by Jenny Hale
“I think Gram’s had a heart attack.” She climbed into the back of the ambulance.
Charlie jogged up to the back of it, the paramedic holding the door open but looking antsy to get it shut. “Get in the car with me. We’ll ride behind.”
“No!” She had to go with Gram! Her head was clouded, her shoulders tight, her heart slamming around in her chest. She reached out and shut the doors, plunging herself into the sterile, unfriendly environment of the ambulance. With a small jerk, they were off. Emily reached over and grabbed Gram’s hand—it was so still.
She couldn’t see Charlie anymore out of the small back window. All she could see was Oyster Bay. As the house slid out of view, she felt the full brunt of what she was losing. She loved Gram so much. If she thought she’d fallen apart when Papa died, she wasn’t sure what would happen to her if she lost Gram. There would be no more days at the beach with Gram to calm them, no more of Gram’s talks or nights around the kitchen table while she listened.
The next few hours were a manic frenzy of admittance paperwork, insurance documentation, calls to family members, and doctors’ prognoses. Gram had had a heart attack and, given her age, they wanted to run a few tests, but it looked like she was stable for the time being.
Charlie showed up, but Emily had been so busy with the hospital staff, she hadn’t talked to him. And, as real life set in, she couldn’t deny the thought that they might finally have to face up to the truth. He sat quietly in one of the chairs. Rachel was there with Jeff and Clara, only adding to the chaos in Emily’s head. She offered her sister a worried look every now and again, but the concern on Rachel’s face was almost too much to bear. She hadn’t seen that look in her sister’s eyes since their parents died.
Charlie had gotten Emily and the family bottles of water, sandwiches from the cafeteria, and he’d kept a steady supply of tissues. When she couldn’t stop the tears, when they’d almost overwhelmed her, he reached over and put his hand on hers in a comforting way. He kept it there the rest of the time.
After a while, they’d settled into a quiet slouch in the waiting room, exhaustion finally hitting them. Rachel was on the floor with Clara, drawing pictures on a hospital notepad while Jeff finished filling out a few more forms that the hospital required.
“You doing okay?” Charlie finally asked.
Emily nodded and closed her eyes. She was so tired. Then, she sat up with a start. “Flash is running loose,” she said.
“I put him inside before I came,” Charlie said.
“Someone should probably check on him.” In all the commotion, she’d completely forgotten about him. “Would you make sure he’s okay?” she asked Charlie.
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” she said with a wave of relief as she dug in her purse for her keys. She pinched the front door key between her fingers and held it out to him. “His food and water dishes are by the back door, and he should probably go out.”
Charlie took the keys. “Will you be okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Does anyone need anything while I’m out?” he asked, his eyes darting to Rachel and Jeff.
“We’re good,” Rachel said. “Thank you though.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Emily.
She watched him leave, and as he walked through the door, an elderly gentleman came in. He looked a little lost. He entered the room, scanned everyone in it, and then left. Emily, alone with her thoughts, wondered about the man. He could’ve been no one in particular—perhaps looking for a family member or trying to find the restroom. But, what if it was Winston? Was he in a panic, not knowing what had happened to Gram? Had she been meant to meet him somewhere, and she hadn’t shown up?
Emily had a sudden urge to run after him and ask, but she stayed put. She knew it was crazy to think he might be Winston. Did this Winston love Gram like Papa had? It was hard to imagine.
Clara was starting to get fidgety, so Jeff suggested he take her for a walk. Rachel, clearly glad for the break, got up off the floor, set the notepad onto a nearby chair, and sat down next to Emily.
“Do you know anyone named Winston?” Emily asked.
“No, why?”
“I found something at Gram’s—a locket. It was engraved to her but it was from someone named Winston.”
“That’s odd…”
“Yeah. She’s always said that she’s known Papa all her life, that he was the only person she ever loved. Do you think she’s found someone now that Papa has passed?”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose with this suggestion. “Wow. I don’t know, but that would be really fast, wouldn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“She hasn’t said anything to me.”
“It would make sense though, because she seemed to have dealt with Papa’s loss much better than we could’ve expected.”
“It’s difficult to tell, though. People grieve in different ways.”
“Yeah, but she isn’t grieving at all. She dresses up, she goes out, she makes cookies… Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who still misses him.”
“I miss him,” Rachel said. “I still cry over not having him. I worry that Clara won’t remember him.” Rachel twisted in her seat to face Emily. “Would it be so bad if she’s found happiness again?”
“Of course not.”
“What would he think if he knew that she’d moved on so quickly?”
“He always said her happiness was his number one priority,” Rachel said with a smile. “Remember?”
Emily grinned at the thought. “He told us that when we date someone, he should make us his number one priority, and if he didn’t, kick him to the curb.” She laughed, remembering his frankness. “I miss him.”
“Me too.”
“Miss Tate?” a doctor in a white coat said from the double doors across the room. Emily and Rachel stood up. He walked over to them. “Your grandmother is stable. She had a pretty tough climb to come back to us, but she did it. I’d like to keep her here for at least a week to monitor her. We’ve started some medication that she’ll need to continue once she’s home, but she’ll also need to rest. No big changes in her day.”
