Page 2 of His Haunted Desire
Truthfully, there are already tears in my eyes. I’ve tried to make myself hard-as-nails, but far too often, I end up like putty. Life weighs too heavily sometimes. Outside, thunder cracks, and I flinch as an image from Mom’s open casket bursts brightly in my memory.
“I’m sorry,” Grandma mutters, her slur only slightly altering her words. “You know how busy Halloween is. It keeps me afloat for the rest of the year.”
“I can help with the costumes. I’ve already explained to my teacher about the call from the hospital. Seriously, Grandma – they said to take as long as I need.”
Grandma sighs. “I don’t like this.”
“I’m in my third year. I’ve got a track record. They know I wouldn’t leave unless it was serious.”
“But—”
“If it takes me ditching college for the rest of my life?—”
“Don’t say that!”
“To stop you from checking out of the hospitalwhen you’ve had a stroke, then I’ll do it. Call my bluff. Please. See if I’m joking.”
When she rolls her eyes, she looks half her age. Like a sassy teenager. “You’re the boss.”
There’s some truth in that. After Mom and Dad died, I moved in with Grandma. Sometimes it was like the roles were reversed. I’d have to make sure she got enough sleep and didn’t work herself down to a stub. I don’t resent it. She’s family. But it can be difficult.
“Anyway, enough of this depressing nonsense. Tell me, how’s school?”
I spend some time talking about my fashion course, which she always loves hearing about. Soon, she leans against the pillows and her eyes grow heavy. I gently let go of her hand and step outside to call Ellie, my best friend.
“Hey, how is she? I’ve been worried sick,” Ellie says.
“She’s okay… ish. She thought she was going to check herself out today.”
“That’s nuts. But that’s Margot. I’m surprised she even let them take her to a hospital.”
“I know, right? She’s sleeping now.”
“Okay, hon. Let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
“I’m just around the corner, remember.AndI work from home. I’m here for you. Both of you.”
“Ellie, thank you. I mean that.”
“Don’t mention it,” she says. “Are you outside?”
She sounds surprised, and that in itself is no surprise. She knows how much I hate storms. I stare at the raging swirls of rain and the bare trees swaying in the wind at the end of the parking lot.
“Trying to overcome my baby-ness, I suppose.”
“You’ve got trauma. Cut yourself some slack.”
“I’m too busy for trauma.”
“I wish that was how it worked.”
“Yeah,” I say grimly. “Me too. Anyway, I’m going to head back in.”
“Talk later. And call me if you needanything.”
I go back to the room, sitting next to Grandma. The six-hour drive from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City has taken its toll. I fall into a dreamless sleep – always grateful for that; better than nightmares – and wake to Grandma talking fervently with someone.
