“Okay. I’m here if you need me.”

  “I’m not going home with you tomorrow,” I tell him. “I need to be here for my parents.”

  “I’d stay too, but I have a big meeting on Tuesday. I can’t miss it.”

  I understand and am actually glad he won’t be here. I need this time with my family. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I’m guessing it’ll be at least a week.”

  We say goodnight and suddenly I feel very alone. Ethan doesn’t even like my parents, let alone consider them his family. My parents obviously feel the same way. Then there’s Sam. I feel like a circus monkey is banging symbols on either side of my head and is determined to get them to collide regardless of the fact that my cranium is in the way.

  A Tough Nut

  Sam informs us, “Nan has a brain aneurysm that burst. This means she’s bleeding into her brain until we can go in and tie off the bleed.” He imparts, “This isn’t an operation most small-town hospitals are known for performing, unless it’s an extreme emergency.”

  “If you can’t do it, who can?” I demand. “And is it safe to move her?”

  “We’ve got a call out to the surgical neurology team at the university hospital to try to get one of their surgeons here, ASAP. Moving her would be too big a risk.”

  I don’t feel particularly comforted by this news, so I ask, “Who does the surgery if you can’t get one of them here?”

  “Doc Fischer,” he responds. Doc Fischer is a good guy, but he’s almost seventy and wears glasses as thick as my forearm. I might trust him to take out an appendix or tonsils, but I cannot imagine ever handing him a saw and letting him operate on a person’s brain. Sweet Lord, what now?

  “Why don’t you come back and spend some time with Nan?” Sam suggests. The look he gives me over my parents bowed heads suggests this might be our last opportunity while she still draws breath.

  “Is she awake?” my mom asks.

  Sam shakes his head. “No, Maggie, she’s not. And I wouldn’t expect her to wake up for at least a day after the surgery.” The great question mark hanging in the air is, will she even get through surgery?

  My dad has his arm around my mom and gently leads her back to pre-op. They both look shorter and older to me, like they’ve aged twenty years in the last thirty minutes.

  No one ever wakes up one morning and says, “You know what? Everything’s going so smoothly in my life right now. Work is great, my house is clean, and I’ve never felt better. It would be a great day for somebody I love to die, because I think I could handle it, today.”

  I’m thirty-one years old. I should be able to face the thought of losing Nan. Gramps died when I was only twenty-two, and I seem to have survived that just fine. Granted, I was a senior in college and deep into a pretty selfish phase in my life, but I remember thinking I was lucky to have had him for so long. A lot of my friends lost their grandparents when they were still in elementary school.

  The difference is, the last words I said to Gramps were not angry ones. I don’t remember exactly what they were, but they were probably along the lines of, “Mark my words, the Cubs are going all the way this year!” or “You don’t have to keep giving me money when I go back to school. I promise I’m not starving.”

  My last exchange with Nan was to yell at her for telling Ethan he wasn’t man enough for me. I can’t live with that. I walk behind the privacy screen sectioning off her bed from the others. When I see her lying there looking so helpless, it’s all I can do not to throw myself at her and beg her forgiveness, even though she has no idea I’m here.

  My mom sits on one side of her and holds her hand, and my dad sits on the other. I motion for Sam to follow me back out into the hallway. When we get there, I look up into his very worried blue eyes and demand, “What are the chances she’ll survive surgery?”

  He looks grim, like he doesn’t want to be the one to answer my question. After several moments, he exhales and answers, “For an average adult in fairly good health, I’d say fifty-fifty.”

  “But Nan isn’t your average adult in good health, is she? She’s an eighty-year-old woman with a history of multiple strokes.”

  Sam nods. “But she’s tougher than any other person I’ve ever met. She’s not someone I’d bet against in a street fight.”

  I laugh in spite of my current mood. Nan is tough. She’s been through a lot in her life and has always come out on top. If anyone can survive what’s ahead, she can. Before I have an opportunity to say anything else, Sam gets a page. “It’s the head of neurology at the university hospital. I’ll come in and let you know what he says as soon as I’m off the phone with him.”

  I watched a documentary once on death and grieving. It talked about the difference between chronos time and kairos time. Chronos time is when time passes sequentially. You wake up, have breakfast, take a shower, go to work—basically just plod through life as expected, totally connected to the timeline.

  Kairos time is an indeterminate period in which everything seemingly happens at once. It’s what occurs during times of exceptional crisis and excitement. Two hours or ten days can pass, and your brain doesn’t process the passage of time the same way it would if it were just a normal phase of life. I have a conscious realization that as of this moment, my family is hitting the pause button on the timeline. We’re hanging in suspended animation waiting for news that will either keep us there or drop us back into the land of the living. It’s excruciating.

  The Beat Goes On

  I call Ethan to let him know what’s happening. He asks, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the hospital?”

  “I’m sure,” I answer. Between you, me, and the fence post, the real reason I don’t want him to come is because of how Nan feels about him. My ornery grandmother does not like Ethan. He’s too buttoned-up and controlled for her tastes. I don’t want him here because truthfully, I don’t think Nan would want him here.

