“Keno! You scared me. What’s up?” Jack’s got a tea kettle, a strainer, and a bundle of herbs in his hands. The circles around his eyes are darker than usual, and I hate having to tell him this.
“It’s Nana.”
Jack drops his armful of stuff to the counter. “What about her?” He drills his eyes straight through me.
“She’s, uh, well, Mazie said Nana was confused tonight and kept crying. And Mazie doesn’t think Nana knew her.”
It’s hard to see in here. There’s only one candle, but I see the alarm in Jack’s eyes. He’s already halfway out the door, waiting for me to finish. I try to hurry up.
“Nana’s asleep on the couch, but I don’t like the way she’s breathing.”
“Why? How’s she breathing?”
“Kind of raggedy. Stuttering some. Then pauses where she doesn’t seem like she’s breathing at all, then more stuttering breaths.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Jack says. “Can you tell them where I went?” He nods toward the pinto beans. “I’ll get June and Charlotte on the way.”
Damn, why didn’t I think of the nurses? I should’ve got them first.
“Sure, Jack. Go. My mom’s there, too. I got this.”
Jack rushes away stiffly, as though he’s in pain. I pinch myself between the eyes and realize my hands are shaking. Shit.
“Hey,” I call out when I’m back in Jack’s yard. “Jack went to see about Nana. Do y’all need anything before I go help Silas with the lentils?”
Bobby pops his head up, and so does Greta a couple of rows behind him.
“Is your nana all right?” Bobby asks.
“She just needed Jack.” No use panicking everyone. Something happening to Nana will be rough on this whole group. When she had the stroke, I didn’t know if the neighborhood would hold together without her. Nana was the only person with the right mix of grit and tact to keep us from busting apart.
“I hope she’s okay,” Bobby says. “This has been a bad night for you.”
“Why? What was bad about it?” Greta asks.
“Personal shit,” Bobby says.
“What kind of personal shit?”
Come on, Greta. Cool it.
“Well, that would be personal, wouldn’t it?”
Man, I love Bobby for saying that. Greta smirks.
“I’ll make the tea,” Phil says.
I reach down into Jack’s woodpile and throw another log on the fire in the grill. “Y’all can warm up while you drink your tea. Think you’ll finish with the pinto beans?”
“We might,” Bobby says.
“’Kay. I’ll be at Silas’s if you need anything.” I rush away.
I want to check on Nana, but someone will come get me if they need me. And I have got to convince Alma to go to bed.
Harvey and Mark pass by on patrol, all intent on looking for danger. They nod at me, not saying anything, and keep marching down the road. We’re so damned vulnerable here. We need to do something about it. Just the anxiety of it could shorten our lives.
When I finally get back to Alma, she says, “I’m staying, Keno. No use trying to talk me out of it.”
So I grab a bucket and work beside her, having her sit on my bucket to pick the low stuff while I pick the high stuff. We both throw lentils into her bucket, and I run back and forth to Silas’s garage to dump lentil pods into the pen. I help Alma all night, whispering the whole story of what happened in a messed-up way, all out of order.
Alma clucks her tongue, and she gets teary about Nana. She’s sighing and soaking up this bullshit. I worry if I should be putting all this stress on her and the baby. I mean, I’ve got a knot in my stomach that hurts, like a lot.
At dawn, when all the lentils and pinto beans are picked except whatever we missed in the dark, snow starts to fall. We almost never have snow in Austin, and we didn’t know this was coming. No weather forecasts. At least the snow should be good for the dry ground, and when it melts off the rooftops, some of it will run into our rain barrels.
Alma whispers, “So Grandpa’s locked in the cellar, Uncle Tom’s with him, and something’s wrong with Nana. Keno, this is bad.”
“Yes, it is.” I hang my head. I’m about to drop to the ground from exhaustion.
“How long are you gonna keep Grandpa in the cellar?” Alma asks me.
“Fuck if I know.”
CHAPTER 15
Alma and I sit on the curb and make out beneath the falling snow in front of God and everybody. We don’t care who sees us. I figure people need to see some love in this place. They might not remember what love looks like.
