by Alice Ward
“Him? But… but you hate him.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Yeah, I know. It’s a long story, but Tam… I’m a millionaire. He bought them for that, and he’s commissioned me to paint another one for him. I’m… I’m…” I didn’t know what I was.
If anyone was going to call me out on my shit, it would be Tammy. She’s like me. She could give a damn about money. If I was compromising my ideals and beliefs, especially for money —or sex or anything else — I was gonna die by her hand.
“What exactly do you mean about painting one for him? Of what, Caitlyn Marie Ashcroft?”
“First, you’re not my mother, so don’t Caitlyn Marie me. Second, it’s legit. His lawyer drafted a contract that his accountant discussed with me on the phone a few minutes ago. It’s all legal. The money is going through Miguel first, then I should have my part by Monday. The commissioned work is like for five hundred an hour or some craziness.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Why would I do that? Like hey, Tam, I’m a millionaire. Just kidding.”
“Okay, is anyone going to be naked?” She was being a mother again.
“If anyone is naked, it’s my choice. If I want to paint them or sleep with them or—”
“Hold up,” she interrupted, “it’s your choice, but you may not have all your faculties in order with Gran sick and him dangling a million clams at you. Are you considering sleeping with this guy? Cat, you hardly know him. That’s like some serious kept-girl shit.”
“I’m not, I was just seeing if you were paying attention,” I lied. I really was testing her reaction to see what I would face if I did choose to sleep with KP.
I couldn’t believe I was even considering the idea. She was right, I was a mess.
“When don’t I listen to you?” she asked, incensed.
“The painting is one of those pretentious mantelpiece portraits of his brother,” I confessed.
“This shit just keeps getting weirder.”
“I’ll find out what it’s all about when I meet him. KP says he’s special. The way he said it was loving and kind of protective, so I think there’s something going on there. Also, I’ve drawn my line in the sand. He knows where I stand. So, if anything gets dangerous, I have you on speed dial and there’s always 911. I’ll be fine.”
She was quiet for so long that I looked at my phone to see if we’d been disconnected. “Tam?”
“Holy fuck girl, you’re a millionaire!” she yelled.
“I know, right!” I yelled back.
Tammy was my soul mate. I only wished we were attracted to one another because she got me and I got her. We had the kind of indelible friendship that would outlast any man. She was planning on marrying Jamal Price, a local football hero. In addition to being a star athlete, he was also in his first year of law school. With Tammy being an engineer and Jamal a soon-to-be lawyer, they were just biding their time until they were established enough in their careers to get married. They both wanted a solid foundation to build on. I tried to learn from Tammy and Jamal, but I always seemed to be scrambling. That was why all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours had not yet sunk in.
The next person I had to tell was Gran, so I got my ass up, got ready, and headed to the hospital hoping Gran would be improved. When I arrived, Gran seemed to be in better spirits. She was sitting up and eating, which was a first. In the last few days, she had been either sleepy or incoherent. Today, she was her usual chipper, irreverent self.
“Hi, gorgeous,” I said as I walked into the room.
She winked. “Back at ya.”
“So, how’s the green jello today?”
“It’s a hit.” She cocked a solid white eyebrow. “So, when are you busting me out of here?”
“You seem to be doing better today. I’ll just go get my cape and we’ll jet.”
“Dr. Pushkin is out with Nurse Ratchet. You should go get a medical release first,” she instructed.
“I think I will. That nurse treatin’ yous bad, Gran?” I said in my best mobster voice. “Cause I’s knows a guy…yous knows whadda mean?”
“She likes to stick me with needles, the bitch.”
Relief washed over me. “She was really back to her old self. Time to liberate.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a flash and no more needles,” I promised.
“No need for them now, I got this,” she said as she showed me the PICC line in her side.
My heart sank. Gran had one when she was originally diagnosed with cancer. Now that she had the line again, it confirmed my worst fears. Her cancer had returned. Dr. Pushkin had been vague about the masses they found, but this almost certainly proved they were back.
I walked out into the hall to find Dr. Pushkin at the nurses’ station as Gran suggested he would be. I waved to him, letting him know that I was there. He gave me a “one minute” sign with his finger and signed some papers before heading my way.
“I’m glad you’re here, I was about to call you,” he said, all businesslike.
“What’s up?” I was trying to sound lighthearted, but it came out crazy and desperate.
“I think we should discuss this in my office,” he said as he shuttled me into the small cubical behind the nurses’ station. He offered me a seat and I sat down, terrified.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my fingers wringing together.
He sighed. “We have the preliminary reports back from the lab, and the results are not as promising as I’d hope they’d be.”
“Um…” My tongue was too thick too talk.
“Your grandmother’s cancer has returned, and it is a very aggressive recurrence. There is metastasis in almost every organ of her body. We can offer chemo again, but at her age, I don’t think it wise. We have some other treatment options, which we can go over. I’ve mentioned them to her already, and she’s not interested in pursuing any form of treatment. I wanted to discuss this with you because I could help you get power of attorney for her care if that is your wish. But I do feel that Eula is in full command of her faculties, and I think she might know what’s best for her at this stage. It’s her decision to make.” He essentially delivered a death sentence for Gran as if he was reading a cake recipe.
