Suddenly knowing she needed to be strong for her grandmother, Claire forced herself to smile and willed reassurance into her voice. “It’s all right, Nana.” She stroked the soft, pallid cheek. “I’m right here. Don’t try to talk. You’ve . . . you’ve had another stroke. You—” Claire’s voice failed her, but she found her grandmother’s hand again beneath the snarl of tubes and wires and took it gently in hers.
An hour later a nurse came in to take Nana’s vitals again. It seemed obvious that Katherine Anderson had lost consciousness. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow. Taking the stethoscope from around her neck and folding it carefully into her pocket, the nurse simply shook her head.
“I’m so sorry, Claire. I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time now. Would you like us to call an ambulance to transport your grandmother to the hospital?”
“Is there anything they can do for her there?”
“Nothing that couldn’t be done right here,” the older woman told her. “We will see to it that she’s made as comfortable as possible. But it’s your decision. Some people feel more comfortable in a hospital setting. Others would rather be in familiar surroundings. You just let us know what you prefer. She patted Claire’s hand sympathetically.
“She would want to be here, I think,” Claire told the nurse quietly, still not believing this could be happening.
“We’re going to change the IV now. You might be more comfortable waiting outside. I’ll let you know as soon as you can come back in,” she assured.
Claire stood in the hall across from the room and watched in a daze as nurses and medical equipment came and went from her grandmother’s room.
When she'd waited for fifteen minutes, a young nurse touched her arm lightly. “It might be a while, Miss Anderson. If you want to go get some coffee or sit in the waiting room, I’ll come and get you just as soon as your grandmother is settled.”
Claire turned without answering and trudged to the tiny lounge at the end of the corridor.
True to her word, the young nurse came for Claire after half an hour. Claire sat at her grandmother’s bedside for the remainder of the afternoon, watching her fade with each minute. Toward evening, Nana began to moan and to struggle against the oxygen tubes the nurses had taped securely in place. With a strength that belied her frail skeleton, Nana tossed fitfully in the bed. Afraid that she would pull the IV tubes out, the nurses loosely restrained her arms beneath the sheets.
Claire stroked Nana’s forehead and spoke quietly to her. She felt self-conscious in the presence of the nurses who came and went from the room, but a feeling of urgency overcame her uneasiness. She didn’t know if Nana could hear her, but there were things she needed to tell this woman who had given her so much, who had been her only source of happiness for much of her life.
Through tears, Claire whispered her love and gratitude. But the woman’s breathing became more labored, and she seemed to be in pain.
Several nurses assured Claire that her grandmother was not really aware of what was happening to her, but Claire was terrified that Nana was frightened and hurting. She tried to reassure her, whispering comforting words in her ear. Nana seemed not to hear. Her only response was to groan and fidget even more. Finally Claire could stand it no longer.
She ran from the room and fled to the same waiting area where she'd spent the afternoon. Sinking down onto a hard vinyl-covered sofa, she put her face in her hands and wept.
She didn’t know how long she'd been there when a gentle hand reached out and touched her arm. “Don’t cry, honey. Can I do anything to help?”
Claire brushed her cheeks with the back of her hands and looked into the kind, gentle face of a middle-aged nurse. She thought she'd seen the nurse here a few times before when she'd come later in the evenings.
“You’re Katherine Anderson’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” the nurse asked, as though just realizing to whom she'd been offering comfort.
“Yes, I’m Claire Anderson,” she gulped, trying hard to control her emotions.
“Has something happened?”
“You haven’t heard? My grandmother had another stroke.”
“Oh, Claire,” the nurse said softly, using Claire’s name as though she'd known her forever. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are they taking her to the hospital?”
“No. I… I think she’s dying.” The reality of her words hit hard, and she began to sob. The nurse simply sat at her side, patting her arm gently, waiting for her to calm down.
Claire felt the comfort of the woman’s touch and began to pour out her fears. “I’m so afraid…”
“You’ll be all right, Claire. You’ll get through this.”
“No. You don’t understand. I’m not afraid for myself. It’s Nana. I’m so afraid that she’s hurting . . . and frightened. I tried to explain what was happening, but I don’t think she could hear me. But . . . she’s moaning and—”
“Hush, hush now. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We won’t let your grandmother suffer. There is no reason for her to suffer. There are plenty of things we can give her to be sure she doesn’t feel any pain.”
“How . . . how long do you think it will take?” Claire asked. “I want to be with her, but I can’t bear to see her like that.”
“It won’t be long, Claire. She’ll be at peace very soon. I’ll see to it myself. I know you love her very much. I can see that you only want what is best for her.”
“Yes, oh yes.” Claire nodded vigorously, grateful that Nana would soon be given something to ease her pain.
Claire sat alone in the waiting room for a few moments after the nurse had left. She was feeling calmer now. It still seemed unreal that this moment could have come—that Nana might truly be near death.
She glanced at her watch and realized she'd been gone from her grandmother’s room for almost half an hour. Feeling a strange urgency to get back she stood and started down the hallway. The charge nurse, Geneva Grayson, was coming toward Claire. As they met, Claire reached out a hand and stopped her.