We’re trying to drum up courage to go to see Nana.
I hope someone scoured our perimeter this morning. I’m too tired to move.
At last, we go inside, clutching hands. The only noise is coming from Eddie at the patio grill, making breakfast. Jack and Mazie are sitting in chairs they’ve pulled in front of Nana on the couch. I’m not liking the sad looks on their faces one bit. I stop in the entry and press my face against Alma’s. She pets me and squeezes me; she knows what I need.
We walk slowly into the living room and stand behind Jack and Mazie, looking down at Nana, still sleeping with her stuttering breaths, only slower now. That can’t be good.
Jack half-glances back at us, and I pat him on the shoulder, leaving my hand there. It seems like a stupid question, but I have to ask. “How is she?”
Jack looks me in the eye and shakes his head very slightly.
“Oh.” There’s nothing else to say.
Alma asks, “Did you try to wake her up?”
Jack mutters, “Yes,” and shakes his head that way again.
Nana looks like an angel right now. I wonder if angels are coaxing her to go with them, if angels even exist. Nana would never leave on purpose, but her body won’t cooperate with her. She seems at peace, though, so that’s something to hold on to.
When I look up, Mazie’s watching us with her face puckered. I pick her up and clutch her to me. This is how we’ll have to get through this: by clinging to each other. We’re too sad to even cry.
Alma takes Mazie and loves her up. “Did you get any sleep, honey? What do you need?” Mazie shakes her head to everything. No words, no sleep, just sadness.
Alma stands Mazie on the floor. Even though Mazie’s skinny, she’s seven and getting tall now and heavy, and she’s not that much shorter than Alma.
“Go wash up, sweetie, so we can eat,” Alma says, and I’m marveling at what a good mother she already is. “Jack, want some breakfast?” she asks.
“Nah, but thanks.”
I want to convince him to eat, but I know he can’t. If Alma ever dies on me, I’ll probably never eat again. I’d want to die, too, like Jack probably does. Like I kind of do.
After breakfast, Uncle Eddie convinces Jack to nap in the recliner.
“Don’t you need to sleep, Eddie?” Alma asks.
“I’ll sleep in this easy chair with one eye open and glued to Mom.”
I want to ask how he can do that, but parents say they do it, and I believe them. Being responsible for someone else’s fragile life might give you extra psychic powers, but my brain is babbling.
Upstairs, Alma and I take off our hoodies and fall into bed with our clothes on. I get a good glimpse of her chest before she pulls down her shirt, and I want to bury myself in her breasts.
But it’s freezing up here, even with the fire downstairs, and by the time we get enough covers over us to warm up, I’m too tired and weighted down with blankets to make love to Alma. I never thought that would happen, but here it is.
“Keno?” Mom’s whispering from up above my face. I think I’m home and she’s waking me and Tasha up for school.
I growl. I don’t wanna get up for school. I just fell asleep.
“Honey, I�
��m sorry to wake you, but you’d better come down.”
My heart thumps, and I sit up but can’t think. “What? Why?”
“It’s Mom. Nana.”
That’s a slap in the face to shock the sleepiness right out of me.
“Why?” I ask again, even though I know why. I’m trying to avoid knowing it a few seconds longer.
“Sweetheart, Nana’s going.” She smooths down my bed hair. It feels so good to have Mom take care of me, but I hate the reason she’s doing it.
“What time is it?”
“Noon? One? Two? I don’t know. It’s snowing.”
“Should I get Alma?” I can’t think what to do.
“Yes, but hurry.” Mom pauses for a second, studying me, and she stands up. “We need to tell Nana goodbye.” Mom ducks out the door, as though she’s too sad to keep looking at me after saying that.
“Alma?” I jostle her shoulder. I hate waking her up when she needs sleep so bad, but she’ll be sad forever if she misses her chance to tell Nana goodbye. She’s like Alma’s grandmother, too. “Alma, I love you. Please wake up.”
“Keno?” she mumbles, but she breathes like she’s still sleeping.
“Mom says we need to go down to see Nana right now.” I give Alma a second to digest that, and then I half-whisper, “I think Nana’s about to die.”
