Fifteen minutes later,I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Nate’s Range Rover. The silence stretches between us, with nothing but the sound of his engine humming and his blinker occasionally going off. Of course, he doesn’t even put on the radio to cut the tension because he’s a psychopath. I reach out to turn it on, but he moves my hand away.
“Em…”
“Not now, Nate. Let’s just see her.”
He nods his head with uncertainty and moves his hand aside, allowing me to access the touch screen. As I click on his favorites, the car immediately fills with the sound of electric guitars and steady drumbeats. Classic rock, of course. I roll my eyes, but it’s better than the deafening silence. I don’t know this song, but Nate taps his fingers on the steering wheel and subtly nods his head to the beat while mouthing the lyrics. Sometimes it feels like music is the only thing that brings him joy these days. He taught himself how to play the guitar when he was in middle school, but he gave it up when he joined the football team. Now he doesn’t have either.
“What do you want to listen to?” he asks, glancing over at me. He knows we don’t have the same taste in music.
“This is fine,” I reply flatly.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Em,” he says. “You have to know that’s the last thing I would ever want.”
He looks over at me to gauge my reaction, but I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t want to see the regret or pleading in his eyes. It doesn’t matter if he meant to or not. The fact is, he set me up to fail. I guess he was set up to fail too. He was still a kid, raising a kid. But he grew up. At some point, he had to have realized he was hurting me more than helping.
I say nothing as we pull into the parking lot of Gram’s facility, but when Nate goes to get out, I stop him.
“You can talk to her first,” I say. “But I don’t want to be in there together. If she’s lucid, she’ll be able to sense something is up, and she doesn’t need to be involved in this. It’s between you and me. Tell her I’ll be there soon and make up an excuse to leave when I come in.”
He says nothing but nods his head. I know I’m breaking his heart. He’s wanted it to be the three of us again for so long, but I need to protect Gram. She doesn’t need to see this.
I wait in the car for a good twenty minutes before I climb out and head into the building. Julia, the nurse who called me earlier, greets me with a smile and nods toward the hallway where Gram's room is located. I come to a halt at the wooden door, which still has the eucalyptus wreath I placed there a couple of months ago. Gram says it has healing properties.
I twist the door handle and push it open, peering inside before I’m noticed. Gram is sitting in her favorite chair in the living area of her studio while Nate is kneeling in front of her, cupping her cheek. He looks like a little boy again, and for a single second I see that childish twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay, get off the floor already,” Gram chides. “Stop fawning. You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”
Nate chuckles and obeys her orders, sitting down in a chair opposite her.
“That’s better,” she says more gently now. “So when am I getting great-grandchildren? You’re getting up there, Nate. And I don’t have forever.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” Nate says, laughing. I can’t remember the last time he seemed so at ease.
She’s his safe place too.
“What are you waiting for, then?”
I smile to myself. Gram is nothing if not persistent.
“I’ll work on it,” Nate says. “Promise.”
She seems content with that answer.
“And where is this sister of yours?”
“She should be?—”
“Right here, Gram,” I call out, making myself known. I give Nate a look, and he stands, grabbing his phone from his pocket and pretending to answer it.
“I have to take this,” he says. “I’ll be back.” He looks back at Gram, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“I love you,” he tells her.
“I love you too, baby,” she says as he gives my shoulder a quick brush and walks out.
Gram turns her attention to me. “Eavesdropping again, Emmy?” Aside from Opa, she’s the only person who has ever called me that. And I’ve kept it that way on purpose.
I arch my eyebrow in confirmation. “Maybe.”