minutes, and the only response we got was the beeping of the monitor. As soon as we walked out the double doors leading back to the waiting room, my mother pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I know Granny’s had a long life, and it’s not for me to question God’s plan,” she said. “But, Alice, I’m not ready.”
AND THEN, MIRACULOUSLY
, my grandmother was awake. I called the hospital around seven the next morning, as soon as I’d gotten out of the shower, and they said she’d regained consciousness during the night. She was dozing again, a nurse said, and although she’d be woozy from the sedatives, she’d almost definitely be able to talk to us when we went in at nine o’clock.
My mother stopped in the gift shop on the lobby level to buy a balloon—flowers weren’t allowed in the ICU— and so I entered my grandmother’s room alone. Her eyes were closed, but when I said, “Knock, knock,” she opened them immediately. “Granny, welcome back!” I said. “We missed you!” When I was beside her bed, I leaned in and kissed her cheek.
She blinked a few times, then said, “They’ve been feeding me very spicy chicken, and it’s made my throat dry.”
Did she even realize who I was? I said, “Can I give you some water?” A white plastic pitcher sat on the table beside her bed, and next to it was an avocado-colored plastic cup with a straw in it. I brought the straw to my grandmother’s lips, and when she sucked on it, a tiny clear trickle dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. Though she was receiving fluids through an IV, I was certain my grandmother had eaten nothing, spicy chicken or otherwise, since her arrival at the hospital.
When she’d finished drinking and leaned her head back on the pillow, she said, “They’re gambling on the roof, you know.”
I hesitated. “Who?”
She nodded sagely. “
are.”
I held my hand over my heart. “It’s Alice, Granny. You’re in the hospital, but you’re getting better, and I’ve come to visit you.”
She made an appalled expression. “Do you think I don’t know who you are? I’m not
” She pointed at me. “Why are you wearing Dorothy’s blouse? It makes you look frumpy.”
I smiled. “I unexpectedly spent the night in Riley, so Mom let me borrow this.”
“You should wear clothes more suited to your age.”
“Granny, how do you feel? Be sure to let me know if you need to rest.”
She didn’t respond right away but looked around the room and then said, “I’ve been thinking of your father.”
I felt a flare of anxiety. Although I wasn’t at all sure I believed in heaven, it was hard not to imagine that by
she may have meant
or even
All I said, though, was “Oh?”
“He was very devoted to Dorothy,” my grandmother said. “I had the opportunity to observe your parents’ marriage closely over a number of years, and I saw how fond of each other they were.” She peered at me. “What’s your husband’s name?”
I swallowed. “Charlie. Charlie Blackwell.”
“That’s right, the governor’s son. You two are very devoted to each other as well.”
I tried to smile. “Well, I hope so.”
She regarded me shrewdly. “That sounded tepid.”
“No, I didn’t mean—I just—Lately, he’s been drinking more than I think he should,” I finally managed to say.
She made a pooh-poohing gesture, or tried to, though because of the IV inside her elbow, she didn’t have full mobility. “Don’t keep a tight leash on him, my dear. That always backfires.”
“Oh, I don’t—if anything, the opposite.”
“You’re not strict with him?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe that’s the problem, then, that he’d like you to be stricter.”
I hesitated—was this really the time or place to unburden myself?—but my grandmother had always enjoyed talking about people, and she did seem genuinely engaged. “This will sound ridiculous to you, but I think he’s having some kind of midlife crisis. His twentieth college reunion is in a couple weeks, and he’s obviously worried about not measuring up to his classmates.”
