Page 98 of You're So Vine
“Okay, team,” she says, in the bracing voice of a coach in the locker room. “Let’s do this.”
She points at Nate. “Tissues?”
“Check,” he replies.
“Smelling salts?”
“How about M&Ms from the vending machine?”
“Done.” Shelby makes a circling gesture with her hand. “Let’s roll.”
Nate leads the way and we’re happy to follow. The hospice is surrounded by gardens with paths wide enough for wheelchairs. In warmer months, I can imagine how nice it would be to sit outside, feel the sun on your face. Before I realize I’m doing it, I take Cam’s hand, and he looks at me in surprise.
“I’m so grateful for you,” I tell him. “So grateful for everything.”
His warm, slow smile is exactly what I need to see, and his words exactly what I need to hear.
“Love you, Ava Durant.”
“Love you, too, Cam Hollander.” I squeeze his hand. “Don’t let go now.”
Nate’s found the front desk and is talking to the receptionist, who looks a million times nicer than Doc Wilson’s. The whole hospice has an air of serenity and kindness about it. No one wants to die, but I can see the benefit of ending your days in a place like this. Peacefully, painlessly, surrounded by people who genuinely care.
Cam’s hand in mine reminds me that while the hospice isn’t a hospital, he might be finding it tough. But when I glance up at him to check, there’s no sign of tension. In fact, he’s smiling, watching an old couple shuffling up the corridor, arm in arm. It’s impossible to tell which of them might be resident here, maybe both? I’ve heard plenty of stories about couples who’ve died within hours of each other, not wanting to live another day without their beloved.
Dammit, I’m getting super emotional. But Nate’s coming back. No time to cry.
“Down the corridor, second room on the left,” he says. And to Shelby, adds, “There’s no snack vending machine. But I could bring you a cup of bad coffee with a lot of sugar in it?”
Shelby kisses his cheek. “You’re all the sugar I need,” she says, making Nate blush. “No, I’m ready. Ready to meet my aunt.”
Even though Debra is no relation of mine or Cam’s, I feel a surge of nerves. This is a big deal for everyone, and I really hope it’s going to go okay. Well, as okay as it can in these sad circumstances.
We find the room, and I’m surprised to see it’s big enough to hold four beds. I’d expected that everyone here would have their own room. Maybe some of them do, but here, the curtains are pulled around two of the beds while the two nearest the window are open to view. There’s a woman in one, with a whole group around her. They’re laughing and joking, and I can see empty champagne glasses on the bedside table. Mimosas for breakfast, perhaps? And why not? Who says dying has to be somber?
The bed we’re headed for is opposite. I see Lee, seated right up by the pillow end, with Jackson next to her. The woman in the bed is wearing a wool hat, even though the temperature in here must be seventy-five at least. Lee looks up as we approach. An odd expression flits across her face. I almost feel like she’d rather we weren’t here, but then she smiles warmly, and stands to greet us.
She hugs Shelby first, mainly because Shelby throws herself at her mother. Then she hugs Nate, me, and Cam, in that order. I admit I count how long her embrace with Cam lasts, but it’s quick. Jackson hugs Shelby but he settles for “Hi” to the rest of us. And now the welcome is over, and the only person left to meet is—
“Hello,” says the woman in the bed. “I’m Debra.”
Her voice is soft and slow, as if she’s trying to conserve energy. Under the hat, I glimpse reddish-gray hair. She’s lying sunken in the bed, her arms flat on top of the blankets, her whole posture one of intense weariness. Her skin, however, is luminous, like she’s lit from within. And she does look amazingly like Lee.
Shelby sits in the chair her mother just vacated. “I’m Shelby. I’m your niece.”
The faintest of smiles. “I can tell.”
Debra’s head turns toward the rest of us. If her body is failing, her mind certainly isn’t. Her gaze is sharp and assessing. And, if I’m not wrong, a little amused.
“Friend Cam,” she acknowledges. “And you two must be Nate and Ava.”
When all we do is stand there, Debra makes a “tchah” sound.
“You can’t catch what I have,” she says. “So don’t hover. Pull up a chair.”
The group across the way seems to have commandeered all the spares, so Nate and Cam go searching, then come back with a stack and do their best to slot them evenly around the bed. Lee takes the chair next to Shelby, but the rest of us hesitate … is there a seating protocol? Debra makes the “tchah” sound again, and we grab the nearest chair and sit our butts down.
There’s a strained silence. None of us knows what to say. We all look to Lee, but she lowers her eyes with a quick shake of her head. Embarrassed, maybe? Or like us, at a loss for the right words. When you’re in the company of someone who has only a short time left on this Earth, every subject seems trivial. But equally, you can’t wait too long to say the things that need to be said.
