Read Online Yours Always by Rhonda Dennis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rhonda Dennis
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way.”
“He’s smiling,” Fletcher says quietly.
“What?”
“Your grandfather. He died smiling.”
Slowly, I pivot around, my gaze fixed downward. Once I’m lined up with the foot of the bed, I gingerly will my eyes to move upwards until I see him. The nurse had removed the oxygen mask from his face, and it now rests on the table beside him. His hands are carefully crossed over his upper abdomen, and he’s still in the same semi-reclined position he’d asked to be put in a few hours before. Despite my original hunch that Fletcher said such a thing in an earnest effort to provide comfort, I learn that my guess is wrong. Indeed, a very peaceful looking Grampy, head positioned towards the sofa Fletcher and I recently vacated, has a soft smile upon his face.
“It’s a relief that his death wasn’t agonizing. I have to go now,” I say.
Fletcher reaches out for me, and I firmly snatch my hand away from his. He holds his hands up and takes a slight step back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “I just need to be away from here. Now.”
My palm rests on the door handle when Fletcher asks me to stop. He’s so close that I swear his warm breath is brushing across the nape of my neck. Flipping around to confront him, I’m about to tear into him when he gestures for me to hear him out. Rolling my eyes upwards, I stay, but I make sure he knows it’s under duress.
“Would you like some time with him—alone?”
“No. I was here when he needed me. He’s gone, and so am I.” Yanking the door open, I dash down the hall and nearly tackle an elderly woman using a walker. I offer her a half-assed apology before barreling into the parking lot. Fumbling for my keys, my heart sinks when I realize they aren’t in my pocket. In my haste, I’d forgotten everything behind—my purse, my keys, the magazines and books that Fletcher brought, as well as Grampy’s personal items. Inhaling deeply, I push aside the gut-wrenching pain and growing discomfort.
Suck it up, buttercup. If you want to leave, you’ll have to march back inside and claim your things. I do just that and meet a confused Fletcher in the hallway.
“I forgot my purse,” I explain.
“Yeah, I was on my way to find you,” he says, holding several bags.
“What’s all of that?” I ask.
“Your things, your grandfather’s things, and some stuff the nurse brought in after you left. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I nod, grateful that I don’t have to face Grampy again, yet I’m reluctant to share that gratitude with Fletcher. Instead, head held high and shoulders back, I lead the way to the parking lot. My trunk opens once I push the button, and Fletcher places the bags inside for me.
“I’m sure you want to be alone, but promise me that you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will,” I answer curtly.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? I don’t mind bringing you home.”
“I’m absolutely fine. Thanks again for staying with me last night,” I say, ducking into the driver’s seat.
“You’re welcome. Drive safely.”
I close the door, and I’m out of the parking lot before Fletcher makes it to his bike.
Though I’m utterly exhausted, I can’t go home. Not yet. Damn this constant internal struggle! My body wants me to feel, to mourn, but my mind won’t let me. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this position. Patience is what I need to get through it. It might take a little time, but the sadness will eventually disappear into the indifference that I consider status quo.
I make one stop at a nearby strip mall before continuing on to the cemetery. The route is so familiar that it’s as though the car’s on autopilot. Enter the second gate, pass three cross streets, slight curve to the right, fourth oak tree, and there it is. I pull the blue teddy bear from the bag and lower myself to place it next to the marble cross that adorns
“He’s smiling,” Fletcher says quietly.
“What?”
“Your grandfather. He died smiling.”
Slowly, I pivot around, my gaze fixed downward. Once I’m lined up with the foot of the bed, I gingerly will my eyes to move upwards until I see him. The nurse had removed the oxygen mask from his face, and it now rests on the table beside him. His hands are carefully crossed over his upper abdomen, and he’s still in the same semi-reclined position he’d asked to be put in a few hours before. Despite my original hunch that Fletcher said such a thing in an earnest effort to provide comfort, I learn that my guess is wrong. Indeed, a very peaceful looking Grampy, head positioned towards the sofa Fletcher and I recently vacated, has a soft smile upon his face.
“It’s a relief that his death wasn’t agonizing. I have to go now,” I say.
Fletcher reaches out for me, and I firmly snatch my hand away from his. He holds his hands up and takes a slight step back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “I just need to be away from here. Now.”
My palm rests on the door handle when Fletcher asks me to stop. He’s so close that I swear his warm breath is brushing across the nape of my neck. Flipping around to confront him, I’m about to tear into him when he gestures for me to hear him out. Rolling my eyes upwards, I stay, but I make sure he knows it’s under duress.
“Would you like some time with him—alone?”
“No. I was here when he needed me. He’s gone, and so am I.” Yanking the door open, I dash down the hall and nearly tackle an elderly woman using a walker. I offer her a half-assed apology before barreling into the parking lot. Fumbling for my keys, my heart sinks when I realize they aren’t in my pocket. In my haste, I’d forgotten everything behind—my purse, my keys, the magazines and books that Fletcher brought, as well as Grampy’s personal items. Inhaling deeply, I push aside the gut-wrenching pain and growing discomfort.
Suck it up, buttercup. If you want to leave, you’ll have to march back inside and claim your things. I do just that and meet a confused Fletcher in the hallway.
“I forgot my purse,” I explain.
“Yeah, I was on my way to find you,” he says, holding several bags.
“What’s all of that?” I ask.
“Your things, your grandfather’s things, and some stuff the nurse brought in after you left. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I nod, grateful that I don’t have to face Grampy again, yet I’m reluctant to share that gratitude with Fletcher. Instead, head held high and shoulders back, I lead the way to the parking lot. My trunk opens once I push the button, and Fletcher places the bags inside for me.
“I’m sure you want to be alone, but promise me that you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will,” I answer curtly.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? I don’t mind bringing you home.”
“I’m absolutely fine. Thanks again for staying with me last night,” I say, ducking into the driver’s seat.
“You’re welcome. Drive safely.”
I close the door, and I’m out of the parking lot before Fletcher makes it to his bike.
Though I’m utterly exhausted, I can’t go home. Not yet. Damn this constant internal struggle! My body wants me to feel, to mourn, but my mind won’t let me. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this position. Patience is what I need to get through it. It might take a little time, but the sadness will eventually disappear into the indifference that I consider status quo.
I make one stop at a nearby strip mall before continuing on to the cemetery. The route is so familiar that it’s as though the car’s on autopilot. Enter the second gate, pass three cross streets, slight curve to the right, fourth oak tree, and there it is. I pull the blue teddy bear from the bag and lower myself to place it next to the marble cross that adorns
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