Page 9 of Wicked Arrangement

“No, seriously Kimmy, I’ve got a great investment opportunity. I just need a bit of cash to kickstart it,” he says animatedly, spreading his arms wide.

Noah is forever throwing his money away on his next big idea, the next opportunity that’s going to make him rich. They all fail.

“No,” I reply, folding my arms and putting on my best, no-nonsense expression.

Noah’s expression darkens. “What do you mean no? I’ve been sending you money for the past two years, you owe me!” he spits, slamming his hands down loudly on the rickety counter causing the drying mugs there to rattle.

“No, that money has been to help me care foroursick grandmother. The one you walked out on and now never visit,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low so she won’t hear me.

“You know I’m not cut out to be a caregiver,” he retorts loudly.

Noah launches into a loud rambling tirade about why he deserves the money and why I have to give it to him. He looks wild and frenzied as he paces around the kitchen like a caged animal getting more and more worked up.

Drawn by his raised voice, Gran ambles into the kitchen. She makes a beeline for him, holding out her arms for a hug like a child. “Elijah my sweet boy, give Momma a hug!” she coos, hercoherence now slipping with the stress as she confuses him for her long-dead son, our father.

She grabs ahold of Noah, clinging to him. “My baby boy!” she exclaims trying to pinch his cheeks.

“Get off me you crazy old bitch! I’m not your baby!” Noah yells, abruptly pushing her off him.

He always gets upset whenever anyone mentions Mom or Dad. No doubt this latest confusion of Gran thinking that he’s her son will upset him more than he’d care to admit. He shoves her a little too hard and she loses her footing as she stumbles backward, her head cracking against the table with an audible thump. Blood immediately wells from the wound and Gran dazedly reaches her hand up to touch it, confused and scared.

“Fuck, what did you do Noah?” I cry, rushing to her side and pressing a towel against the cut.

Noah stands stock still looking shell-shocked. “I didn’t mean to… it was an accident!” he cries guiltily, acting more like a child who’s been caught red-handed but doesn’t want to be told off than a grown man.

“Don’t just stand there, call an ambulance!” I shout at him, cradling Gran in my arms.

I can tell Gran is slowly slipping out of consciousness and I fear the worst. She’s already so sick and there’s so much blood. Panic rises in me, and I desperately try to stay calm.

Noah shakes his head, throwing Gran’s phone at me for me to make the call.

“I’m sorry,” he says before running out the door.

“Noah, you coward! Come back! Help me!” I cry out desperately.

The only answer is silence.

Pull yourself together, Kim, you’re on your own. He’s not coming back. You need to call an ambulance.

Taking a deep breath, I squash down my panic and fear and call 911. I try to concisely and clearly explain the situation to the calm operator at the end of the line who assures me an ambulance is on the way. If I had my car I could have driven her there, perhaps saving some precious time that could mean life or death, but it’s still in the impound lot. I haven’t got the money to get it back. An ambulance and emergency visit are likely to bankrupt us, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. All I want is for Gran to live.

I cradle her in my arms, humming her favorite song softly. “It will be okay, Gran. I promise,” I whisper, hoping that by saying the words it will become reality. I can’t lose her.

It can’t have been long at all, but time seems to stretch on forever, the only sound the ticking clock on the kitchen wall and my own labored breath. When the paramedics arrive, knocking on the door, I feel frozen in place, terrified to move in case it somehow causes further harm.

“Come in, it’s open. We’re in here!” I call out, my voice sounding unlike my own.

I feel as though I’m outside of my body, watching the scene unfold as they come in and gently prize me away from my grandmother, calmly checking her vitals and loading her onto a stretcher with care. I cling to her limp hand the whole time,unable and unwilling to let go. It’s only after the paramedic gently reminds me to lock the door that I realize I’m barefoot and have nothing on me. I quickly slip on some shoes and grab my purse, locking the door behind me and following the paramedics’ measured pace down the stairs. I absentmindedly wonder if the lack of a working elevator will be the thing that costs us precious lifesaving minutes.

***

The moment we arrive at the hospital, arriving in a blur of lights and sirens, the doctors meet the ambulance and rush Gran off. I was firmly but politely told I could not follow and that I was to stay in the waiting room.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the ER, numbly staring into space waiting for news. The hustle and bustle of activity in the hospital barely registers, it’s as though I’m adrift on a sinking life raft in the middle of the ocean.

“Miss Walsh.”

I’m pulled back into the brightly lit room, as I notice the doctor standing before me. His tired, kind face is composed yet compassionate. He must have to deal with this sort of thing all the time.

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