“Excuse me. They gave my grandmother some pain medication a few minutes ago. Do you think it will have taken effect yet?”
Nurse Grayson looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean, Claire.”
“The nurse told me she would be giving Nana something for the pain. I . . .” She dipped her head in shame. “It’s so hard for me to be with her when she’s hurting. I just wondered if the medication would have taken effect by now.”
“I don’t think your grandmother is in great pain, Claire. Fighting against the tubes and restraints is an instinctive reaction. I’ll check, but I don’t believe the doctor has ordered anything new for your grandmother.”
“But the nurse told me she would give Nana something right away,” Claire protested, disturbed by the conflicting information she was receiving.
Geneva Grayson looked doubtful. “I’ll check her chart, but I don’t think so. Which nurse told you this?”
“I don’t know her name, but I’ve seen her here before. She’s probably around forty-five or fifty, petite . . . short blond hair with gray streaks in it.”
“That doesn’t sound like anyone on this floor.”
Claire struggled to think of any other distinguishing characteristics. “She’s very soft-spoken.”
Suddenly Geneva gasped and took off running down the hall toward Katherine Anderson’s room.
Chapter 32
Claire stood in the middle of the hallway, too stunned to move. When she finally came to her senses, she realized there was a commotion in the hallway outside her grandmother’s room. She stumbled toward it, terrified of what she might find there.
A young nurse aide met her a few feet from the door. “Your grandmother is fine . . . everything’s all right.” She motioned toward the door, then stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally she breathed out, “Please don’t worry. Everything is under control.” Then she rushed toward the nurses’ station.
Claire followed behind her,
not willing to leave until she saw with her own eyes that Nana was safe, but feeling, too, that she needed to get out of the way.
The aide was speaking into the phone in a barely controlled voice. She hung up and, without explanation, went quickly back down the hall toward Nana’s room.
Claire thought she might go crazy wondering what was happening.
After almost ten minutes, the elevator in front of the nurses’ station opened and Michael Meredith hurried out. At the same time, two police officers came through the door to the stairwell. Michael spoke with them briefly and directed them down the hall.
Then he saw her.
“Claire.”
She burst into tears. “What’s happening, Michael? What’s going on?”
He put a steadying hand on her arm. “I can’t explain right now, Claire, but I promise you, your grandmother is okay. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can.” He looked at her as if to assess her emotional state. “Are you all right?”
She forced a nod, sensing he was needed more desperately down the hall.
When Michael walked into the room, he was met by a strange scene. Katherine Anderson lay peacefully in the bed, her breaths coming in slow, even whiffs. At the back of the room, Geneva Grayson knelt on the floor against the wall, cradling Cynthia Harper in her arms.
Harper was sobbing uncontrollably. Her hushed words were nearly lost in tears, but Michael strained to hear.
“I had to do it. I had to. Don’t you understand. I promised him. I promised him.…”
Geneva spoke in a controlled voice, trying to draw the distraught woman out. “Who did you promise, Cynthia? Tell me.” She waited, and when no answer was forthcoming, she prompted again, “Tell me, please.”
“Jimmy. My Jimmy. He made me promise I would never let anyone suffer the way he did. Don’t you understand? I was helping them. I made it easier for them. All of them.” She dissolved into tears again.
The room held its breath as Geneva asked quietly, “How many were there, Cynthia?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. Hank was the first one. That was the hardest. . . .”
“I don’t remember Hank, Cynthia. Do you know his last name?”
“It was… it was Henry, really. His first name, I mean. We just called him Hank. Hank Burton. Yes, that was it. Burton. And then there was Virginia. That was in November. Two years ago. I remember because it was Thanksgiving Day.”
“And then what?” coaxed Geneva.
“Then it was a long time before it happened again.” The nurse spoke as if in a trance. The tears ceased and her quiet voice grew more confident as she recounted her missions of mercy and compassion. She admitted with pride that she'd carefully stored up medications obtained with her husband’s prescriptions—some legally before his death, some fraudulently, at a pharmacy in another town after he died.
In spite of his horror at the awful truth, Michael was impressed with the way Geneva was handling the woman. The others in the room—the two police officers, another nurse, and the young nurse aide—stared transfixed as the charge nurse drew from Cynthia Harper a full, detailed confession.
During the following days Claire sat at her grandmother’s bedside, the previous events still begging to be made sense of in her mind. Michael had explained everything as best he could, and the local newspapers had carried the story the following evening. ANGEL OF MERCY GOES TOO FAR, the headline read; the sub-head confirmed that Harper was being held for the death of Maggie Wallace.
It still frightened Claire to think that she'd trusted Cynthia Harper so completely. She shuddered to think what might have happened had she not run into Geneva Grayson in the hallway that night. Grayson had gone to the room and caught Harper red-handed, injecting Katherine Anderson’s IV with a deadly dose of morphine. They had been able to remove the IV before the poison entered the old woman’s bloodstream, and she was now in stable condition, apparently unaffected by the incident.
