Page 125 of Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia 2)

About that time they called for us to line up for boarding. Trace heaved both of our duffel bags onto his shoulders.

He handed the lady our tickets and she motioned us through.

“First class, really?” I eyed him upon entering the plane.

“My mom bought the tickets,” he shrugged, taking the seat by the window.

I sat down beside him, buckling the seatbelt even though it would be awhile before the plane actually took flight.

Trace was still on edge, but he had calmed down a little bit since we got on the plane. I knew he wouldn’t feel better until we saw Gramps, and even then it wouldn’t ease the burden of knowing that Gramps was going to leave us very soon.

When we landed in Dulles it was almost ten at night. Trace’s mom was waiting for us in her white BMW SUV. She got out, hugging each of us. Her blue eyes were bloodshot with bags underneath. She kissed Trace’s cheek, but didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much that anyone could say to make this situation better.

Once we were seated in the back of the car, Lily said, “We’ll go straight to the hospital. He’s in a private room so no one can complain about it being too late for visitors.”

“How is he?” Trace asked shakily, reaching for my hand.

“He’s…he’s dying, Trace. So, not good,” she pinched the bridge of her nose as she pulled away from the curb. “He’s laughing and joking, but it’s not good.”

“He—he told us, a few weeks before we left, that—that he had cancer,” Trace admitted.

Lily’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “He told you, but not anyone else? Why would he do that? Your grandma is beside herself, clearly he hadn’t told her.”

“I guess he didn’t want you and Grammy fussing over him.” He rubbed his free hand nervously on the fabric of his jeans.

“Of course we would have fussed over him!” Lily exclaimed and I saw tears begin to stream out of her eyes. “He shouldn’t have been working so hard! He should have been home relaxing and trying to get better!”

“Mom,” Trace leaned forward from the backseat and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Gramps. Didn’t. Want. That.”

“I don’t care,” she wiped her eyes free of tears and looked over her shoulder before changing lanes. “I know he’s not my dad, but I feel like he is. He and your grandmother have always been there for me. Especially after Trey died.”

Trace looked at me and back at his mom. “I know none of us want to face reality, but the truth is, he’s going to die. Everyone dies. It’s not a matter of if it’s when. That doesn’t make it any easier to accept, but it’s the truth. I don’t want to lose Gramps,” his voice cracked. “But it’s inevitable.”

We all grew quiet after that. It took an hour and a half to make it to the hospital and when Lily parked the car my stomach plummeted. This was it.

I had never had to watch someone I loved wither away and die. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough for this, and I knew I needed to keep my head together for Trace.

We followed Lily into the hospital with our hands clasped together like we were the only things keeping the other person from falling apart.

I inhaled the sickening scent of alcohol and disinfectant, and images of my time in the hospital came flooding back to me. I pushed them aside though. I couldn’t think about that right now.

We ended up on the top floor of the hospital and Lily came to a stop in front of a closed wooden door.

“He’s probably sleeping, but at least you can see him,” she said. She hugged each of us and headed down the hall to where the waiting room was.

Trace looked down at me questioningly.

I nodded and he opened the door.

Gramps wasn’t sleeping. Instead, he was sitting up in the bed smiling widely at us. His skin was pale and gray in color. He’d lost weight since the last time I saw him and more wrinkles lined his face. But his eyes were exactly the same and the happiness that shone there almost brought me to my knees.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite person in the whole world and my shitty grandson.”

I laughed, despite feeling like I’d rather curl up in a ball and cry, and leaned my head on Trace’s shoulder. “He’s not that shitty. I kind of like him,” I smiled at Gramps as we stopped at the end of his bed.

“Come here, the both of you,” he opened his arms, “I’m not contagious. It’s not like you can catch cancer if I breathe on you.”

Only a Wentworth would crack jokes as he faced death.

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