“What?” Alma shoots up in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest like she’s naked except she’s not. She needs to clutch something. “I didn’t… I mean, I thought… I didn’t think it would be this fast.”
“Me neither. We better just grab our hoodies and go.”
“What about shoes? Do we need shoes?” She can’t think what to do, either.
“No shoes now. I’ll get ’em later.”
She hugs me fast, we throw on our hoodies, and we go. We stop for a second at the top of the stairs, giving each other scared looks. I put my arm around her, and we go down slowly. Alma is trembling, and I think I am, too, but I don’t even know.
Everyone else is in the living room. My breath catches at the sight of Nana. She looks smaller, paler, less… um… less substantial.
Jack and Uncle Eddie have hold of Nana’s hands, watching her breathe, breathing with her as though they’re helping her. Milo’s got his arms around Mazie, protecting his little sister and making me proud of him. Mom is at the end of the couch by Nana’s feet, gently rubbing her legs through the sheet, breathing with her, too. Alma buries her face in my side, and I stroke her head. Phil’s standing by the fireplace, sadly watching over Eddie.
Uncle Tom’s clutching Aunt Jeri, and she’s crying. Not that I want to see anyone sad, but I’m glad Jeri can let herself cry over losing her mother. I didn’t know if she cared about Nana anymore.
Out the back-door window, the yard is covered in snow, about half a foot of it. The sunlight’s muted behind the clouds, and everything looks soft, as though the world is covered in a blanket.
Neighbors are out there, standing and sitting, hardly talking, giving us privacy and showing their respects. Nana saved all of us, and they love her, too. Doris Barnes is silently praying. She’s the only one I know of in the neighborhood who seriously prays.
I turn back to face my grandmother with her papery-thin skin. She takes a slow breath and then nothing. I hold my breath and count in my head. It’s six seconds before she takes another one. I breathe with her, too. Eddie stands and steps back so Alma and I can take his place, but my feet are stuck to the floor.
I can’t tell Nana goodbye! I told Tasha goodbye when she was dying, and that was enough for one lifetime. Life shouldn’t be so hard! I’m cursing God in my head, but I stop. It’s disrespectful to curse God even in your head when someone’s dying.
I try to think of anything besides telling Nana goodbye. Alma nudges me forward, so I finally step up and help her sit in the chair. She takes Nana’s hand and kisses it. She doesn’t hesitate; that’s how natural it is for Alma to be loving, even in the face of death. She leans out to put her lips next to Nana’s ear.
“Vaya usted en paz, mi abuela,” Alma says. She strokes Nana’s forehead and kisses her there, petting her hand. Then Alma sits back and looks at me, trembling, with tears on her face. I lay my forehead on hers.
“What does that mean?” I murmur. “What you said in Spanish?”
Alma whispers, “Go in peace, my grandmother.”
And that’s when I lose it. I let out a whimper that’s way too loud. People around me are losing it, too. I didn’t mean to start this, but I’m doing it and I can’t stop now.
Eddie steps up, his face wet and red. “Tell her goodbye, honey.”
Alma says, “I’ve got you, Keno.” And I know she does, but I still can’t, and I say it out loud, like a lament.
“I can’t!”
Jack stands and squeezes me to him.
“Take a breath and count to three,” he says. I try to do it. Jack loves Nana even more than I do, and I need to be strong for him. “That’s good, Keno. In, one… two… three. Out, one… two… three. In… Out... Better now?”
I nod, but I am not better, only a teeny bit calmer. Finally, I bend down to Nana and squeeze her hand. And I swear to God, she squeezes it back. I think for a second maybe she won’t die. Nobody wants her to. But getting what we want in life is a rare thing, and it could be a muscle spasm. Still, I’m going to believe Nana squeezed my hand on purpose for the rest of my life.
Somehow, this hand squeeze gives me strength, like all the other ways Nana has given me strength. I kiss my tiny, fading grandmother on her cracked lips, and they taste sweet, like I don’t know what, but sweet.