“So, you’re just going to let her die?” I asked on the verge of tears.
“We can keep her comfortable. She would be allowed to go home if she wanted, and we would assist her with pain management.” He offered me a tissue almost as robotically as he had announced Gran’s “execution.”
“And you guys aren’t going to do anything at all?” I nearly screamed.
“We’ve done all we can at this stage. The treatment options left will either compromise your grandmother’s quality of life or endanger it.” I hated the matter of fact way he approached her murder.
“How long does she have?” I hated the question, but I needed to know.
“A week, possibly six. Less, most likely. It’s hard to say exactly.”
“Oh my god! Are you saying she could die any day now?” I grabbed my hair in both fists. I needed to hit something, hard.
“We’ll do our best to provide pain management,” he repeated.
“Fuck you!” I said through gritted teeth, jumping to my feet. I stuck a finger out at him. “Fuck you and your fucking pain management. I want you to do your job and fucking save her life!”
When I stormed out of his office, he didn’t follow me.
I burst into Gran’s room and tried to plaster a smile on my face. “We’re getting you out of here. Let’s go!” I pulled the blanket down her legs and lowered the rails, my hands trembling so hard I could barely press the lever.
“Okay.” She looked confused, but was already swinging her legs off the side.
Nurse Ratchet rushed in. “Ms. Ashcroft, we need Ms. Darning to sign some forms and arrange for a hospice care provider. The hospital hasn’t released your grandmother yet.”
I whirled on her. “Oh yes they have. The
y released her the minute they said they wouldn’t do anything more for her!”
“Pumpkin…” Gran’s small voice broke through my haze of grief and anger. When I turned, she was patting the bed beside her. “Come, sit with me.
I didn’t think I could do it. It was like a million pounds were strapped to my shoulders, but I managed to take a place beside her without bursting into tears or puking my guts up.
“Gran, it’s okay. I… just… we need to find another hospital or something.”
“Ah, this one’s alright,” she said, stroking my hair. “The bastards have grown on me.”
I leaned into the touch. “Well, that’s generous of you, but we need a second opinion.”
“How many people does it take to screw in a light bulb?” she asked.
I didn’t want to play this game, but I humored her. “I don’t know, Gran, how many?”
“Same number it takes for someone to know when they’re dying. Just one.” She continued to stroke my hair as my eyes flooded with tears.
“No…”
“Oh, honey, I’ve known for a while now. I don’t want to eat bees or zap myself with gamma radiation for a couple more days of feeling like shit. Forever isn’t enough time to be with you, so if I went today, tomorrow, or a million years from now, it still would never be enough time.”
“Gran—”
She shushed me. “I want to see you get married, have kids, be a grandmother, be famous. You know, do all your growing up. Just because I’m not here to see it, doesn’t mean I won’t know. You’re all I live for, kiddo. You’re everything. But I can live for you in heaven. I can see you from there. I can even haunt you if I want.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed hard.
It was almost like what she said to me in the dream. A shiver ran up my spine and made me shudder. She pulled me in close.
“I don’t want to let you go,” I choked out through the tears.
“I think it’s time I see my daughter. I’m looking forward to that. I’ve really been missing her.” She squeezed my hand again. “And don’t worry, I’m not going today. I got a few good days in me. We’ll do it up.”
I thought of the million dollars and how we could now “do it up” in style.
“Guess what, Gran.”
“What, sweetie?”
“I sold my paintings. I can quit the diner, so I’ll be able to be with you. Take care of you.”
She smiled, showing all of her dentures. “Well, you’re getting famous already. I’m so glad I get to see that. Gonna see you quit that shithole too, my life’s complete.”
I grinned. “Yeah, quitting that shithole will be fun.”
“Let’s say a proper fuck you to mortality and eat bad stuff, watch scary movies, and cuddle,” Gran proclaimed in her adorable, perfectly imperfect way.
“Okay, let’s do it!” Somehow, she rallied me, and I was there, ready to say goodbye, even though I had no idea how I’d ever manage without her.
The first thing we did when the hospital finally released Gran was go to Baskin-Robbins. She got a triple scoop of ice cream — Jamoca Almond Fudge, Pralines and Cream, and Mint Chocolate Chip. She only ate part of it, but if we were flying the bird at mortality, she was doing it in grand style.
She also listened in to my phone call with Ma when I quit my job at the diner. I didn’t give them too much information because they already had about a week’s worth of great gossip to chew on. Rumor had it, I was sleeping with KP and we had a fight, which was why he came back to the restaurant. I was pregnant with his baby, but I, being the bitch I was, didn’t want it. He—according to them—had bought me an apartment in Manhattan and I was going to move there any day now.
What crazy nonsense, and the crazier thing was, they all believed it. I was just happy to be out of there.
I didn’t quit my job at the center. It was only a few days a week and I loved working with the kids. I needed something to help me keep my head on straight and Gran and I both agreed I needed them. As soon as I got Gran settled in her room, I told her about KP. I expected to get a tongue whipping, but she was thrilled.
