“Thank you for understanding, darling.”
Charlotte actually didn’t understand, but she respected Abuela’s wishes regardless. As Charlotte sprayed, combed, and brushed, she wished she knew what made her grandmother so reluctant to open up about her past. Charlotte only knew small snippets—Abuela suffering through the civil war, leaving family behind, moving to England and then Australia—but she needed to get off Abuela’s case and just let her be. After all, Charlotte knew how hard it was to talk about painful memories. Drew immediately came to mind.
“I loved my father very much.” Abuela’s voice sounded small, like a young child’s.
“I imagine you did.” Charlotte couldn’t stop the smile. Her grandmother had come around after all. “What was he like?”
“Tall, robust, and a very good heart. He worked hard—finance—and he doted on his kids, especially me.”
Charlotte continued gently grooming Abuela’s hair with slow, deliberate movements.
“I loved my mother and brothers as well, don’t get me wrong, but my father and I were peas in a pod. I honestly felt he was the only person who understood me.”
“Like I feel with you, hey, Abuela?”
Her grandmother reached up and patted Charlotte’s hand. “We are lucky to have each other.” Letting out a small breath, she said, “You two would have got along famously.”
“Why?”
“The same sense of humor, the same sense of justice. Big hearts and caring souls.”
“You know how to make a girl feel special.”
“I miss him every day, you know.” Abuela’s voice faltered.
“I’m sorry.”
Her grandmother fell silent, lost in memories.
Charlotte guided the pointy end of the comb between the curls to give them extra height. Her grandmother used to brush Charlotte’s hair when she was a kid, as they chatted about their day and planned their next visit to the cinema. People often wondered why Charlotte and Abuela were so close and they’d always found it difficult to explain. In the end, they’d given up looking for reasons and accepted this bond that formed since Charlotte’s birth was special, and above all, unbreakable.
Just as Charlotte twisted the last curl, her grandmother’s fingers reached up and gripped Charlotte’s wrist.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked, placing the comb on the edge of the table and facing Abuela. Her sunken eyes looked larger and rounder, framed by light eyelashes, pale without their usual coating of black mascara.
“I’m scared,” she rasped.
Charlotte swallowed and said, “You’ll get through this. There’s a lot of people praying and you have a crack team of medical experts taking care of you. You’re covered, Abuela. You’ll be out of here and running circles around everyone in no time, the way you always do.”
“I’m going to say BS to that,” said her grandmother, not one for swearing but happy to abbreviate ‘bullshit’ every so often to get her point across.
Charlotte forced cheeriness into her voice. “Oh come on, now. You’ll be fine and— “
“I’m an old woman. My days are numbered no matter how much you or I want to deny it.”
“Seriously, Abuela, you’re usually healthy and— “
“Stop it.” Her grandmother patted Charlotte’s hand. “I’m sorry if I’m abrupt. It’s just…after this long life, if God wishes to take me, then so be it.”
A lump formed in Charlotte’s throat and she struggled to get words out. “Abuela, please— “
“What’s that they say? The only sure things in life are taxes and death? I’ve paid my taxes over the years so— “
“No! You can’t give up now.”
“I’m not giving up, darling girl, I’m just not going to fight it as hard as I would have ten, twenty, thirty years ago.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “If anything happens, I don’t want to be resuscitated.”
“When Dad hears about— “
“No. Do not breathe a word to him. You know what he’s like and I am not in the mood to be lectured by my own son.”
“But surely— “
“When I first arrived in Emergency they asked me if I wanted to be resuscitated and I said yes. But after spending day after day between these walls it’s given me time to think, to reflect on my life. When my time is up, it’s up.” Abuela paused, her large eyes fixed on Charlotte’s. “Sweetheart, I realize it isn’t fair to dump this on you but the doctor suggested I tell at least one family member.”
“And I’m it,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.
“Yes. Believe me, dear girl, I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I felt you could handle it. You’ve grown into such a smart, beautiful woman and you’re the only one I trust to respect my wishes and not kick up a stink, even though I’m sure you don’t agree with me.”
“I don’t.”
But what could she do? Her grandmother was an adult, surely she had the right to decide such a thing, though Charlotte wasn’t convinced this moment would be as far in the future as she hoped.
They sat quietly while the nurses moved up and down the hallway outside, going about their business. Inside Charlotte, her world changed with each passing second. How could she keep such a secret?
“I’ll respect your wishes, Abuela, but I want you to do something for me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I want you to think about one thing in your life that you want to do but haven’t had a chance.”
“I don’t think I’m quite up to skydiving just yet, darling.”
Charlotte laughed, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “I mean it, Abuela. Surely, after all you’ve been through recently, you’ve thought about things that you wished you’d done but haven’t. Perhaps there’s something I can help you with. Like … like…” Like what? What would Abuela want to do that might inspire her to fight harder and get out of this hospital? A brainwave hit her and she said, “Perhaps writing about flamenco? I’m sure the world would like to know what it was like from a real flamenco dancer’s point of view.”
Abuela cocked an eyebrow. “Nice try, but no Cuban cigar.”