I lay my hand on her forehead. “I will love you forever, Nana. I’m going to do all the things you taught me. Alma and I will have babies, cute little babies that will be your great-grandchildren. And we’ll take care of the world like you taught us. We’ll take care of each other, too.” I stop for a moment to think what else I need to say while there’s still time—time that’s rushing away too fast.
“Nana, please watch over us from Heaven, if there is one, and keep us on the right track. Because… because… you are the best grandmother any kids ever had, and I’ll be grateful to you forever.”
It’s probably my imagination, but I think Nana smiles, like the corners of her mouth turn up the littlest bit, and the wrinkles around her eyes relax. She’s going. I hope my words help her, because I really just want to dive under the ground and die with her.
“We found the water, Nana.” She would want to know that. I kiss her cheek and let go of her hand. I step back to crouch beside Alma while she runs her hand through my hair, hugging my arm.
Mazie and Milo go up and kiss Nana, too. Mazie’s saying all kinds of sweet stuff, but she says it so fast and quiet—as though she doesn’t want to bother Nana but also wants to hurry and tell her everything. Then Mazie says, “You can go up to Heaven and take care of Tasha. She’s probably lonely up there.”
I let out a wail and curl into a ball. The kids and Alma cry out loud, too. Jack’s hugging Nana goodbye, and so are Uncle Eddie, Mom, Uncle Tom, Aunt Jeri. Nana’s still breathing, only slower, and then it hits me.
Grandpa.
I jump up and go to Phil. He’s the only person here who’s not doubled over crying. I whisper, “Do you think someone should get Grandpa?”
Phil lets out a super-soft whistle. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“Will you go get him and bring whoever’s with him to keep Grandpa under control?”
“Sure.” Phil starts to hurry out the back door, but I grab his arm.
“Tell Grandpa… Tell him what’s happening and to hurry. But also tell him if he says one single thing that isn’t sweet, I’ll put a gag on him for the rest of his life.”
Phil gulps. “Whatever you want.” And he’s gone, tromping fast across the snowy backyard li
ke he’s in a foot race and he’s winning.
We keep watching Nana, holding our breath when she does, inhaling and exhaling with her. Now it’s seven or eight seconds between breaths, and now it’s eight or nine. I think with every breath this will be the last, but so far, new ones keep happening.
Then the back door opens. It’s Phil and Silas, holding Grandpa between them. Grandpa looks sheepish and scared, like a wrinkled-up little boy who’s been bad. I swear he’s shorter than he used to be, and so skinny I don’t know how he can stand up.
Jack caresses Nana’s head once more, and then he stands and gestures toward the chair like an usher.
“Hank.” He nods at Grandpa.
“Jack.” Grandpa winces. He looks back to Eddie. “Is she… is she—”
“She’s still breathing, Dad, but probably not for long.” Grandpa drops his head, and Eddie takes his arm and helps him sit.
Grandpa peeks at Nana and shakes his head, wiping his hand across his whole face. He looks back to Alma and grabs her hand. I can tell that this surprises her—it surprises the heck out of me—but she doesn’t let on.
“Can I, you know, touch her?” Grandpa asks Alma.
“Yes. You can tell her goodbye.”
Grandpa lets go of Alma. He touches his pointing finger to Nana’s hand, like he’s testing it to see if he needs a hot pad. He latches on to her hand with both of his.
“Bea,” he says. “You were a good wife. Real good. I was a jackass to you, but you didn’t deserve it. I hated that you left me, but I’m glad you got to be happy for a while. I hope you can forgive me. I think you might’ve, but I don’t know.”
Grandpa closes his eyes, resting his forehead on Nana’s hand. She breathes again after I don’t know how long—I forgot to count. I can’t believe what Grandpa’s saying. Probably nobody can. And he’s saying it in front of us like we’re not even here. It’s his last chance and he knows it, the poor, messed-up guy. Losing Nana the way he did is such an enormous mistake, he’ll probably never get over it.
Grandpa scoots the chair closer to Nana. He leans over and kisses her cheek. “It’s not true that I quit loving you, Bea. I forgot how to love you right, and I will always regret it. But I thank you for being a good wife and for raising my kids. I’m sorry I made you suffer.”
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