How Michael must be agonizing over these events. Claire’s heart went out to him, knowing he carried a heavy load of guilt for all that had happened. Though from what she could understand, it certainly seemed he'd done everything possible given the knowledge he had. Still, she knew him well enough to realize that he would take this very personally. She prayed fervently he would not be too hard on himself and that the legal aspects would be quickly resolved without Michael being implicated in any way.
Claire had given much thought to Cynthia Harper’s actions. A part of her felt deep sympathy for the woman. Claire felt certain, after reliving her conversation with Harper, that the nurse had acted out of genuine—though tragically misguided—compassion. Without stretching too far, she could understand how the argument for “death with dignity” could seem sensible and humane. She remembered her own anguish at Nana’s suffering and how she would have done almost anything to prevent it. Even so, Claire believed within the deepest part of herself that man dare not make such a profound decision. Those things belonged only to God, whose wisdom was eternally trustworthy.
Claire kept a vigil at her grandmother’s bedside, leaving only to grab a sandwich or to run home for a quick shower and a change of clothes. As she waited, her thoughts churned wildly between scenes of the terrifying ordeal Cynthia Harper had provoked and happy fragments of memories from her grandmother’s life.
What she wouldn’t give for just one more chance to tell her grandmother how much she loved her, how deeply grateful she was for all Nana had given her.
She and Nana had shared a rare and dear relationship. In many ways, Nana had been Claire’s best friend—best friend and sister and mother and father and grandparent all wrapped into one. And she'd played each role brilliantly.
Examining her heart, Claire realized she'd always been reluctant to allow herself to love anyone too deeply—perhaps because it seemed that everyone she loved had let her down or been taken away from her. Nana was the exception. Claire had loved her fully. And now, with her death imminent, Claire realized there was something good and right about having allowed herself to become vulnerable to someone she loved. She suddenly realized she'd known that sweet vulnerability only one other time in life. With Michael Meredith. She had felt—truly experienced—the varied emotions of life more deeply in this past year than she ever had before, and she was amazed to realize how much more richly textured her life had become when she allowed herself to laugh and cry, rejoice and agonize with her whole being.
Sadly, she began to understand why her parents’ deaths had left her numb and unfeeling. For many complicated reasons, she'd never allowed herself to fully love them. She vowed to never again make that mistake. To ache so deeply now for Nana gave the older woman’s life profound meaning. It was a privilege to mourn such a loss because it meant you had loved and been loved.
The hours wore on and as Claire sat at her bedside, Nana seemed to stabilize and even improve a bit. Nurses and doctors came and went from the room, offering brief explanations to Claire, assuring her that they were doing all they could to see that Nana was comfortable. They didn’t offer her hope, but neither did they deny it.
Michael Meredith stopped by each morning to see how things were going and to offer a brief word of encouragement. If Claire had one regret, it was that Michael and Nana had never had the privilege of meeting each other. Claire had promised her grandmother she would arrange a meeting, but before that could happen the tragedy had begun to unfold at Riverview, and then Nana had the second stroke.
Feeling awkward, but also feeling an urgency to keep her promise, she'd made a one-sided introduction one day when Michael stopped in to check on Claire. Of course, Nana hadn’t known he was there.
Claire sensed that Michael carried a burden of responsibility for Nana’s situation because of the terrible things that had happened under his administration. Claire wished she knew how to ease his guilt, but she simply couldn’t find the words nor the strength to utter them.
Chapter 33
On the morning of the four
th day, Claire was dozing in the chair, her hand—as always—on Nana’s arm across the bedsheets. In the fog of half-sleep, she became aware that her grandmother was stirring restlessly in the bed. Instinctively, she patted the bony arm and whisper soothing words. She put her hand to Nana’s cheek, and the paper-thin eyelids fluttered and then remained open.
The rheumy eyes seemed to focus on Claire, and then it was obvious that recognition dawned.
“Nana?”
The old woman opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t seem to form.
“It’s okay, Nana. Don’t try to talk now.” Claire was having trouble speaking herself, her throat full with emotion. “Just rest. I’m right here.”
She arranged the light blanket tenderly around her grandmother’s shoulders and pressed the call button.
Nana came and went from consciousness over the next three days. She called Claire’s pet name distinctly several times and was able to answer questions with a simple yes or no, but otherwise she seemed barely cognizant.
Late on Monday afternoon, one week from the day of her second stroke, Katherine Anderson raised her head from the pillow and called out for Claire in a loud, gruff voice.
Startled at the strength in the voice, Claire went to the side of the bed and took her grandmother’s hand. “What is it, Nana? Can I get you something?”
“Sit down and talk to me.”
Claire was amazed at the flow of words from the mouth of this woman who had been silent for so long. “Oh, Nana. How . . . how are you feeling? Do you want a sip of water?”
“No, Kitty. I want to talk to you.” The words were only slightly slurred.
“I’m right here, Nana.”
“I’m going home soon, honey.”
At first Claire thought her grandmother was confused, thinking she was being released from the hospital. But as Nana continued, Claire realized she was entirely coherent and the home she spoke of was heaven. Claire squeezed the blue-veined hand and gulped back tears. “I know, Nana, I know.”
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