Life and Other Inconveniences(124)

“Good job, honey,” Pop said to me. His eyes were shiny, too.

“Yep. Good job. Excuse me.” Donelle got up and started out of the room. We heard her start to sob.

“Come on, honey,” Pop said to Riley. “Let’s go downstairs and make some sandwiches.”

Dr. Pinco said it was a wait-and-see situation. That, yes, it was possible she’d be her old self in a few hours, but with the vascular dementia, chances were higher that this would be the beginning of the end. If she recovered from this stroke, her cognitive functioning would be worse.

I went into her room. She was sleeping, and Minuet was on her bed, having apparently sneaked back in. That was fine. “Good girl,” I said to the little dog. She didn’t lift her head from Gigi’s arm.

Sophia left, and I dragged a chair to the bedside and sat, taking Gigi’s hand in mine. “Don’t be afraid,” I said. “We’re taking good care of you.”

Riley came in, and Gigi’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi, Gigi,” she whispered.

My grandmother looked at her. “Shhep,” she said. “Shhep . . . ard.”

“That’s right,” I said. “She has the same blue eyes as Sheppard.”

“Shheppard.”

“It’s okay, Gigi. Try to rest. You’ll feel better soon.”

Her eyes closed again, and after a second, she was snoring faintly.

“I have to make a call,” I whispered to my daughter. “Can you stay here for a second?”

“Sure. Um, stay close, okay?”

“I’ll be in your room.” It was closest to Gigi’s.

I went in and took a deep breath.

Funny how you can know someone is winding down, and then still feel panic-stricken when you turn the corner and there it is—death. There was no coming back from that.

I didn’t want my grandmother to die. I wiped my eyes and pulled out my phone, then saw something on Riley’s desk. A large mailing envelope from FutureFoto. I opened it and saw my father.

No. It was Sheppard, or an estimate of what he’d look like. I’d almost forgotten that Riley had started this project. My father’s eyes weren’t as sky blue as Sheppard’s (or Riley’s), but wow.

I called the last number I had for him, and to my surprise, it was answered.

“Hello?”

“Clark?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s Emma. Your daughter.”

There was a pause. “Oh! Hi! How’s it going?”

“Genevieve had a stroke. You might want to get to Sheerwater and see her.”

“Oh. Uh . . . I don’t know if I can.”

“Why, Dad? Writing another book?”

“I’m in DC, actually. Uh, research. Hey, Stu, how you doing?” I could hear the unmistakable sounds of a restaurant in the background.

“Yeah, well, your mother is dying,” I said.

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve been here all summer. With my child. Hope is doing well, in case you’re interested.”

“Yeah, yeah! That’s great to hear. Good. Well, uh, yeah, I guess I can make it up midweek sometime . . . Don’t really see what good it would do, though. If she had a stroke, she’s pretty out of it, right?”

For God’s sake. Then again, why should I expect him to be different from exactly who he was? He wouldn’t come. And did anyone really want him here?

I glanced at the pictures of what my uncle might look like.

“She was talking about changing her will earlier this summer,” I said slowly. “Riley and she really hit it off. Riley’s my daughter, in case you forgot.”

“What? She changed her will?”

I had his undivided attention now. “I’m not sure,” I said. “She did say she had a big surprise for Riley, though.” She hadn’t. “I’m just so glad we’ve been here all summer. I forgot how much I love it here.”

“Maybe I should come up. Yeah, I can catch the train. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Tomorrow by the latest. See you soon.”

Mission accomplished.

My grandmother would get to see her son once more.





CHAPTER 38


    Clark


When you try to forget something, even when you’re good at forgetting things, it becomes seared in your brain.

Clark had only been five when his brother went away, and a lot of years had passed since that day. He forgot his wedding anniversary, his daughters’ birthdays, forgot the thousands of things Choate and Dartmouth had tried to teach him, forgot dates, names, appointments. He forgot to vote. (But really, what was the point? Sometimes he forgot who was running.) He forgot to check in for flights, forgot luggage, forgot his laptop more than a dozen times.

But he remembered so fucking much about That Day. For years, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, terror crushing his heart, almost killing him. Even now, he dreamed about the woods at Birch Lake, the water. The rocks.

That Day had started out as the best day ever. Mama made waffles, and even though she often told him he was chubby, she let him have two. With whipped cream. And strawberries.

Then, “the boys” were doing something together. Daddy wouldn’t let Mama know what it was. It was manly stuff, and she wouldn’t understand. Clark remembered his father winking at them. Sheppard and he looked at each other with glee. A funny feeling happened in his stomach, like on the elevator in New York when they went up so high and fast. Sheppard was sometimes nice to him and sometimes wasn’t, but today was going to be a good day, Clark could tell.