A nurse in navy blue entered the room. She gave a soft smile. “It’s time.”
“For what?” Charlotte asked as she locked eyes with Abuela.
“Just a simple procedure, darling.”
Turning to the nurse, Charlotte asked, “What are you doing?”
“We’re taking her for an angiogram.” The nurse fiddled and fussed with the cords connected to the monitors.
Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned it. What else was her grandmother keeping secret?
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of your grandmother and have her back here in no time.”
Charlotte leant over and kissed Abuela on the forehead. “Don’t get up to any mischief, okay?”
“I can’t promise that.” Abuela’s small laugh faded as worry flashed in her eyes.
Charlotte prayed that her own rising anxiety was just an overreaction.
Chapter Four
Charlotte pushed the door with her hip, expecting Abuela’s room to be unoccupied. Instead, her grandmother was tucked in and dozing, looking relatively peaceful after the procedure, although it had taken longer than anticipated. The nurse had caught Charlotte on her way in and explained they’d found two partially occluded arteries and the cardiologist had inserted stents into Abuela’s heart.
When the nurse said one of them would be by every fifteen minutes to check on the site, Charlotte’s shoulders tensed even more. If Abuela needed constant monitoring, then that meant the medical staff was concerned.
Tiptoeing over to the chair, she sat and sipped her coffee. The walk she’d just taken in the park had lifted Charlotte’s spirits enough so she could face returning to the hospital room--even though the walls felt like they were suffocating her.
She studied Abuela. Once again, her grandm
other was connected to monitors that quietly beeped in the background. Although Charlotte didn’t understand what it all meant, the steady lines tracing across the screen were strangely comforting.
A male nurse with a goatee quietly entered the room and nodded at Charlotte.
“How’s she doing?” she whispered.
“As well as can be expected.” He lifted the blanket on the opposite side to where Charlotte sat. Abuela stirred and stared at the man looking at her groin.
“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded as old as her years.
“I’m just checking the insertion site,” he said matter-of-factly. He frowned and reached for a pair of gloves. Donning them, he jammed his fist against Abuela’s groin.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” the nurse replied, his gaze not moving from Abuela’s upper thigh.
“What’s going on?” Charlotte’s question came out louder than she’d expected.
“It’s just a bit of bleeding from the site where the catheter went in,” the nurse said.
Charlotte stood and spotted the large pool of blood on the sheets. A bit? Her chest felt hollow as she reached for Abuela’s hand.
“Should I text Dad and ask him to bring some of those croissants you like so much?”
“I know you’re trying to distract me.” Her grandmother tried to sit up but with his spare hand, the nurse pinned her shoulder down.
“Please, don’t move,” the nurse’s tone was bossy, then he leaned over and said gently, “I just need to take away the pillows and lie the bed flat for a little while. All you need to do is keep still and I’ll get you sorted.”
The nurse pressed down harder on Abuela and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Oh dear Lord,” she muttered.
Another nurse bustled through the door. “What’s the problem, Dean?”
“Small bleed.” He lifted his hand a fraction and peeked at the wound before applying pressure again. “I can’t get it to stop.” His calm voice did nothing to allay Charlotte’s fears.
Dean turned his attention to Abuela. “We’re going to call the cardiologist and see if she wants to take you back to the cath lab.” His gentle tone seemed to have the desired calming effect. Abuela’s wide eyes reverted back to their normal size and she nodded.
Moments later, an orderly arrived and Dean the nurse, with his hand still firmly on Abuela’s groin, hurried alongside his patient as they whisked her from the room. The other nurse stayed, collecting discarded wrappings and other paraphernalia.
Charlotte shook her head, trying to break out of the fog that had descended. “Can someone please let me know the second you have an update?”
“We will.” The nurse moved towards the doorway. “She’s in good hands, I promise.”
“I know.”
Charlotte sat heavily in the chair and stared at the empty space where the bed, and her beautiful grandmother, had been only moments before.
* * *
By the time Abuela was wheeled back to the room, Charlotte’s parents and Steve had arrived. They sat in silence while Abuela dozed, weak from the stress and loss of blood. Charlotte’s father and brother madly texted and replied to emails and her mother, while not religious, clutched Abuela’s rosary. Charlotte stared at the white sheet, fretting about a pool of blood forming again.
Her grandmother opened her eyes and glanced around at the family members. “Don’t you all have something better to do?”
Charlotte’s mother let out something that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh while Steve put down his phone and gave Abuela a gentle hug.
“You had us worried.” Steve’s voice cracked.
“I just like to keep you on your toes.” But Abuela’s attempt at humor fell flat when her shaking hands reached for the glass of water.
Charlotte’s dad held it while Abuela took a few tentative sips from the straw.
“So Mum, the doctors say you need lots of rest. That means no swinging from the chandeliers, okay?” He leant over and kissed her forehead.
“Fine, perhaps I’ll have a quick waltz down the hall a bit later.” Abuela forced a smile as she looked up at her only child.
