The Last Road Home (8 page)

C
HAPTER
14

W
hen we got to the hospital, I expected Grandma to be better. The sight of her stopped me in my tracks. Tubes hooked to a plastic bag above her head ran to a needle sticking in her arm. Another line fed from a round tank tied to the bed to a mask over her nose and mouth. The sign read O
XYGEN
—N
O
S
MOKING.
Her face was pasty, and red veins ran like a grapevine across her cheeks. Grandma looked as if she'd aged twenty years in a day. The silver hair that was always tight and neat lay spread across her pillow, strands sticking up at angles. It was scary seeing such a strong woman looking so frail. I took her hand. “Hey, Grandma.”

When she opened her eyes, they were weak and glassy as flat water. She tried to speak, but the mask muffled her words.

Mrs. Wilson came to stand beside me. “Don't try to talk, Rosa Belle, you rest.” She patted Grandma's arm and smiled. Grandma nodded her head and closed her eyes.

I dragged a couple of extra plastic chairs from the hall into the light-yellow painted-concrete block room. A nurse came by to check on Grandma's temperature and listen to her chest. She said the doctor should be around before lunch.

The room across the way was crowded with women, each one trying to talk louder than the others, while three little kids ran up and down the hall raising hell. I figured the sick lady must be their momma, because every once in a while she would yell at the younguns to shut up. It looked like the room was on fire from all the cigarette smoke.

“Them children need a good ass whooping,” Mr. Wilson said. Mrs. Wilson slapped his arm for cussing. The clock on the wall read eleven when an older, very tall doctor stooped through the door. His black hair was gray at the temples and he wore heavy brown glasses. He introduced himself as Dr. Murray and listened to Grandma's chest and back, made some notes on the chart at the foot of the bed, and then motioned for us to step outside.

“Mrs. Hurley is a very sick lady. She's got a bad case of pneumonia, and our best chance is the antibiotics we're giving her.” He was kind, but all business. “She's a strong woman and that is in her favor. If she can hang on for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours, her odds will go up.”

I stared at him. He was saying Grandma might die. Mrs. Wilson put her arm across my shoulders.

He looked down at me. “Do you have any questions, son?”

“I need my grandma to get well. She's all I got.”

“We're going to do our best.” He stuck out his hand and we shook. “If there's anything you need, ask the nurse to call me.”

The hours stretched long as we waited through the afternoon, taking turns walking up and down the hall to stretch our legs. The visitors across the hall finally left, dragging the kids crying and hollering with them. A nurse's aide brought Grandma soup and Jell-O for dinner, but Mrs. Wilson couldn't rouse her enough to eat, so Mr. Wilson ate the Jell-O. “No use wasting it,” he said.

It was getting toward five o'clock. Mr. Wilson said, “We need to start home so I can get the animals fed and shut up before dark.”

“Mr. Wilson, y'all think you'll come tomorrow?”

“Sure, Junebug, we'll be back in the morning.”

“Then I'm staying the night.”

Mr. Wilson looked a little irritated. “Junebug, these doctors and nurses will make sure she's looked after. Miss Rosa Belle will be all right.”

“I want to be here every time she opens her eyes so she knows she ain't alone.” I hoped my tone let them know there wasn't going to be any arguing.

Mrs. Wilson spoke up. “I understand. Come on, Clyde, he'll be fine.”

“Anything need doing at the house?” Mr. Wilson asked.

“No. Fancy is going to take care of milking the cow and see to the other things for me.”

He pulled out his wallet and handed me a five-dollar bill. “When did you talk to her?”

“She stopped by real early this morning before she went to school.” Hell of a place to tell a lie.

“You take this so you can eat something.”

I took the money. “Pay you back soon as I get home.”

He headed toward the door. “All in due time, Junebug.”

After they left, a pretty blond nurse came in the room, made notes, and checked the medicine bags. She had a nice smile. “Is Mrs. Hurley your only family?”

I nodded. “Do you think she will be all right?”

“We'll take care of her real good, don't you worry.” The name on her tag said Nurse Freymuth. An hour later, she came rolling in a big easy chair. “Thought you could use something more comfortable in case you want to get a little sleep.” She showed me how to use the handle to make the back go down so I could stretch out. “The cafeteria is down on the first floor and opens in a little while if you want some supper.”

I sat and listened to Grandma's breathing. I was exhausted, and nodded on and off. Once I caught Grandma watching me. She smiled, then drifted off again.

It was getting dark outside the room window, and I went hunting for that cafeteria. A plate of spaghetti cost a dollar and a carton of milk was twenty cents. It turned out I wasn't very hungry. A cigarette machine was against the wall in the hallway. They were expensive at forty cents a pack, but figured I needed the smokes worse than the money. I decided to take a break from the hospital stink, and stopped the elevator at the main floor. Stone benches sat along the brightly lit sidewalk outside, and the night air felt good. A few other people came along, and we smoked and chatted for a while.