  “Please tell Travis what’s happening and make sure your parents get dinner. I don’t know what Mom was making, but I’m sure you can do something with what she started.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” he replies. “I’ve already taken care of my parents. I’ll go find Travis right away and update him.”

  When we say goodbye, I experience a strange moment like I’ve been shot out of my body and am staring down at all of us like we’re in a movie.

  I can see myself sitting in the hospital waiting room looking, quite frankly, pathetic. I appear deflated and small in my oversized sweater and winter boots. My hair hangs lank and lifeless by the sides of my face. I look like I’m melting and all that’s left is a pile of winter clothes.

  I see my parents sitting with my grandmother. Mom’s head is resting on her mother’s shoulder and she’s crying. My dad is across the bed from her, holding Nan’s hand like she’s a child, and he’s trying to will his vitality into her body to keep her going.

  I see Ethan standing in the kitchen staring out onto the snow-covered backyard with the phone six inches from his ear, lest he increase his odds of cancer by putting it closer and receiving more radiation than he feels is prudent. He looks helpless too, just like we all are.

  I even see Travis sitting on the couch in the basement cradling his head in his hands. My brother is lost in more ways than one. He’s a twelve-year-old boy imprisoned in a man’s body. He’s surrounded by a bag of pot, a bong, bottles of pills, and a pile of dirty clothes. The vision is so clear, I can even see which clothes they are.

  Then before I know it, Poof! I’m back in my own skin and feeling the weight of dread sucking me down. When I hang up with Ethan, I’m not sure what to do with myself.

  Sam eventually finds me and takes my hand. He walks me into the room with my parents and explains, “We’re going to get Nan ready. The surgeon will be here within the half hour.”

  He looks very serious, but adds, “This is good news. It’s Nan’s best chance of making it. I’m going to need you all to step out for a bit, while we get her prepped. You can come back in about fifteen minutes.”

  My mom gently kisses her mother on the head before Dad pulls her into his arms. They walk past me out the door. I approach the bed, not sure what to do. I finally sit next to Nan and put my hands gently on top of hers. I beg, “Please don’t die. I think you’re pig-headed, stubborn, and borderline mean at times, but I also think you’re the best person I know. I love you with my whole heart.”

  Then I stand up and add, “Dorcas Abernathy is a complete whore and Gramps is lucky she didn’t marry him. He got the better end of that stick, let me tell you.”

  The Waiting Game

  Sam comes out every hour to update us on how Nan is doing. He’s not part of the surgical team. He’s there to be our eyes and ears and to hold my grandmother’s hand. I’m so grateful she has a loved one with her.

  The first time he visits us in the waiting room, he assures, “Nan is doing great. They’ve located the bleed and have started the process of isolating it.” He instructs, “Why don’t you all try to close your eyes? I’ll be back out soon.”

  My mom comes over to sit next to me. “Will you play hangman with me?”

  I snort in response. My mom loves to play hangman, but no one will ever play with her because she always chooses words and phrases the common man has never heard of. A small example of her questionable vocabulary includes words like, limerance, nudiustertian, pulveratricious, scopperloit, and floccinaucinihilipilification. Yet I don’t have the heart to deny her right now.

  She writes _’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ on the back of an outdated People magazine. It takes me all of two minutes to solve her puzzle. “I’m scared.”

  I assure her, “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

  During hour three of surgery, Travis walks into the waiting room. He’s clean, his hair has been combed, and his clothes are pressed—as in ironed. At first, I don’t know who he is. He sits down next to Mom. She doesn’t so much as do a double-take; she recognizes him immediately.

  I move next to my brother and put my hand on his arm. “How are you doing?”

  He looks haunted as he answers, “This is all my fault.”

  “I don’t think so, Trav.” Then I confide, “The last time I talked to Nan, I yelled at her for not liking Ethan. If anything, I’m the one who upset her.”

  We sit silently offering each other our support. That’s when I realize a family is like a stew. We’re all just a bunch of ingredients, simple items on our own. Then we get thrown into the stewpot and start to blend together. Our edges soften as we mix with the other ingredients in such a way that it’s hard to recognize what we were before becoming part of the whole.

  I’m either getting totally deep and profound here or I’m losing it altogether. But it occurs to me that maybe that’s Travis’s problem. He never identified what ingredient he was before becoming part of the family stew. I think he needs to step away from the pot (I mean that both literally and figuratively) and find out who he is before he can add anything of real value to either himself or our family.

  The fifth time Sam updates us, he announces, “Nan is being closed up. Dr. Philmore will be out to talk to you as soon as he’s done and she’s in post-op.” I look over at the clock and see that it’s already midnight. It could as easily be ten in the morning, as time simply doesn’t make any sense right now.

  We wait, staring off into space, full of relief that she’s still with us. When the surgeon joins us, we nearly maul him with our combined presence. He explains, “The aneurysm was significant. We can’t know the amount of damage that was done until she regains consciousness and can answer some questions.”

  He addresses my mom, “That won’t be for at least twenty-four hours. Why don’t you go home and get some rest before coming back in the morning?” He says, “There’s nothing more you can do for your mother right now.”

