“Sweetie, let me just say this one thing, and then I’ll shut up. Being alone for too long isn’t healthy. Loneliness is like a big, empty room inside you that echoes with the sounds of the life you’re not living. So you fill it with stuff – work, friends, pets – and over the years it becomes bearable, then comfortable. And after many years it’s so safe and warm, it becomes the new normal. And the worst part is, it’s so full of fake comforts, there’s no room for anyone else. But you deserve more than that. You deserve the world, and this Max ...”
I lean against the wall and close my eyes. “Nan, please don’t tell me he can give me the world. My feminist heart couldn’t take it.”
“I was going to say he could be your world, and you could be his. If you let him.”
Is that all I have to do? Let him be my world? She might as well ask me to catch the moon and slingshot around the stars.
“I’ll think about it, Nan, okay?” The barista calls my name, and I grab the coffee and head out into the street.
“That’s all I ask, muffin. I want to see you happy. When I was your age, I was –” She stops abruptly and makes a noise I’ve never heard her make before.
“Nan? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says, but her voice wavers. “I’m just ... a little dizzy. Haven’t had much to eat yet. Or my coffee.”
“I’m bringing it now. If you’re really lucky, I’ll also stop to grab one of those double-choc brownies you love so much, but only if you promise to drop all topics related to men.”
“Sounds ... good. I –”
She goes quiet, and then I hear a crunching sound and cries of alarm.
“Nan?” My heart leaps into my throat. “Nan? Are you there?”
I hear running footsteps and scuffling, and then Max’s voice cuts through the rest of the noise. His tone is wrong. Too hard and way too panicked.
“Nannabeth! Nannabeth, wake up. Hey, come on. Just wake up for me.” There’s a pause. “Shit. She’s bleeding. Someone call an ambulance! Now!”
There’s a scraping sound before he comes on the line. “Eden?”
“Max, what the hell is going on?”
“Nannabeth collapsed. I think she cracked her head on the pavement.”
“Is she okay?” The half a second he pauses is a lifetime too long. “Max!”
“I don’t know. I have a pulse, but it’s weak. The ambulance is on its way.”
Without hearing anything else, I drop the coffee and break into a run.
EIGHTEEN
Weathering the Storm
By the time I got to her booth, Nannabeth had already been taken away, so I grabbed the first cab I could to the local hospital. When I race into the emergency room I’m so full of fear and concern I can barely breathe. I’m sure the receptionist is used to people showing up out of their minds with worry and demanding answers, and yet she sees something in my face that makes her hold up her hands before I’ve even opened my mouth.
“Ma’am, just calm –”
“Elizabeth Shannon. Where is she?”
“She’s with the doctors, so if you’ll just take a –”
“What happened? What’s her condition? Is she conscious? Is she...?” The word won’t even get past my throat. I can’t comprehend a world in which Nannabeth doesn’t exist. I just can’t. She has to be okay.
“Are you a relative?”
I nod, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. “I’m her granddaughter.” When I say that, I realize I need to call Asha to let her know what’s going on. She’ll probably want to come back.
Wait, no. She’ll cry, and if she cries then I’ll cry, and I can do that right now. I need to be strong.
“Miss?”
I glance up to see the receptionist holding out a clipboard. “If you could fill in these forms and give us Elizabeth’s details, I’ll get you some news as soon as I can.”
“Nannabeth,” I say, my tone clipped.
“I’m sorry?”
“She doesn’t like being called Elizabeth. Said that’s the name of a queen, and she’s barely a lady. Her name is Nannabeth.”
Her expression softens. “Of course. Just take a seat, and I’ll try to find out Nannabeth’s condition.”
I wander over to the plastic chairs and sit, my breathing ragged as I write in answers. I don’t know her insurance details or even if she has insurance. As far as I know, she’s never been in a hospital before today. For my whole life, she’s been the healthiest person I’ve ever met.
I pause when I get to the question about next of kin. It’s such a weird phrase. It should have a subheading that reads, Who should we call if your loved one dies?
My hands get clammy, and I wipe them on my jeans before attempting to write my name. My hand is shaking so hard, it’s barely legible. When I finish, I go and put the clipboard back on the receptionist’s desk. There’s a different lady now, and she takes it without looking at me.
I sit back down in the uncomfortable plastic and close my eyes. The room is spinning, and the last thing I need right now is to pass out, so I take deep breaths and lean down to get my head below my heart.
I keep telling myself she’ll be fine and that she’s one of the strongest people I know. At Mom’s funeral she was the only one who wasn’t blubbering. Asha was nine at the time, and I was eleven. I’d held Asha’s hand, and we both cried our eyes out as Nannabeth said a few words to the small crowd, which not surprisingly didn’t include my father.
A few weeks later when I asked Nan about controlling her tears, she said, “Sweetheart, I’m a person who cries at everything, so I’ve learned to cry at nothing.” I’d begged her to teach me, but she said no, because hardening your heart isn’t something kids should do.
I did it anyway. I never wanted to feel anything as deeply as I felt that day. So every time I’d feel too scared, or angry, or sad, to keep it inside I did this thing where I’d visualize I was on the deck of a ship being hammered by a vicious storm. I’d see myself diving into the ocean and swimming deep underwater. Even though I could see the mayhem above, everything was muffled and quiet down there, and as long as I could hold my breath, I could watch the boat get destroyed from a safe distance, without ever being in danger.
Right now I’m trying to see that boat, but I can’t. All I see is the storm.
“Eden?”
I look up and see Max standing there, wearing blue scrubs and a white jacket. He even has a stethoscope around his neck. My confusion must show on my face, because he shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “They wouldn’t let me go in, because I wasn’t family, so I improvised. I’ve played a doctor a few times. I know how to fake it.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh, but it’s too shrill and high-pitched, and Max looks at me in concern. Then I feel bad, because Nan could be in there dying, and I’m out here laughing with my ... well ... whatever Max is to me.
“They won’t tell me anything,” I say. “What’s going on?”
He squats in front of me and takes my hands, but I pull back. He can’t touch me right now. No one can.
He frowns then says, “They think she passed out because of low blood sugar. When she fell ... I couldn’t get to her in time.” He looks at me like what he’s about to say will push me over the edge. “Her head smashed into the pavement. Her brain is so swollen that ...” Guilt etches into his expression. “Eden, she’s in a coma. When I left they were taking her for a CT and an MRI.”