Page 130 of Sweet Caroline
I tuck her in close, my thumbs gently stroking her back through her damp jacket, and she squeezes tighter, burying her face in my hoodie.
“They wouldn’t let me go in with him,” I murmur with my lips pressed into her hair. Closing my eyes, I inhale her familiar vanilla scent and it’s like the wound tears open all over again.
Keep your shit together. Only one of us can fall apart at a time here.
“I tried,” I add, “but they’ll only let family back there.”
“Thank you,” she manages to say, sniffling. “For helping him. For being there.” Drawing back, she searches my expression. “Whywereyou there, anyway? It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Wanted to talk to you.” I shake my head sadly. “But now’s not— It can wait.”
“Do I have family here for George Nickerson?” a voice calls out from my right and we turn. A door reading “authorized personnel only”swings shut behind a black woman in scrubs holding a clipboard.
Caroline steps out of my arms and toward her, swiping at her eyes. “Me. I’m his family.”
My arms already feel empty and useless, and she’s just a couple feet away.
“Is he okay?” she asks.
“If you come with me, ma’am,” the woman says, “I’ll go over his X-rays with you. Right this way.”
Caroline nods, moving to follow, then turns back to me. The look she gives me breaks my heart.
“Go.” I tilt my head toward the woman, then cover up the burning in my throat with a soft smile. “Get outta here.”
Taking a few steps back, she whispers, “Thank you” once more, then turns to go.
28
CAROLINE
Iawkwardly pivot around Grandpa’s hospital room with a small potted plant in one hand and a book of Sunday Times crossword puzzles in the other.
“There’s no room to put it anywhere,” I mumble to myself.
“Maybe we can tape some of the cards to the wall?” Grandpa ventures.
After only three days in the hospital, every available surface in his room is covered in bouquets of flowers, gift bags, and get-well-soon cards—a testament to how well-loved Grandpa is despite keeping more to himself since his first fall last year. Word must’ve gotten around that he was in the hospital.
I shuffle a few things around to make enough space to set down the fern, then place the puzzle book on his bedside tray table. With a sigh, I take off my coat and drape it over a nearby chair, then lower down to perch next to Grandpa’s outstretched legs, careful not to bump him.
“You just missed your parents, darling,” Grandpa says, his voice a little rougher than usual.
“Oh?” I pass him his water cup. “Too bad.”
It’s not; I’ve kept our interactions to a minimum since election night. When I’d called my mother to tell her they’d have to cut their cruise short and fly home, the conversation had been clipped and awkward. I haven’t seen either of my parents since they got back.
Grandpa watches me closely, probably picking up on my unease, and sets his water on the tray table. “Miles stopped by this morning too.”
“He did?” I can’t help the way I perk up at the mention of his name, like a hopeful puppy who just heard the wordwalk.
He nods. “It was awfully kind of him to check in on me. He’s a good one.”
“I know.” I busy myself smoothing out the rumpled edge of the blanket. “How did he look?”
“Like a broken heart on legs.”
A surprised, sad sort of laughter escapes my throat, though my stomach twists at the reminder that he’s been struggling.