“Okay, but keep the ruckus to a minimum.” He stroked his mother’s hair, the perfectly styled curls now a flat, tangled mess.
“What time is it?” Abuela asked.
“Almost seven o’clock,” replied Steve.
“Well, now, it’s been a long day for all of us and I’m sure you’re hungry and need some rest.”
The family members set about collecting their belongings while Charlotte waited, not wanting to leave her grandmother alone.
As if sensing her hesitation, Abuela said, “Can you to stay a little longer?”
“Sure.” Charlotte waited for her parents and brother to say their farewells and after they left the room, she turned to Abuela. “How are you really doing?”
“Not good.” She reached for Charlotte’s hand. “That scared the living daylights out of me.”
“Of course it would and it’s totally natural to be shaken up.”
“I …” She sighed and concentrated on the ceiling for a moment before returning her attention to Charlotte. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“About when you asked me if there was anything in my life I wished I’d done.”
“And?”
“And there is something I would like an answer to but I’ve been too afraid to ever dig deep enough. I … I …” She closed her mouth and her eyes didn’t meet Charlotte’s.
“It’s okay. You can tell me anything. We’re peas in a pod, remember?” She hoped her smile was encouraging.
“There’s … there’s a painting I need you to retrieve from my house. It’s in the spare bedroom in a gray trunk. It will be right at the bottom, under a pile of blankets.”
“Okay. So, you want me to bring it back here?”
Abuela nodded. “I’ll explain why when you return.”
“Sure.” Charlotte kissed Abuela on the cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“No. Tomorrow is fine.”
“If the nurses let me, I don’t mind staying here with you tonight.”
“Go home. Get rest. You need it just as much as me.” The circles under her grandmother’s eyes appeared larger and darker.
“Okay, I won’t argue.” The idea of sleeping on her comfortable bed appealed more than the lumpy chair in the corner of Abuela’s room. She kissed her grandmother then gathered her things. It had been hell trying to balance work and looking after Abuela these past days but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
With her hand on the door handle, Charlotte turned to take one last glimpse. Abuela lay in the bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in the early stages of sleep. A cocoon of soft yellow light danced across her, an air of peacefulness filling the room.
Charlotte’s heart swelled with love for the woman who had always guided her through life’s toughest decisions.
“Sleep well, Abuela,” she whispered.
Chapter Five
Standing on the doorstep of her grandmother’s tiny cottage in Fitzroy, she took a deep breath. For how many years had she walked through this door and not felt anything but joy?
Trying to ignore the metaphorical cloud surrounding her, Charlotte stuck the key in the lock and marched down the hallway towards the spare bedroom at the back of the house. The musty smell of the old home tickled her nose and the air felt cool, even though the sun shone brightly outside.
She’d always loved this place with its cozy rooms and immaculate back garden with grapevines hanging from the pergola. After the death of Charlotte’s grandpa, the family had thought Abuela would move out. But she’d refused, preferring to surround herself with memories of family celebrations and the special times she’d shared with her husband. She’d always regretted leaving the family home in the South Australian outback,
and she didn’t want to say goodbye to yet another place full of memories. Abuela’s staunch efforts to hold on to the history she’d created in Australia when she so forcibly pushed aside her life in Spain never failed to confuse and intrigue Charlotte.
Opening the door to the bedroom, she made her way to the far corner where a beautifully crafted rug lay over the dented metal trunk.
Kneeling on the hardwood floor, she studied the gray metal box. She’d never thought much about this trunk. It had just been there since she was a kid, like the doilies on the coffee table and the plant stand in the hallway.
Charlotte jiggled the metal flap to release the lock. The stupid thing refused to budge. She narrowed her eyes at the offending piece of metal, unable to shake the strange sensation of prying, even with Abuela’s full permission.
Just get on with the job.
She strode to the kitchen in search of a tool. As she rattled around the junk drawers, she spotted an unfamiliar photo album on the kitchen table. Why hadn’t she noticed the baby blue cover when she was in the house a few days ago? Probably because she’d rushed in to grab a few things from Abuela’s bedroom then bolted back out again. Charlotte often flicked through the mountain of Abuela’s photo albums, filled with images of her son and grandchildren, but Charlotte didn’t recognize this one. She twisted her lips before giving in to curiosity and picking it up. The album creaked when she opened to the first page. Under the crinkly clear plastic was a yellowed newspaper clipping from forty years ago. Charlotte willed her high school Spanish to kick in. From what she could interpret, the article described a centenary for flamenco music and dance.
In the photograph next to the text, a grand building sat on a hill with snow-covered peaks in the distance. From the surreptitious studying Charlotte had done of Granada, her grandmother’s birth place, over the years, she instantly recognized this building as the centuries-old Alhambra. Why would her grandmother have kept this?
She turned the pages and discovered an album full of references to Granada and nearby cities and villages, all in the region of Andalucía in southern Spain. Scanning the pages, she found images of the Moorish and Roman architecture, blue- and gold-hued tile work, peaceful fountains and panoramas of the ancient neighborhoods of Sacromonte and Albacín.
Dreaming of Spain Page 3