"When can we see her?" Mom asks Dr. Beck.
"Just as soon as we go over one more thing," he says. "Amelia has a condition called atrial fibrillation. This condition causes an arrhythmic heartbeat. Basically, when the heart is beating erratically, it can cause the heart to spit out blood clots. The clot can then become lodged in an artery, causing a shortage of blood to the brain, which is more than likely what caused this stroke."
I feel like I just heard a whole lot of gibberish. "What does that mean? She could have another stroke?" Annie asks. The tone of her voice is one step away from a total meltdown. I can sense it coming.
"What I'd like to do is place a pacemaker in her chest cavity, which will hopefully keep her heart beating in a regular rhythm. Doing this will help lessen the chances of another stroke."
She's ninety-two. This can't be a good idea.
"What if we decide against the procedure?" Mom asks.
Dr. Beck pulls in a sharp breath and holds it for a second before continuing. "Honestly, the likelihood of another stroke is moderate to high," he says.
I look over at Mom and Annie who appear to be struggling with the decision. "Do it," I tell him.
"Emma!" Mom snaps.
"It's the right thing to do."
"What about the risks involved in the surgery?" Annie questions.
"In my opinion, the risk of inserting a pacemaker is small, but the risk of another stroke without a pacemaker is concerning," Dr. Beck says. "You can come on back and see her now. Talk everything over with her, and let me know when you’ve made a decision."
We follow Dr. Beck through the door and into the ICU. The sounds of odd beeps and air pumping through machines behind closed curtains are noises that I never want to hear again after today. My chest tightens as we reach the end of the hall, knowing how hard it’s going to be to see Grams lying helpless in a hospital bed.
She has been a force of nature my entire life. Nothing has ever slowed her down or kept her from doing the things she's wanted to do. Up until now, she has driven her own car, shopped, taken walks, and she even goes out for dinner with friends. I can only hope I'm the same way at her age. Now, though, when I enter the room, she's lying quietly in a hospital bed, asleep, with wires hooked up to various parts of her body. She's pale, and her hair is a mess—this is not the woman I know. My heart breaks at the sight of her, and I grab my chest as if that will help me hold its broken pieces together.
"Grams," I say softly, making my way to the side of her bed.
"Mom," Annie follows.
Grams opens her eyes slowly as a tentative smile presses against the corners of her lips into the dimples of her soft powdery cheeks. "My girls," she says, sounding so frail. "I thought today was going to be the day."
"We're not letting anything happen to you," I tell her, taking her limp hand within mine as I stroke my thumb across the wrinkled skin on her knuckles.
"Where is Charlie?" she asks as her forehead furrows with concern?
"Who is Charlie?" Annie asks Grams.
"Oh, you know Charlie, girls." She laughs at us as if we're ridiculous for not knowing this man.
Grandpa's name was Max, so I don't think she'd be confusing the names. "We don't know anyone named Charlie," I tell her.
"Oh, sure you do, silly. Of course, you know Charlie Crane."
I share a look with Mom and Annie, each of us as confused as the other. Dr. Beck has been silently standing behind us, patiently waiting to check in with Grams. "This is the confusion I mentioned," Dr. Beck says. "She was sharing some stories from the past, and I'm not sure she understands what year it is."
"You all have such beautiful hair," Grams says, struggling to lift her hand before twirling one of my waves around her finger. "So…beautiful."
I don't understand why she’s talking to us this way. "Thanks, Grams," I tell her, taking her hand back within mine. "You're going to be okay."
"I know, but you three may not be if you don't get out of here soon. I don't want the Nazis to find you in the sick bay."
That word fills my chest with a dark fear. We know little of Grams's history, mainly just that she survived the Holocaust, but her story stopped there. She didn't want us to know details or to live through the same nightmare she did, so we promised never to talk about it.
"Emma," Grams whispers, pulling me down toward her face. "Get my book, will you, sweetie?"
"Book? Grams, I don't know what book you're talking about."
"My special book," she says louder. "Please." She’s clearly agitated with my confusion, but I've never seen any unfamiliar book in her house. The only books I’ve seen are the mystery thrillers she used to read, and I don’t think she’s referring to one of those. "Please find it and bring it to me."
Dr. Beck places his hand on my shoulder, and as I glance over, he nods his head for me to follow him into the hallway. "I'll be right back, Grams."
Mom and Annie don't seem to notice the exchange or the fact that I've followed the doctor out of the room, but I may have an easier time finding out more information without their emotions getting in the way. After walking around the corner, we stop, and Dr. Beck's eyebrows rise a bit. "I'd like to do this surgery immediately. The faster we can do it, the safer she will be."
I inhale heavily and release the air slowly through my pursed lips. This is so much to take in at once. "I understand. I'll do what I can to convince my mom and aunt that it’s what’s best. I don't think either of them are thinking clearly."
"Understandable," he says. "I'm sorry you're going through this." The kindness and sincerity written across his face breaks through the last of my strength I tried to maintain for Mom and Annie’s sake. Tears fall uncontrollably from the corners of my eyes, and I cup my hand over my mouth as I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing this wasn't happening.
"I'm sorry," I choke out.
Dr. Beck wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks me down the corridor, stopping in front of the restroom. "I'll make sure to take good care of her, okay?" He dips his head down to grab my attention and focus. "I promise."
"Thank you," I whisper. "You’ve been really kind and I appreciate it." Most doctors I’ve been around haven’t had such a passionate understanding of how difficult these sorts of events are for families.
"Emma!" As the slightest bit of turmoil briefly lifts from my chest, another heavyweight drops down on the same spot, compressing all my organs into a painful mess. "Emma, there you are." I glance down the hall toward the sound of his voice, wishing I was imagining it as I stifle a groan. Mike is jogging down the hallway with a phony appearance of worry written on his face. Is this a new act he’s trying out?
Dr. Beck lifts his hand from my shoulder and presses his lips into a firm smile. "Well, I'll give you some space. I'll be back to check on your grandmother soon."
"Thank you," I offer with sincerity as he takes off in the other direction.
Mike’s out of breath as he forcefully pulls me into him for a hug. "How's Grams?" he asks while cupping his hand over the back of my head. The exchange feels awkward and unnatural.
"No," I tell him. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't pretend like you suddenly care." He knows I’m weak right now, and that’s his game.
He places his hand on my cheek, making a scene, here, in the intensive care unit’s hallway. "I love you. What more do I need to say? I just want to show you that I'm here. I want to be here."
And I want to be alone.