“When can we see her?” Emily asked, relieved to be getting good news.
“You can see her now if you’d like, but let her sleep. She’s weak and needs to rest.”
“Okay.”
They walked down the stark hallway, past rooms with beds and beeping monitors, some patients sleeping, some awake and shifting around under their covers. A pair of nurses walked by, their shoes squeaking on the glossy tile floors. Emily wanted to wheel Gram out of there, take her home to her own bed where she could be comfortable and happy. She wanted to put cookies in the oven and open the windows to let the bay breeze in. She’d do anything Gram asked of her, just to have her home again.
When they arrived at Gram’s room, they went inside slowly so as not to wake her. Gram looked older in that bed with her face slack and her hair disheveled.
As Emily looked down at her frail grandmother, she thought about how they didn’t have that much time left together. She didn’t want Gram to be off in Florida somewhere, away from her, away from Clearwater and everything they called home. What if this had happened after she’d moved? Who would have found her? She needed to be at her own house with her family.
Gram stirred, bringing her out of her thoughts. Emily watched Gram’s face, waiting for that smile of hers, but it didn’t come. Her eyes stayed closed. A lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye and slid down her temple to the pillow under her head.
Emily waited with Rachel for twenty minutes or so, but Gram never opened her eyes. Finally, Rachel motioned for them to leave.
When they entered the waiting area, Charlie had returned. Jeff was sitting next to him, and to her surprise, Clara was on Charlie’s lap. She really seemed to like him. She asked him to bounce her on his knees and she giggled every time she came down. The most surprising part was how ge
ntle his eyes were when he looked at her, how interested he seemed in making her laugh, despite how careful he was.
“Hello,” he said, the curiosity remaining as he looked over Clara’s head at Emily. “How’s your grandmother?”
“She’s sleeping.”
Rachel took Clara off Charlie’s lap and led her to a small table that had a couple of children’s books on it. Charlie stood and met Emily in the center of the room.
“How was Flash?” she asked. “Is the house still standing?”
He smiled. “He wouldn’t come when I called him and I wondered if he hadn’t learned his name yet. I had to search the house to find him.”
“Not a guard dog then,” she said, missing Flash already. “Where did you find him?”
“In your room. I knew it was yours because your stuff is all over it,” he said, smiling again. “He was asleep on your bed. He raised his head when I came in, but he put it back down. I think he’s worried.”
“Oh,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “How sweet. I guess I can go home and see him now.”
“I’ll drive you,” Charlie said.
“I’ll stay,” Rachel told her, holding a children’s book, Clara now on her lap. “Jeff can take Clara home, and you can text me if you want to come back.”
“Okay. Let me know if she wakes up.”
“Of course.”
Charlie walked beside Emily to the door and held it open for her. As they were walking, he grinned down at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I noticed something in your room.”
She waited for an explanation.
“I saw my fish.”
She didn’t want him to think less of Libby for giving her the fish or get any ideas that it had some sort of sentimental value to Emily. “Art is subjective,” she said to him again, hoping he’d remember their original conversation. “Libby wasn’t thrilled with it, but I liked it. She let me have it.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
They walked to the car and he let her in. When he got in on the other side, she said, “That’s actually the blue I’d like to paint Papa’s boat.”
“It’s a good color. Could I stop by and do some work on the boat while you’re at the inn?”
“It’s nice out there by the bay, isn’t it? A good place to work outside.” She smiled at him.
“Yes. But maybe not all work… I was thinking, I never got to cook for you. I could make you dinner tonight.”
“Charlie…” She wanted to have dinner with him but it might be best if she didn’t. “I don’t know…”
He watched her, and it was clear that he knew why she was hesitating. But he waited, his offer still hanging between them.
“What you said at the concert, you were right. At some point, we have to face the inevitable. If not, things are just going to get harder for us. You can do the boat, but we should probably just end things there.”
Thirteen
“Hey, Emily,” Rocky said through the phone as Emily lay on the sofa downstairs. She’d been there a while before he’d called, just thinking about everything. She’d noticed there was a crack that had started in the corner of the ceiling. She kind of liked it there. It made her feel like the house was showing her how many storms from which it had sheltered her.
She sat up. “Hi. What’s up?”
“I wanted to make sure you thanked Charles Peterson for getting all our drinks at the concert. I tried to pay my tab and the bartender said Mr. Peterson had run his card for all of us all night! You don’t think he was trying to get us in his favor, do you?”
Emily took in a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“I only ask that because I’m starting to get questions from the planning commission. They’re considering, Emily. He’s been talking to them, convincing them that expansion is what they need. I’m struggling to keep a foothold here…”
“Well, don’t back down, whatever you do.”
“I won’t. I’ll do my very best to convince them otherwise. You know I will. I just wanted to let you know.”
After she and Rocky ended the call, Emily got up. As she walked down the hallway to the stairs, she looked down at the roller-skate scratch on the floor for a long time. She was going to miss seeing it every day. She wondered if she should take a photo of it. Maybe she could start a memory book with all the wonderful things from Oyster Bay.