  My mom doesn’t want to leave, but I assure her, “I’ll be right in her room the whole night. I promise to call you if she so much as twitches her little finger.”

  “Come on, Mags,” my dad encourages. “You need some rest. I’ll bring you back as soon as you wake up in the morning.” My mom looks like a lost little girl as she ultimately lets my dad lead her away. Travis follows along like a stray dog.

  When everyone’s gone, a nurse takes me to the room assigned to my grandmother to await her arrival in ICU. She announces, “Normally, visitors aren’t allowed to stay overnight in intensive care. Dr. Sam said we could make an exception for you.” I don’t like being in Sam’s debt, but at the moment I don’t care. I need to be with Nan for both my sake and my mom’s.

  The nurse hands me a pillow, a blanket, and travel-sized toiletries. She smiles kindly. “If you need anything else, just ring.”

  I take a minute to wash my face and brush my teeth. My eyes look like something out of Night of the Living Dead. They’re bloodshot and drooping like they’ve decided a trip south is in order.

  When I come out of the bathroom, Sam is sitting on my makeshift bed. He opens his arms to me and I don’t hesitate. I run toward him like his embrace is the only place that makes any sense for me to be. I clear my mind of all thoughts that I’m betraying Ethan. I need comfort right now, too. Which is why I let Sam hold me and rock me until I fall asleep. I don’t remember anything else until the morning light pours into the room to signal the start of a new day.

  A New Day

  When I wake up, the first thing I do is look over at my grandmother. She looks like a corpse lying there so still and unanimated. In addition to having a breathing tube and being hooked up to all kinds of monitors, she’s wearing a bandage wrapped around her entire head, that makes it look like she’s got on an old-fashioned swimming cap. I immediately feel like it should be adorned with a giant plastic flower to jazz it up a bit.

  Sam walks in carrying a large coffee and a banana. He hands them over before sitting down next to me. I’m sure my hair looks like something you’d pull out of a drain and my breath could probably kill a small animal, but he doesn’t seem to care.

  I take the lid off the coffee and indulge in a huge gulp. It’s pure heaven and I finish half of it before I peel the banana. We don’t say a word to each other. We just sit with our auras bumping up against each other in silence.

  Nan’s machines are whirring and ticking and filling the atmosphere. Sam gets up to check a readout from one of them, then he changes a bag of saline dripping into her arm. When he’s done, he sits on the chair next to my grandmother and says, “Nan has been closer to me than my own grandmother ever was.”

  I nod my head. I know this. His grandmother lived in Washington and he only saw her for one week out of the summer when his family went to visit. She never came to see them, and she didn’t like to talk on the phone, so it was hard for Sam to really get to know her. His other grandmother died before he was born.

  He offers, “I’m off for the next two days, but I plan to be here with Nan. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I nod my head. “Do you think she’s going to wake up today?”

  “No, probably not until tomorrow or the next day. There’s a lot of swelling with brain surgery, and it needs to come down before she can be conscious and alert.”

  “Would you mind if I ran home and showered? Ethan and his family are leaving this afternoon, and I’d like to spend a little time with them before they go.”

  “About Ethan . . .” he starts to say.

  I cut him off, “No, Sam. Nothing about Ethan. Nothing that is happening right now is about him. And it’s only about you and me insofar as we both love Nan and she loves us. There’s no Cat and Ethan or Cat and Sam right now. None of that matters at the present.”

  “I was only going to say I’m sorry.”

  I turn on him like a wild animal. “You’re not sorry. You’re not sorry at all. You’re only saying that because Nan could be at death’s door and you don’t want me to be mad at you. You don’t want to feel uncomfortable around me while we wait to see what’s going to happen.”

  “Kitty Cat, you misunderstand. I’m not sorry I said anything to you. I’m only sorry that it upset you.”

  My hands start to tremble. “You’re sorry it upset me? What did you think it would do saying that stuff to me? Ethan’s my fiancé! How was I supposed to react when you asked if I really loved him? Do you think so little of my ability to love that I’d accept his marriage proposal without feeling deeply for him?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “Cat, I’ve never forgotten what we had. I’ve never gone a day where I haven’t thought of you. Everywhere I go in this town, I run into the ghosts of our younger selves, and I want to stop and warn them to never let each other go. I can’t go anywhere without seeing us having some adventure, and it breaks my heart.”

  “Why in God’s name did you ever come back here?” I demand. “Why didn’t you just move to Chicago like you’d planned and lose yourself in the big city where there are no memories?” I don’t add, because you wouldn’t stay with me long enough to make them.

  “I came back because it’s the only way I ever thought I’d see you again. I didn’t plan on being a small-town doctor. I’d always planned to work at a big hospital, but if I didn’t move home, how was I ever going to run into you?”

  I want to throw my remaining coffee at him. “How dare you put this on me? You could have called me and apologized anytime in the last fourteen years. You could have found out a long time ago that I moved on from you. Don’t tell me you’ve been alone all these years pining away for me, because I don’t believe it.”

  “No, I haven’t been alone. In fact, I was with a woman throughout medical school, a perfectly lovely woman whom I lived with.”