“Hey,” she said back as she was swallowed up in his tattooed arms in an embrace. He was a large man, close to six foot five, thick with muscle and big, broad shoulders. Working at a sawmill was very physical and he had the build to prove it.
But that outer strength and quiet calm apparently weren’t able to protect him from the grief and sadness of the situation.
He jerked with a few body-racking sobs and the two of them pulled apart, both wiping their eyes. Rick crying wasn’t something she’d seen often, like Maurine, and it took nearly all she had not to completely fall apart.
He sniffled and rubbed his face.
“Ah, let’s get you out of here.” He tossed her luggage in the back of the Blazer as if it weighed no more than a feather and closed the hatch. They climbed into the SUV and rode in silence for a while.
“You hungry?” Rick eventually asked, stroking his beard once again. It had become a habit, one she’d noticed during her last visit home, and she surmised it must comfort him somehow.
She thought for a moment before answering his question.
“I don’t really have the desire to eat, but my body is hungry. If that makes any sense.”
“It does.” He stopped at an intersection and switched on his turn signal. “You want your usual?”
She sighed at the thought of having to eat and fastened her seat belt. “I guess.”
He made the turn and accelerated once again. “I never thought I’d see the day when you didn’t get excited about going to Bojangles.”
“Yeah, well, the day has come. And it sucks.” There wasn’t a Bojangles in Phoenix, so she usually always looked forward to that spicy fried chicken and an ice cold Cheerwine when she arrived. But this visit was obviously very different.
“How is she?” she asked after another long silence.
“She was in and out all day until about four o’clock. She fell asleep then and hasn’t woke up since.”
Carla checked her watch, having already changed the time on the plane. It was after ten.
“Did she talk when she was awake?”
“Not a whole lot. She knows who we are and everything, but she just seems really tired.”
“She’s not in any pain, is she?”
“Oh, Lord, no. Dr. Braum says she’s gonna pass very peacefully, probably in her sleep.”
Carla smoothed away more tears. “That’s good, I guess.”
She saw his eyes begin to water again as well.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why is this happening? Is it her COPD?”
“And her emphysema. They said they can’t do anything else for her.”
“So, she just collapses one day and that’s it? There’s no warning?”
“She’s been sleeping a lot lately and not getting around much. And there’s been a few times when the home care nurse couldn’t wake her up. She was breathing fine and all, she just wouldn’t wake up. But when she finally did, she seemed fine.”
“It’s just too fast. The whole thing is happening way too fast.”
They pulled into the drive-through at Bojangles and Rick ordered for her, already knowing very well what she wanted. She did her best to eat as they drove toward the hospital, but she could only swallow a few bites, too worried she wasn’t going to get the chance to say good-bye. She was so worried about it that when they did finally reach the hospital, she had the door open and was halfway out before Rick even had the car in park.
“What room is she in?” she called out.
“Three-oh-four.”
She slammed the door and hurried inside, taking the elevator to the third floor, and then scrambling down the hallway in search of the correct room number. It ended up being the last door on the right, and when she stood before it, she paused and tried to prepare herself for what she’d find just beyond it. Just like her failed attempt to stay calm at the airport, this strength-seeking moment didn’t help much either. With a big breath, she pushed on the partially opened door and stepped quietly inside.
The room was large and dim, the only light coming from the first half of the room, where another bed would’ve been had there been another patient. She crossed the empty space toward Maurine and her other uncle, Cole, where they stood at the end of what Carla assumed was her grandmother’s bed. A curtain was drawn, ending where Maurine and Cole stood, preventing her from seeing anything else.
She slowed her approach, suddenly so anxious her heart thudded from somewhere low in her chest. Maurine was dabbing her eyes with a tissue and Cole had his head bowed. They, like her, had the Sims’ trademark blond hair and lean build. The only one who didn’t was Rick. He had the darker hair and more muscular build that favored her grandmother’s brothers. But they all did share one thing that couldn’t be denied.
Their eye color.
Gold.
Like sweet, warm honey straight from the hive.
That’s how her grandmother had always described it. And she should know. They inherited that eye color from her.
Carla smiled softly at that, but tears came, nipping at her throat, forcing the smile away. Cole caught sight of her and motioned for her to come over. She did, and they enveloped her in long, firm hugs. Cole shook when he held her, a lot like Rick had. Maurine did a little but it was obvious she was trying to control her emotions. Nevertheless, she clung to her long and hard before she released her.
Maurine had always been stronger than her brothers, despite being younger. Carla had idolized her for that strength as a kid and had followed her around everywhere. Maurine was only seven years older than her, and they’d always been more like sisters than aunt and niece. They’d all been more like siblings to her, and a lot of folks had often assumed they were until they were told otherwise.
Maurine finished wiping away more running tears and took her hand. She led her to a chair that sat next to the head of the bed.
“Her breathing has really slowed the last hour,” Maurine said.
Carla sat slowly and squeezed her eyes tight before opening them to look at her grandmother.
“Hey, Grandma,” she said, doing her very best not to fall to pieces at the sight of her. Her voice was still strained from the teacher’s march, and she tried to speak louder, needing to make sure her grandmother heard her. “It’s me, Carla. I’m here.”
Her grandmother didn’t give any indication that she’d heard her. She just kept slowly breathing, her jaw slack and her mouth open. Her cheeks looked sunken and her beautiful olive skin was noticeably paler. Her breathing, Carla soon noticed, was not only slow, but there were considerable pauses. Each one bringing about a wild panic in her for fear she wouldn’t inhale again.
“Is this—normal? Her breathing like that?”
“The nurse said it happens when they’re close to the end,” Maurine said.
“I don’t think it’s gonna be long now,” Cole said.
Carla held her grandmother’s soft, cool hand. It felt strangely pliable and her nail beds were white. Carla kissed her knuckles, fighting back sobs as she recalled entertaining herself by pushing at the veins on the back of her hand when she was little when they were somewhere where she was supposed to be still and quiet.
Her grandmother had never complained.