Page 75 of Summer Romance
She lets out a little laugh. “Defensive.”
“Exactly, because what I’d be saying is, ‘Frannie, I don’t think you can handle the life you built.’ Or, worse, ‘I have a better idea of how your life should go than you do.’ Which I never would because you are so good at life, but if I said it, it might shake your confidence. My mom worried that I couldn’t handle my marriage, until I actually couldn’t. I think we kind of need to trust that people can figure their lives out. And Ethan’s life is incredible.” My voice falters, and I look down at my coffee.
“You love him,” she says.
I look up with the intention of protesting. But of course I love him, and it doesn’t matter that she knows anyway. “That’s why I’d never let him come here and lose all that.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Phyllis. It says “Come” followed by the laugh-till-you-cry emoji.
I am inmy car speeding home, and I know there is nothing to laugh about. I find her sitting in her armchair with the remote control on the TV tray and a glass of iced tea spilled on the floor.
“Phyllis,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“Sit.”
I do. “Do you need an ambulance?”
She looks at me sideways. There’s a DNR on her refrigerator specifying that there will be no ambulances. No surgeries, no drama.
“Tell me,” I say.
“I’m slowing,” she says. “It started last night, and I want to get in bed, but I can’t get up.”
“Slowing?” I ask, and my voice cracks.
She takes my hand. “This is not the time for you to be afraid. I’m the one dying. You get to stay here with the cute boyfriend.” She smiles at me, a mischievous smile. The generosity of that smile in this moment grips my heart. Also, the fact that I haven’t told her that it’s over between us. I know she’d think I was being a coward.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say. I help her up and drape her arm over my shoulder. She’s so light that I imagine she’s already gone. We walk slowly down the hall to her room past the photos of Sandy and Camille in front of birthday cakes.So many cakes in a lifetime, I think.And also, there are never enough cakes.Neither of us is in any hurry, and I know this is the last time I’m going to see her out of bed. I’ve done this before. I am not ready to lose her, but I’m not going to say so.
I pull back her covers and help her sit. I cradle her legs under one arm and her head under another and lay her down. I cover her up to her shoulders and sit on the bed next to her. “Should I call Sandy?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, and takes my hand. Her hand is warm, her skin paper-thin. Her platinum wedding band is loose onher finger. “You are going to be fine. I’ve lost all of my friends by now, but it was worth having had them. I hope you feel that way about me.”
“Of course I do,” I say, and my voice betrays how afraid I am.
“Oh, Alice. Come on.” She’s smiling again, like this isn’t the scariest thing in the world. “Hand me my water.” I hold it against her lips, and she takes a sip. “And call Sandy.”
I call Sandy from the kitchen and tell her that it’s time to come. I don’t say much more than that, but I’m certain that the tone of my voice conveys how urgent it is.
When I’m back in her room, her eyes are closed. Without thinking about it, I walk around to the other side of the bed and climb in. I know from experience that in the weeks to come I will be longing to be close to her, to feel her still-alive presence next to me. I scoot in next to her and take her in my arms.
“Sweet Alice,” she says, and pats my hand. “I’ve lived alone for thirty years, and I always knew I wouldn’t die alone.”
“Of course not,” I say. “We’re the Sisters. I’m always right here.”
She doesn’t say anything for a while. My mind races to calculate how long it’s going to take Sandy to get here and I worry that I didn’t remind her to call Camille. Of course she called Camille. I try to quiet my mind and calibrate my breathing to Phyllis’s. I think of the chaos around my mom’s last hours and how I was racing around looking for nurses and calling her friends. I almost missed her last moments because I was filling out a form.
“You know you walked right into this,” she says. She’s startled me.
“Into what?”
“You befriended an eighty-six-year-old woman. That’s how old I was when we met. I could have hired someone all these years, but instead we had this life together with our flowers and our eggs.”
“It was the best part of my day on a lot of days.”
She squeezes my hand. “Life’s going to do what life’s going to do, Alice. You might as well have a dog.”
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