Page 49 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
“Okay, did Doctor Jameson say anything more?” I bit my lower lip, worrying at the skin brutally. I stopped when I felt flaking and the first bead of blood. “Does he think my grandfather is doing better or worse over all?”
Hesitation followed my question. Seconds passed, ticking by and making my heart clench. Finally, she put me out of my misery.
“Doctor Jameson only reiterates what our other doctors have said, Miss Shaw. Your grandfather’s prognosis hasn’t improved. We are hopeful he’ll have more time, of course, but it could be soon. Without treatment, well, we’re doing our best to keep him comfortable.”
It could be soon.
She didn’t have to define what ‘it’ was, not in her line of business.
‘It could be soon’ hung in the air around me as the nurse said goodbye and the line died.
I dropped the phone limply into my lap and stared out of the windshield. The cars passing on the road next to the title company’s parking lot went in and out of focus. Blinking back tears, I dropped my head, blurry gaze now trained on my hands. When had my wrists gotten so thin? I lifted my left hand, touching the bones jutting out. I traced my fingers up the line of my arm, at one point pausing to circle my elbow. My thumb was nearly kissing the pointer’s tip. I was wasting away, and I’d not even noticed. I’d been so focused on everything else.
What I needed right now, more than anything else, was to hug my grandparents.
I drove the Honda out of the lot without really seeing the road. The dashboard lit up a warning about overheating, but I ignored it, just like I was ignoring the check engine light and the odd rattling under the hood. I floored the gas and weaved around traffic with zero caution or sense of self-preservation.
It could be soon.
The nurse’s words chased me as I drove across town. I didn’t care about the speed limit. The red lights. The fact I nearly sideswiped a minivan. My vision went in and out. My heartpounded erratically. I wasn’t thinking about the future, or the past, or the money that would hit my bank soon.
All I could see was the color draining from Grandpa’s face, the way his hand had felt when he squeezed mine and told me he didn’t want to spend his last days too weak to care for Grandmother. But he was already there. We’d blinked, and he was already at a point where ‘it could be soon’. The house was gone. He could be gone.
What if Grandpa died before I could get there? What if I never got to see his face full of life again?
Panic irrationally took over. I turned the twenty-minute drive into ten.
I screeched into the Serenity House lot, shaking so hard I could barely unbuckle my seatbelt. I ran through the front doors, the cold air slapping my face, and I bypassed reception without signing in as a visitor. At first, I forgot my grandpa’s room had changed and I went the wrong direction. I spun around, nearly making myself dizzy, and raced towards the hospice wing. This unit was so quiet...too quiet.I could hear my own heartbeat thumping in my ears as I rushed down the hall to his room, every step feeling like a countdown.
One, goodbye.
Two, goodbye.
Goodbye.
Three, goodbye.
Goodbye, goodbye.
It was like the world had its own heart. And that organ was desperately trying to keep beating, stuttering over the rhythm, unable to get back in sync.
I didn’t knock before I pushed the hospital room door open violently, bracing for whatever I’d find on the other side.
The world stumbled to a halt.
My lungs refused to inflate.
It took my brain a moment to realize what I was seeing.
Grandpa was sitting up in bed, propped by two pillows, reading an old issue of Alpha Health. Even though her unit was memory care, Nurse Shay was there keeping him company. She pointed at something in the magazine, and they both laughed. Grandpa looked pale, sure, and thin as a scarecrow, but he was alive and talking and—when he saw me—he smiled. It was a tired expression, the kind you put on to keep everyone else from worrying, but it was enough.
I exhaled, knees buckling, and I had to lean against the wall to stay upright.
“Nelly,” his gentle voice, raspier than normal, floated to me. “You look like you’ve just run a marathon.”
My laugh came out like a hiccup, wet and cracked. “More like took a few right turns in a Formula 1 race.”
“Left turns,” he corrected.
