Page 57 of Goodbye Again
“HEY, GRAMMA,” I SAYwith my face pressed against the dewy grass.
She grips the white railing as she makes her way down the porch steps. “What on earth is happening to you?”
“I don’t know. My neck hurts. I can’t get up. I think I’ll be dead soon,” I reply, a blade of grass enters my mouth but I don’t have the energy or care to remove it. “How’s heaven?”
“Oh, honey, you’re burning up.” She cups a warm, soft hand over my face. “Come on, let’s get you up.”
“Is this how it feels to die?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she says with a soft chuckle.
My face twists. “But aren’t you dead?” I ask, and if I had the energy I’d laugh at my absurdity. She isn’t dead in this place. Here, she is simply a figment of my imagination. A memory brought to life to bring me comfort.
“Don’t worry about such things, child.” Her voice is like velvet. Somehow, she manages to carry me onto the porch and sit me on the rocking chair, though it doesn’t start rocking. It seems to glide. My eyes open and close, my head feeling like the weight of a thousand bricks as it bobs. “I know you feel like you could die right now, but you won’t. You’ll be okay. I promise. I’ve got you.”
My consciousness goes from the porch to the stark white hallway of a hospital, then back to Gramma’s porch on a warm summer evening. Flashing back and forth.
“Or, he’s got you...” she says, and my eyes go wide.
“Who?”
thirteen
WELL, GRAMMA WAS RIGHT. I didn’t die.
But I do have viral meningitis, which sounds as bad as it feels. Though, apparently, viral is the kind that isn’t contagious.
“I know it isn’t what you’d expect, but bacterial is the super contagious one that shuts down college dorm rooms,” the nurse, Robin, tells me while she switches out my IV for more fluids. I watch how quickly the drops fall into the tube. “Oh my, honey, no wonder your blood pressure is so low. You’re very dehydrated.”
I scrunch my nose. “I slept most of yesterday. I guess I didn’t drink much.”
She gives me an empathetic nod. “How’s your pain level?”
“I feel like my neck is going to break in half,” I mutter.
“Want something stronger? Because I can make that happen,” she sings the last part of the sentence, and I try to smile.
“No, I already feel like I’m hallucinating,” I say, eyeing JP in the corner.
He starts to stand. “I can leave—”
“No,” I cut in. “Please stay.”
The nurse smiles at the both of us. “Well, let me know if you need anything. In the meantime, try to rest, and I’ll be back to check your fluids.”
My gaze immediately finds JP’s as soon as she leaves. Despite me willing it not to, my heart warms at the sight of him inthe uncomfortable hospital chair in a t-shirt and joggers, a backwards Cubs hat, and a small smile on his face.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I mutter, covering my face with my hands.
The bed shifts as he moves closer and sits next to me. “It’s not embarrassing to get sick.”
I peek through my fingers. “I have throw-up breath.”
He laughs, and his gaze falls to the floor as he drags his hand over the back of his neck. He looks sleepy. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost midnight. We’ve been here for a couple of hours.
“What made you stop by?” I ask, feeling well enough to have a conversation.
“Ellie mentioned her therapy was cancelled and while I was hopeful you dropped her as a patient”—he flashes a mischievous grin—“she quickly informed me you were out sick for the week, so I texted you to see if you needed anything. When you didn’t answer, I decided to stop by with pho.”
