“No,” Gregor rasped. “No, it’s because of you. People can guide you, but they can’t make you into the person they want you to be. You took your own paths, and I’m proud.”
There were no more words, only the sound of his breathing as it deepened in sleep. I remained with him, my head next to his. He was dying. His time was coming, and I was afraid to leave.
“For my sake,” I whispered as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 16
School became my nightmare, every second I had to be away from home full of fear. I was so afraid that I’d miss my chance to say good-bye to Uncle Gregor that the fear ate at me, making me anxious. The hospice nurse promised she’d call me if there were any changes, but there was always the fear that I wouldn’t make it in time.
My nights with Heathcliff grew fewer and further between. He came to the plantation after work, staying with me for a few hours before going home. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with him, I just wanted to be near Gregor, listening to his breathing, saying things I should have said over the years. It’s hard trying to fit a lifetime of sentiment into a few weeks.
Rebecca continued to drive me home after school, coming in to sit with me despite the sadness. She brought laughter into the room, using the visits to munch away on any snack she could get her hands on.
The Vincents came, too, each of them leaving with kind words and warm hugs. Mams visited more than any of them, her hand clutching Gregor’s, her old eyes full of memories. She never spoke much, just sat there, as if she knew words didn’t mean as much as touch.
Heathcliff always followed, his strong arms embracing me, keeping my heart anchored until he had to leave. Every night after he was gone, after Uncle Gregor fell asleep, I cried. I cried, until one day, the tears just wouldn’t come anymore, as if my body had been wrung dry.
Time passed, March dissolving into April. Trees and flowers bloomed, carpenter bees buzzed, the smell of honeysuckle wafted on the breeze, and yellow pollen dusted everything.
At school, everyone was preparing for prom and graduation, Mrs. Callahan’s mirror project a looming deadline. I was apart from it all, spending time between the classroom and the plantation.
When I wasn’t with Gregor, I cooked. A lot.
I’d just begun preparing a pecan pie when Heathcliff found me one afternoon, his large frame leaning against the open kitchen door.
“You’re stressed,” he said.
I glanced up at him. “What?”
He smiled, the gesture soft. “That’s the fourth pecan pie in two days. Either there’s a bake sale I’m not aware of, or you’re worried.”
My hands paused, the knife I was using to chop pecans growing still. “It is a lot of pies, isn’t it?”
He entered the kitchen, moving so that he was standing behind me, his hands falling on mine. “Finish. I can take the extras home. Mom can use them in the café.”
His hands fell away, and I started chopping the pecans again. “It’s just that cooking takes my mind off of things, you know.”
He remained behind me, his gaze on the bar. “I still want you to go to the prom with me, Hawthorne,” he said suddenly.
I froze, the knife falling to the counter. “I can’t—”
“Just wait,” he said. “You’ll see.” Turning, I stared up at him, and he leaned forward. “Trust me.”
“I do,” I whispered.
The words brought a smile to his lips, a whispered promise to return, and a quick exit, leaving me to finish my fourth pecan pie in two days.
It’s funny, really. Food is often linked with memory. For example, the smell of chicory would always remind me of Uncle Gregor and our kitchen table. Cookies and pralines would always remind me of marker-covered tennis shoes and a mirror assignment. Cherry pie would, ironically, always remind me of the first time I ever made love. All good memories, all beautiful moments.
Pecan pie, however, would always remind me of good-byes.
Chapter 17
The day of prom, I stayed home from school and sat with Gregor, a book open in front of me. I’d taken to reading to him, and he often nodded in approval, his gaunt face turned toward my voice.
A knock on the door interrupted a chapter of Crime and Punishment, and I set the book aside, my gaze swinging to the nurse in the room beyond.
“It’s for you,” she called.
“Go,” my uncle rasped.
In the foyer, Rebecca waited, a garment bag hanging over her shoulder, her gaze searching the room before finding my surprised face as I entered.
A grin lit up her features. “Okay, so I’m not staying or anything. I’m just dropping this off.” She lowered the black bag, and I stared at the plastic uneasily. Rebecca chuckled. “It’s not going to bite. Here.” She handed it to me.
It was lighter than I expected. Lifting it, I threw her a look. “What is it?”