“You don’t think I’m being stupid?” I asked.
“Hell, child, love is stupid,” she told me as she started getting groggy and tired.
“Well, I’m not in love,” I confessed.
“Oh yes you are,” she rebutted, “you just don’t know it yet.”
I started to argue, but she closed her eyes and I left her to rest. I spent the rest of the night looking at our old photo albums and crying.
The next morning, a hospice nurse named Athena came to the door. She was a beautiful woman in her late thirties, robust, dark-skinned, and oozing love.
“What do I need to do?” I asked after our introductions, terrified to hear the answer.
Gran may have made her peace with dying, but I sure hadn’t.
“Since it’s just you caring for your grandmother, we’ll have a nurse here throughout most of the day. It will usually be me or my partner Bernard,” she said kindly.
I still felt like I was in the twilight zone.
“What about when I have to go to work?” I asked.
“Leave your schedule with me, and we’ll make sure that Ms. Darning has care.” Her tone was so angelic it hypnotized me into a feeling of safety and wellness.
I’d planned on cancelling with KP, but after being assured by Athena that she would take good care of Gran, I went ahead with my plans.
Leaving my grandmother in Athena’s capable hands, I waited for KP to pick me up for the first day of my painting assignment. The Bentley pulled up in front of our house, but surprisingly, KP was driving. I got into the car feeling sad and overwhelmed. KP immediately noticed my distress.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked with a note of true kindness and interest.
“No,” I assured him. “I just got some bad news. I’ll be okay.”
“Do you want to do this another day? There’s no time pressure. We can do this later if you want.”
I took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
“How about a little music,” he offered.
I smiled and closed my eyes. “That would be great.”
I was trying to shake off my sadness, but it was hard to do until he put on the music. Then the music began to rock and I laughed.
“Abba?” I couldn’t believe him. I’d pictured him a snooty jazz or opera kind of guy.
He just smiled this enormous grin, tapping the steering wheel to Dancing Queen.
I shook my head. My life just got that much weirder. But within fifteen minutes of entering the vehicle, we were both moving to the music and singing like bohemians. I had a pretty good voice, which I was rockin’ because it felt so good. He didn’t have a good voice at all, but he was rockin’ it anyway. It made me laugh. Laughing felt right.
He pulled up to the Harbor House Adult Care Facility For People With Psychological Disabilities, and I was immediately intrigued. A valet instantly came to his driver’s side door to take the car. The man knew KP by name and was very friendly with him. The same with the front desk staff, who greeted KP warmly as he introduced me to them.
“Wenton’s house is just down this way,” KP said as I followed him out of the main building.
“Does he work here?” I asked, then realized the question might be inappropriate.
“I’m sure he thinks he does,” he answered with a laugh.
We walked down a paved pathway to an adorable little cottage. KP didn’t bother knocking on the door, just walked in.
“Hey, bro,” he yelled, “I brought a surprise for you.” He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t get many visitors. Even the Amazon delivery guy is a surprise for him.”
Within moments, a very tall, remarkably slight man with an infectious grin ambled over to KP, in a valiant attempt to run.
“KP,” he squealed, clearly thrilled to see his brother.
I grinned,
in love with him immediately. This man was very special. Not just as one would define a person with special needs, but special as in glowing with happiness. He was all love. It radiated from every inch of his body.
“Here you are, here you are, here you are!” he announced with unwavering joy.
“I want you to meet my friend.” KP gestured to me. “This is Caitlyn. She’s going to paint your picture.”
“The pretty girl from the photo,” he shouted, “the prettiest one.” Then I was scooped into an embrace, and I hugged him back. Yes, it was love at first sight.
The cottage was quaint and small. The walls were natural wood and there was a great view from a picture window in the sitting area. On every inch of available space were artifacts and items a teenage boy would find fascinating: football jerseys, signed guitars, rock and roll posters, production stills from fantasy and sci-fi film movies signed by directors. There were also signed footballs and soccer balls encased in glass. The place was a playground for a hypothetically very rich, very spoiled teenage boy. To look at Wenton, though, who was clearly in his late twenties or early thirties, he was a sweet-spirited person who seemed to grab hold of the good things in life vivaciously.
“Yep, Wenton, this is her,” KP confirmed.
“See, see!” Wenton raced to get his cell phone. He scrolled through the pictures and mumbled to himself, noting each one as he swiped past them. “Here it is! The prettiest girl in the world.”
He was smiling from ear to ear when he showed me the selfie of KP and me at the diner.
“What is this?” I asked Wenton as nicely as I could, trying not to let on that it made me feel weird that he had my picture in his phone.
I was feeling a little off-center and slightly bamboozled by the two brothers. Wenton clearly had some cognitive delays, so I didn’t want to fault him for his overexaggeration. However, it felt very contrived.
“It’s a picture of the prettiest girl in the world,” Wenton answered.
I lifted a brow to KP, and he just motioned for us to sit at the small living space near the picture window.
“Wenton has been sending me on a wild goose chase of sorts since we were young,” he prefaced.