After two cigarettes' worth of conversation, I went back to Grandma's room. Her hand felt chilly so I tried to warm it in both of mine. She opened her eyes. Her hand reached to move the mask to one side. “Junebug, I need to talk to you.” She seemed stronger, and her eyes looked clearer.

“Grandma, you shouldn't be taking that thing off.” I got up to help her, but she pushed against my hand.

“Hush and listen.” She sounded cross. “There's things you need to know in case the Lord calls me home.”

I shook my head. “No need. You're going to be well in a few weeks and up and around.”

“Junebug, I know I'm bad off, and should've had this talk with you before now.” Her voice trembled like a person would if they were cold. “Out in the pack house cellar there's money the family has been keeping a real long time. It's hidden in mason jars. When you go in the door, they're buried in the rear left hand corner under an old barrel.” She stopped and coughed hard.

I put the mask back over her face; she took some deep breaths and removed it again. “I got a plot at the church beside your granddaddy already spoke for.” Grandma talked fast, like she needed to get everything said. “My will and the deed to the farm are at Lawyer Stern's office in Apex.” She struggled for air. I started to say something, but she moved her finger to my mouth. “You guard that money, Junebug, but use it if you need to. The farm is free and clear, so as long as you keep it, you've got somewhere to live and be able to fend for yourself.” She started coughing bad and had to stop. I held a cup for her to spit in, but didn't look at it. “Use that Hurley hardheadedness, and you'll make out. You know I love you and I know you're man enough.”

Her face was pale as a daylight moon. I couldn't shake the dread that came over me. “Junebug, there comes a time the Lord sees fit for us to take new reins and go in a different direction.” She held my eyes with the tears in hers. “Life don't always play out the way we think it should. If it's my time, I'm not afraid and don't want you to be either. Whatever plan God has, I'm willing to accept it.”

My voice choked. “Grandma, you're going to get out of this bed and come home. I'm not ready to be done having you around yet. I don't think I can do the lonesome.”

Eye water soaked her cheeks. “I'm proud of you, Junebug, always have been. You keep believing in yourself, that how you see the world is right.”

I lifted her hand to my face. “Whatever I am, I got it from you.”

I put her mask back on, and in a few minutes, she was asleep again. I went to stand at the window and whispered, “Lord, if You're up there, I've listened to the preacher, and Fancy, and Grandma say all things are according to Your Plan. I've swallowed everything You've dished out up 'til now, but You know Grandma's all I got left, and I've about had a belly full of Your plans.”

I sat down beside Grandma. The lines and wrinkles of hard times were etched into her face like a sharp knife on bread dough. I tried to remember a time when she didn't look old. I had no idea what I would do without her if she died, how I would live, or if I even wanted to. But she would consider giving up a sin just as bad as stealing or lying or using the Lord's name in vain. Grandma was my only ally, understanding I struggled with conflictions about God, about how I didn't think things I saw were right, and especially Fancy. I needed to believe her spirit would stay with me, and all I could hope was for it to be enough.

C
HAPTER
15

T
he big chair slid easy on the linoleum floor, and I moved it closer to keep in reach of Grandma. Sleep snuck up on me. I was dreaming Grandma was talking about going to Apex. I jerked awake. She was sitting upright in bed. When I tried to put the oxygen mask over her face, she slapped my hand away.

“Stop it!” She pointed. “Don't you see them? They're standing right there. They're asking me to come.” She smiled and waved and mumbled things I couldn't understand.

I searched the room. “Who are you talking about?”

I took her shoulders to push her down, but she wrestled with me. “Leave me alone!” I decided to run and get the nurse.

Grandma suddenly stopped and got quiet. When she turned to face me, chill bumps rose on my arms and neck. Her face wasn't old anymore. It was that girl of sixteen in the picture on the wall at home, sitting on the buckboard, the deep blue eyes staring out at the world. She pulled my hand to her chest, and slowly sank back on the pillow. I felt a whisper of air across my face, and an overpowering sense of Granddaddy surrounded me. Grandma's wide-open eyes stared at the ceiling. The only sound was the shushing of oxygen.

“Grandma?” I shook her shoulder. “Grandma, don't you leave me alone!” But she lay fixed in that awful stillness. The machine above the bed began to buzz.

The blond nurse rushed in and pushed me out of the way. She put fingers to Grandma's neck and wrist, and started shoving up and down on her chest, forcing a breath, then two more, then nothing. Another nurse, and a doctor I didn't know, ran in. The doctor gave instructions as they worked. I stood at the doorway. The top of my head tingled. I could feel Grandma in the room, like she was watching.

In a few minutes the doctor stopped. “Time of death, two twenty-three a.m.” The nurse wrote on the chart.