She might do that, but right now, she had something else on her mind. Flash followed Emily upstairs as she made her way to Gram’s room. Before Rocky had called, she’d been thinking about Winston. She opened the jewelry box and took out the locket, turning it over in her hand. Who was this guy? Was he the reason that Gram didn’t mind letting this house go? If he loved Gram and Gram loved him, didn’t he deserve to know that she was in the hospital? Emily dug through the jewelry box looking for anything else that might give her a clue, but it was just that one locket. It glared at her from the box, challenging her to find out more.
She returned the locket and left the room, looking for Gram’s boxes of photos. Perhaps there was a photo of Winston. Every picture had the names of the people in it and the year it was taken, in Gram’s slanted, cursive script, on the back. Then it was filed behind the letter of the first name she wrote. It didn’t take but a minute and Emily had located her boxes. They were labeled by year and stacked neatly in the closet.
In no time at all, Emily had gone through over ten years of boxes, and she was losing hope, thinking she should give up, but something made her pull out the next box. She retrieved the 1956 box and flipped through the Ws. Her mouth dried out as she found a photo that said, “Winston McBride and Paul Tate, 1956.” She took a close look at the men. Winston was on the left; she knew that because her Papa, Paul Tate, was on the right.
The unknown man was wearing a button-up shirt with a tie, a sweater vest overtop, and he had his arm around Papa. The man was handsome. He had thick hair—dark brown or black; with no color in the photo it was hard to tell—and strong cheekbones. Was this the Winston who had given Gram the locket? And he’d known Papa?
Emily read the date again—1956. So Winston wasn’t someone new in Gram’s life. Gram married Papa in 1955, so she and Papa were married when this photo was taken. Did Gram have an affair with this man while she was married to Papa? If this were true, had Papa known? Was that why he was always professing his love to her Gram—so that he could keep her from straying? Heat filled Emily’s cheeks at the thought, and suddenly her perfect Gram didn’t seem so perfect anymore. She covered her mouth with her hand as if it would stop her thoughts from entering her mind.
Flash whined and nudged her arm. Absentmindedly, she reached down and petted him as she kept her eyes on the man in the photo. Still pondering this new possible reality, she put the box away and shut the closet door. Then she took the photo with her to her room and set it on the dresser. Her bedspread was slightly askew from Flash sleeping on it, but she didn’t really process that fact. She lay down and looked at the ceiling.
So Gram might not have been perfect. She was human like anyone else. But what was bothering Emily more than anything was the thought of Papa—whether he’d known or not, and if Gram had betrayed him.
For her own wellbeing, she needed to talk to Gram, to figure out what was going on. But she didn’t want to put any undue stress on Gram’s heart. Why had Gram been crying in her sleep in the hospital? Emily’s head was swimming, but she had to get ready for work. She had the wedding.
With a deep breath, she got up, dragged Flash’s bed near the bathroom door, offered him his bone, and then turned on the shower. As the steam filled the small bathroom—the ventilation never was very good in there—her face disappeared slowly in the increasing fog on the mirror. She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on getting ready.
Emily slipped the long, silky dress over her head and let it shimmy into place. As she looked at her reflection, she watched her breathing r
ise with the memory of the last time she wore the navy blue dress—the night that had changed everything. Brad had taken her out to dinner. It was a rustic restaurant with brick walls and exposed beams, a wall of shiny taps behind a glossy bar, and windows from floor to ceiling.
To her surprise, the entire restaurant was full—every table—with people she knew, all smiling and glittery-eyed as she took her seat. Brad nodded to the servers and they began delivering champagne to everyone. She knew what was about to happen, and, like a speeding train, she couldn’t make him stop. Brad was talking, making them laugh, his hands shaking. All she could think about was the boulder-sized weight in her stomach and the fear that was probably showing on her face. Brad said something about her being his rose, and he handed her a small bunch. They were perfect in every way—deep red and tied with a matching ribbon—but above the ribbon was a platinum ring with diamonds all the way around the band and an enormous square-cut diamond in the center. She had closed her eyes and shook her head just as she was doing now.
The memory was still so fresh in her mind that she struggled to prepare for work. She fluffed her hair and put on her lip-gloss. “I’ll be back,” she said, reaching over and patting Flash’s head.
As she left the house, she texted Rachel to see if Gram had woken up. Rachel texted back immediately, telling her that she’d opened her eyes briefly, but she was asleep again. Emily let her know that after the wedding, she’d check back in. Then she got in her car and headed toward the inn.
Libby, who’d been standing out front when Emily got there, walked straight over to her, a worried look on her face. “The bride has been bugging me for over an hour. The musicians haven’t shown up!”
Emily tried to stay calm. “They have two hours. I’ll try to call them and make sure they’re ready.” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up the number she’d saved earlier for the quartet and hit “call,” knowing that they should be here and be setting up. She’d told them three o’clock. As she entered the inn, she got their voicemail. The bride came barreling toward her. Emily smiled as if nothing was wrong and gently held up her finger to let the woman know she’d be right with her. “This is Emily Tate at Water’s Edge. We’re calling to check that you’re on your way. Please call us at this number if you have any difficulties.” She hung up and turned toward the woman.