Page 8 of Mechanic

Navigating the empty hallways, the only sound is the clicking of our shoes. The silence is worrying me.

After reaching the locker room, I whirl on Shawna as soon as the door clicks shut.

“Shawna, what the hell is going on?”

“You might want to sit down,” she says, tears welling in her eyes.

Humoring her, I flop down on the nearest spot. Shawna starts pacing, wringing her hands together.

“Shawna, please. What happened? Why did you pull me off the floor?” My voice is pleading at this point, but I don’t care. Something is seriously wrong.

She stops pacing, taking my hands in hers as she crouches in front of me.

“I am so sorry, Toni,” she says, her voice strained as the tears break free from her eyes.

It takes a moment for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. Only one other person would bring the woman in front of me to tears.

“Gram,” I whisper reverently.

Tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision as they track down my cheeks. My hands fly to cover my mouth, and my head moves from side to side in denial. The casino’s number and Shawna’s name are listed with the home since I can’t carry my cell phone while on the floor. Because of this, it sometimes takes hours before I have an opportunity to call them back in an emergency.

Shawna pulls me into a tight hug, and I lose control of my emotions. Breaking down into sobs, Shawna lets me cry on her shoulder, soaking her shirt with my tears.

Unsure how much time has passed, I pull away, wiping the wetness from my cheeks with the back of my hand. Ignoring the black streaks marring my skin, I hiccup out my question, making the words barely understandable.

“Wha-what ha-happened?”

Shawna heaves a sigh. “She took a nap after lunch. When they went to serve her dinner, she wouldn’t wake up,” Shawna says softly, holding back more of her own tears. “I’m sorry, Antonia, but your Gram is gone.”

Both of us cling to each other, black streaks tracking down both of our faces.

“Come on,” she says. “You have things to do. Go home and remember the happy times with her. I will check in with you later on.”

Opening my mouth to object, Shawna holds her hand up to stop me, shaking her head “no” to emphasize her words.

“You need time to grieve. I will make sure that your shifts are covered for the next few days. Give yourself at least that much.” She raises an eyebrow at me, expecting an argument.

Bobbing my head up in acquiescence is the only response I give, afraid that if I try speaking, the tears will let loose again. Rising to my feet, I move to my locker to change back into my street clothes. It takes effort to peel myself out of the tight uniform, as the silence in the room gives me too much time to think about Gram.

The ride home is just as much of a blur as leaving the casino; the last thing I remember is putting my uniform in my locker. I’m not even sure if I remembered to put the lock on. Somehow, I manage to hold back the overwhelming sense of loss until I am safely ensconced behind the doors of my apartment.

Flopping onto my bed and rolling to my side, I hug a throw pillow tightly to my chest as the dam breaks. My body racks with sobs as I mourn the loss of my grandmother.

The past three days have been pure torture.

First, the nursing home was anything but sympathetic. When I arrived to clean out Gram’s room and collect her personal belongings, they handed me a bag and a box.

Before I got a chance to question what was happening, they coldly informed me that her stuff was in my hands. Her room was already occupied by someone else.

While ushering me to the door, they said that if anything else was discovered, they would let me know, but I am not holding out hope.

Secondly, dealing with the funeral home. We have no other family. Most of Gram’s friends have already passed or live in nursing homes themselves. The cost of a viewing and burial just seemed like a waste of money for just me.

Sure, Shawna would have supported me. Possibly, another co-worker or two would show up out of obligation.

Nah, having Gram cremated was the best way to go.

Lastly was class. Trying to concentrate was a joke. Several of the instructors reprimanded me. They were slightly more sympathetic once they heard the reason for my distraction, but not much.

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