Page 31 of A Very Merry Matchup
“Call me Nana. You’re already family. Take a seat. Let me get a good look at you.”
Ivy perches on the edge of the bed, still holding Nana’s hand.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” says Nana.
“Thank you. We can let you rest if you’re tired.”
“My strength is fading, aye, ’tis so,” says Nana with a pitiful cough and an Irish lilt I’ve never heard in her voice before. Probably because she was born and bred in a little town north of Iowa City.
I end up coughing to cover my own little laugh. She’s about as good an actress as her daughter-in-law.
“Mind telling me what’s wrong?” says Ivy. “Maybe I can help.”
Nana pats Ivy’s hand. “If only you could. But I’m afraid the damage has already been done. A few weeks ago I received a terrible diagnosis. The doctors are calling it a TIA.”
I don’t know what that means, but something tells me Ivy does. She shoots me a glance over her shoulder, one of her eyebrows lifting, then peers back at Nana. “Is that so?”
“Aye,” says Nana in a voice even frailer than before. “Who knows how much time I have left in this world? Might even be gone by morning. But if I could see proof of the love youand my grandson share, then I’m sure I could die happy tonight if that’s the Lord’s will.” She continues coughing like she’s auditioning for Tiny Tim in a community theater production ofA Christmas Carol.
“Goodness,” says Ivy, sounding like she’s auditioning for Nurse Ratched in a theater production ofOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. “That’s some cough you got there.”
“Probably the death rattle. So if you two could just allow me to see one loving kiss before I go...”
“You know, I must say your color looks wonderful for someone who’s about to croak,” says Ivy.
“’Tis the lamp,” says Nana, her fake Irish brogue growing thicker by the second.
“I see. Well, you heard her, Beau,” says Ivy, patting the bed next to her. “Guess we better kiss. Hold on. Oh-ho-ho, what do we have here?”
“No need to sit,” says Nana. “I’ll see you better if you’re standing.”
“Rather lumpy bed.” Ivy and Nana start a tug-of-war match with the quilt. “Must say, Nana, you’ve got an awfully strong grip for someone who’s dying.”
“Give that back,” says Nana when Ivy tugs the covers far enough back to reveal a crossword puzzle book.
“Not sure I’ve ever seen someone do a crossword puzzlewhile they’re on their deathbed,” says Ivy, flipping through the pages. “In pen, no less.”
“It’s not my brain that’s suffering, it’s my heart,” says Nana, snatching the book back. “Just kiss already!”
“Beau and I aren’t engaged any more than you’re dying, and you know it,” says Ivy, jumping up from the bed.
Nana frowns at Ivy, then at me. I lift my hands. “Hey, I’m all for kissing and getting engaged. Don’t look at me.”
Nana returns her scowl back to Ivy. “What’s the matter then? Are you saying my Beau’s not good enough for you?”
“He’s a baseball player.”
“What’s wrong with that?” says Nana.
“She wants to marry a teacher,” I say. “After she turns thirty.”
“What’s so special about teachers and turning thirty?” shouts Nana. “Why not marry your soulmate right now?”
“Who ever said Beau was my soulmate?” says Ivy.
“I just did,” says Nana, shoving the rest of the covers aside. “Perhaps you’re the one having the TIA.”
“Anyone ever going to explain what a TIA is?” I ask.
