I can’t believe I finally get to call this place home.” She lets out a gentle laugh which makes my heart jolt. “I still miss you somehow.”

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