And wait.
A pit of dread forms in my stomach as I crack open her door. She hasn’t moved. I tiptoe to her bedside and put my hand on her chest above the covers. Nothing. I turn on the lamp beside her bed. She’s paler than normal, and when I touch her hand, it’s cold.
I sink to the floor. She’s gone—I know it without even calling an ambulance. The room spins and a weight falls on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I look at her again. She’s so peaceful, her white hair spread out on her pillow like an angel.
This cannot be happening. I know no life without my nana. I can’t function without her. I don’t even know what to do in this moment without her to tell me how to handle it. My brain is firing off in so many directions I’m frozen in place.
I don’t know how long I sit on the floor. An endless stream of tears rolls down my face, but I’m not sobbing. I’m in shock, though I shouldn’t be. This has been a long time coming, but I didn’t want to believe it could really happen. How can she be taken from me?
I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
I take my phone from the pocket of my pajama pants. My hands are shaking so badly I drop it twice before I’m able to call 911. The operator is a girl I went to high school with, so I don’t even have to give her the address. While I wait for the ambulance, I sit on the side of the bed with Nana, stroking her hair and focusing on my breathing.
Should I call Rhodes? My friends? My mom? The funeral home? I’m not prepared for this. I simply don’t know what motions to go through or how to process. Nana always took care of everything. She knew what to do, no matter the situation.
I don’t even know where to begin.
Once the coroner and paramedics arrive, I sit alone in the living room while they tend to Nana in the bedroom. I’m on the edge of the sofa, arms wrapped around my stomach and rocking back and forth while people hurry past. The coroner, who also runs the only funeral home in Magnolia Row, stops to extend his condolences and asks me to call him the next day to go over arrangements. I nod with a jerky, stiff neck, still in shock. He asks me if he can call anyone for me, but I say no. I don’t even know why I say no. It pops out of my mouth like someone else is saying it.
When they take her out of the house, I turn my head and close my eyes. I can’t see a lumpy white sheet and know the most important person in my life is leaving this house for good. It’s too much to wrap my head around, an image I don’t want burned into my memory.
Everyone who came to help is incredibly kind, but once Nana is in the ambulance, they say goodbye.
And I am left with silence.
My ears ring from the eerie quiet in the house. Suddenly my chest feels heavy and I’m struggling to breathe. The dam breaks and I begin sobbing so hard I sink to my knees and curl up on the carpet. All the anxiety I’d felt throughout Nana’s illness, her hospitalization, and everything catches up with me in a rush of uncontrollable tears. When I finally catch my breath, I look around the house and tremble. This is my new reality.
I’m completely and utterly alone.
I look at my phone. I should call one of my girlfriends to come over. I know any of them would get out of bed in a heartbeat to be with me, but all I want is Rhodes. Even though he’s six hours away in Nashville, I dial his number.
RHODES
I’m asleep in my hotel room on Broadway when my phone rings. I only half-acknowledge it, part of me thinking the buzzing is a dream.
When it doesn’t stop, I rub my eyes and look at the screen, which is blurry without my contacts. The sound of laughter and drunken voices from the nearby country bars echoes below my window as I stare at Micah’s picture illuminated in the darkness. It’s three in the morning. Something must be wrong.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice tired. All I hear on the other end are sobs. Micah’s sobs.
My heart drops. I know what this means.
The last few times I’ve been to Magnolia Row, her grandmother had been looking more and more frail. I was afraid she wasn’t long for this world. That’s the only explanation for the hysterical cries I’m hearing on the other end of the line.
“Micah,” I say, as soft and smooth as I can. “Micah, it’s okay. I’m here.” She keeps crying. I repeat, over and over, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
When her breath stabilizes, she finally speaks. “I’m sorry to call you so late,” she says with a shaky voice. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know, sweetie. Calm down. We’ll figure it out.”
She sighs hard. “I think I’m in shock,” she says.
“It’s okay. That’s normal.”
“They took her away, and I’m sitting here alone. You’re the only person I could think of to call.”
I sit up in bed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I say. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
This makes her start crying hard again, and I simply hold the phone and listen to her until she’s ready to talk. God, I wish I hadn’t gone to this stupid wedding. I should’ve known something like this would happen, and now I’m six hours away.