His words slapped me in the face. I shoved past to her bed. “She's still here!” I managed to get my hands on Grandma's chest before the doctor grabbed my arms. We wrestled.

The blond nurse pushed between us, wrapped me in a bear hug, and walked me backward. She stopped in the middle of the room, holding on. I let my forehead drop on her shoulder. She rubbed my back. “I'm sorry.”

Everything had gone from fast to slow and back to fast again. There should be some kind of gap between living and dying, give a person time to get ready. I squatted against the wall and held my head. The reality of being alone the rest of my life overpowered me. I looked at the ceiling and whispered, “I need you to come back, Grandma. I don't want to be here by myself.” But there was only silence, the bitter quiet of feeling alone, something I'd tasted before.

A couple of aides came in with a rolling bed and asked me to wait outside. As they passed, I pulled the sheet back and kissed her cheek. Other patients woken by the clamor stood at their doors along the hall, fascinated by what they were afraid to watch, but unable not to.

I walked back into the room and stood at the window, staring at the blackness. I pressed my forehead against the wall and hit the concrete until my knuckles bled, needing to hurt somebody real bad.

The blond nurse came through the door. “Are you all right? Anyone you want me to call?” She put a hand on my shoulder.

I was angry. “Yeah, God, and tell Him to send my grandma back.”

She stepped backward. “If you need me, come to the nurses' station.”

I watched as the red rim of the sun began to show over a line of clouds on the eastern horizon. The only thing left was the silence.

Mr. and Mrs. Wilson came through the door about nine o'clock. They stopped when they saw the empty bed. I just stared at them. Mrs. Wilson put a hand to her mouth. She came and laid her arm around me and started crying. “Oh, Junebug.”

“I don't know what to tell the people in charge to do.”

She pointed at the door. “Clyde, go find out.” She looked up at me. “You're going to be fine, we'll be right here with you.”

I bit my tongue; I was never going to be “fine” again.

Mr. Wilson was back in a few minutes. “They're going to send her to Apex Funeral Home.”

Mrs. Wilson held on to me. “Come on, Junebug, let's go home.”

Walking out of that room felt like giving up, the weight of sadness so heavy I could barely move. I had no idea how to deal with this thing that seemed to want to beat the life out of me. I had nothing else left to give.

While we rode, I stared out the window, picturing the emptiness of Grandma's blue eyes, seeing the love she passed to me before the light in them went out. One minute a person was alive and the next they were dead. In my head, I spoke to my granddaddy, “
I guess I finally understand
.”

Mrs. Wilson said I was staying that night with them and she wouldn't hear any argument. We dropped her at their house, and continued over to the parsonage. The preacher's wife answered the door and Mr. Wilson told her why we were there. She invited us in to sit in the parlor. He hurried into the room. “This is awful news about Mrs. Hurley. What happened?” He paid attention and let me talk as long as I wanted. When I was finished, he said, “Your grandma has been one of our most loyal members for a long time, and we're going to miss her very much. When are you thinking about having the service?”

Mr. Wilson suggested Saturday. The preacher said a prayer, asking the Lord to be with me in this time of grief. I didn't close my eyes. I'd had all of God's shit I could take and didn't need His sympathy. If he said it was “
God's Will,
” I might choke him.

By the time we got back to Mr. Wilson's house, Mrs. Wilson was busy cooking supper. I went around to the porch swing and pushed back and forth, resting my head against the top. I hoped Grandma was at peace. The sense of Granddaddy in the room was something I'd have to think about.

Fancy came around the side of the house, walking slow, like she was hesitant to come near me. The setting sun was to her back, and the light glowed over her face. “Mrs. Wilson told me about your granny. I'm so sorry I don't know what to do.” She came up the steps, and took a chair near the swing, reaching out to offer her hand. “Momma and Daddy said to tell you they was real sorry, and if there's anything they can do, just ask. Wish I had went and got my momma when I seen how sick she was.”

“Tell both of them I'm grateful. Grandma told me I knew most things a man needs in order to look after himself. Right now, though, I don't feel like I know shit. I'll probably need to call on them some.”

Fancy leaned forward, eyes wide. “Miz Hurley knowed she was dying?”

“She told me some stuff, trying to get me ready in case she did. At the end she started seeing people, talking to them, reaching out like they were in the room.”

Fancy's hand went to her mouth. “Was you scared?”

“Scared the hell out of me.”

She shook her head. “Old folks say it happens.”

“I know I never want to see it again.”

“Did any of the angels speak? I've heard tell of folks hearing them.”

“No.” We sat quiet and held hands until Mr. Wilson yelled around the house for supper.

“Fancy, can I have a hug?” We put our arms around each other and stood that way for a minute.

Her head came to my ear. “You're going to get through this, Junebug. I'll see to it.”