Page 9 of His Atonement
And the way Granny talked, the way she remembered every part of Allie's visit, seeing her girls and her husband, recalling everything we did while they stayed with us last weekend.
I should have known this was going to be a shit fucking day.
Day.
Day.
Day.
"Stop it!" I scold myself, and try like hell to refrain from repeating things even in my mind. I try to keep my hands from stacking the shredded paper over and over until it feels right. "Now isn't the time for this shit. Not when you have so much to do, not when you have to call Allie."
But I can't stop.
No, I can't.
I stack the paper five times because I can't do it six, then drop them into the sink before I light a match and torch them.
Then, because I have to, I dump my ice-cold coffee over the flames and proceed to scrub the sink, clean my dishes once, twice, three times but that's not enough.
I move to the counters, the cupboards, the drawers.
Bleach the appliances, the wine rack, the confection table.
I drop to my hands and knees and scour the floor until my fingers bleed.
Then I get up and do it all over again.
And again.
Three times I deep clean the kitchen before someone enters the room.
"Ms. Masters?" Brad, Granny's favorite nurse, says cautiously as his eyes bounce around before landing on me. "Are you ok, honey?"
I get to my feet, fight the urge to start my ritual again and nod. "As ok as I'm gonna get."
He gives me a soft smile, a sad and broken smile. "She's ready."
My heart drops.
Drops right to the pit of my stomach.
She's ready.
She's ready.
She's ready.
"I thought you might want to come say goodbye one more time since…" Brad swallows hard and I have to appreciate his pain for a minute. "Since you won't see her again until she's at the funeral home."
“Yeah." I sigh and move to wash my hands no less than five times. "Just give me a quick minute, I want to call my cousin first."
"Sure, yeah." Another soft smile. "I'll go keep her company while they bring in… while you make your call."
I watch Brad walk out of the kitchen, and picture his steps, the way he takes them with careless ease.
Then I turn back to the counter where my phone has been sitting for the last six hours, and fight the urge to leave it another fucking hour so it's a goddamn odd number.
Odd.
