Page 9 of Trailer Park Billionaire
Too quiet.
I hold my breath and slowly step out of the lift, then turn left. My grandpa’s door is ajar. A cone of light escapes the frame, and with it, I feel something leave my body.
The elevator closes behind me with a low rumble as it continues up the levels. Somehow, my breathing returns and steadies. My knees work almost as well as Mr. Bearer’s. Slowly, I walk over to the open door and find exactly what Iexpectedfeared: a group of people gathered around my grandpa, who is lying in his bed.
An EMT is putting some medical device back into a bright orange bag. Another wipes some sweat from his forehead usinghis arm. My grandpa’s girlfriend, Robyn, stands to the left, covering her mouth with both hands.
Fuck.
When I step into the apartment, another woman turns around first—Sienna Grayson. She runs the place.
“Helena,” she says gently, walking over and placing an arm around me. “I am so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, for lack of better things to say. I step closer as the little group parts to make room.
He doesn’t look peaceful.
His lips are slightly parted—not in a sigh of relief, but frozen mid-grimace, as if he had tried to say something but ran out of time. His eyes are closed too tightly, the skin around them creased—like the weight of his struggle is still clinging to him. His face is pale, waxy. There’s no serenity in it, no grace—only the remnants of a pain that didn’t have the courtesy to leave with him.
“What happened?” I ask, my face burning hot, as a tightness begins to build in my chest—something heavy and all too familiar pressing down.
Sienna sighs. “Well, Robyn was with him when it happened. She called me, and I called the ambulance.”
My gaze wanders from my grandpa to the man in the blue uniform. “Heart attack, most likely,” he answers with trained compassion. “I am sorry for your loss.”
My eyes wander back to my grandpa.
“If it’s any consolation, it’s a good way to go. He didn’t suffer much.”
Didn’t suffer much.
Just some suffering.
His body says otherwise.
I step closer.
His face is still contorted.
He still doesn’t look peaceful.
I kneel down and reach for his hand.
It’s unexpectedly warm.
Not like a corpse.
Not yet.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What now?” My voice suddenly sounds distant, as though it’s coming from someone else.
It’s quiet for a moment. When Sienna responds, I can see the entire room from above, as if I am just hovering there, observing from outside my body, kind of like he might be now.
“You take all the time you need to say goodbye,” she says gently, her voice echoing. “We will handle the rest. There will be some paperwork and some decisions to be made in regard to the funeral, but that can wait until you’re ready.”
From above, I watch as Sienna signals everyone to leave. She is the last person in the room with us. With me.
“Would you like me to stay?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, causing me to snap back into my body.
