Page 66 of Good Half Gone

He takes my backpack from me and carries it inside, dumping it on the floor near the garage door. It’s going to be hard to act normal until I know what’s in that envelope. But before I can do anything about it, Mary-Ann walks out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. Next there is the hullabaloo of feeding me since they’ve already had their dinner. Pushing me from behind, Cal steers me through the living room and into the bright warmth of the kitchen. I don’t have time to say hi to Gran before Cal navigates me into a chair at the table while Mary-Ann gets my food. It feels silly to be served this way, but I’m too preoccupied with my thoughts to argue.

Mary-Ann makes to go home, and I stand to hug her. “She was talking a bit today,” she says. “It makes her tired, but I could tell she was happy with herself.”

I eat chili and cornbread at the kitchen table while my son fills me in on what I’ve missed over the last three days. Cal’s head is propped on his little hand, and it reminds me of my sister when she was his age.

His mother.

“Hey, why don’t you get your shower in now so we can watch an episode of that YouTube show you like before bed.”

He considers my offer carefully; Cal hates showers, but my rare willingness to watch a screaming millennial play video games is enticing.

“Can we eat a snack while we watch?”

Gran makes a noise from where she sits, which probably means he’s already eaten too much sugar for the night.

“Carrot sticks and cheese,” I say. I cross my arms over my chest to show him I mean business.

“Fine.” His expression is happier than his tone when the bathroom door closes. I open the Ring app on my phone and then remember that the camera is broken and I’ve been too broke to replace it.

I hear the shower turn on as I stand to rinse my bowl. I can’t wait any longer. Drying my hands, I reach for the envelope. My initial trepidation is gone, I just want to get it over with.

I was right—inside is a single sheet of unlined paper, its message written in the same writing as on the envelope. I glance at my elegant, levelheaded grandmother who is trapped in her limited body.

“Gran,” I say. “Someone left this on the front door for me.”

I sit across from her on the edge of the coffee table and show her the note. I watch as her eyes narrow. My vision blurs as I wait for her to say something, the gingham pattern on her curtains dancing in front of my eyes. She opens her mouth, but the door to the bathroom bursts open and Cal barrels out, talking a mile a minute.

I catch Gran’s eye over the top of his head, and she nods briefly. I know what she means; we’d do what needs to be done and talk later.

When Cal is in bed, I draw the curtains across the window in the living room and turn off the TV. The only thing we can hear now is traffic. Luckily my kid is a heavy sleeper.

“What does it mean?” Gran says as I kneel beside her. Her voice is slurred like she’s speaking through a mouthful of cotton. I help her stand.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me…see it…again.” Her nails are painted lavender.Mary-Ann must have painted them for her, which was really sweet. I feel an overwhelming sense of hope and hopelessness at the same time.

I know why you’re really at Shoal Island. You’re looking at the wrong man.

I watch as she reads it again, then I take the paper from her, and we begin our slow walk to her bedroom.

“Who…knows?”

She’s breathing hard as we shuffle forward. Her right foot is out of sync with her left, like they’re trying to do two different things.

“No one knows,” I say.

“Iris…”

“Gran, I’m telling you. No one knows what I’m doing there but you and me.”

Her eyes are blue pools of worry, the creases around them fine as paper cuts. She is worn and beautiful, and her face has taught me that it is possible to be both.

“It isn’t very often that visitors come to Shoal, and if they do, the hospital insists they schedule it.” She doesn’t look convinced, but it’s true. Most people send their loved ones to the island for the purpose of making them hard to access—out of sight, out of mind.

“Someone…”

“Who, Gran? Think about it. He doesn’t have any family left.”

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