According to my great-grandfather’s last will and testament, the land can be passed down only to a direct Lachlin descendant. Gran and I are the last of a dying breed. After me, the Lachlins will be extinct.
Glory’s shoulders drop with a long exhale, as if holding the palm of a weak woman is exhausting. She then lovingly rolls Gran’s fingers into a fist. “Yes, she’ll be crossing over soon.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches, and as I open my mouth to tell Glory she’s no longer welcome, Gran’s eyes flutter open. “I want her here.”
I can’t figure out if I’m annoyed that Gran’s been lying there listening or relieved she’s still coherent. Gran looks frail tonight, and if my grandmother has been known for anything, it’s for not being weak. She has a reputation as a kick-ass type of woman. She’s also known as eccentric. That’s a nice word for weird. Kick-ass, eccentric, and weird. Describes her well and it hurts bad in the chest that her body hasn’t kept up with her mind.
Glory leans over the bed, and with a gentle hand, brushes Gran’s short, white hair away from her forehead. “I brought saffron to make tea. It will help clear your centers and connect you better with the universe. Would you like some?”
Gran agrees, and I’m grateful Glory leaves the room. Once she’s down the hall, I scoot to the edge of my seat and readjust Gran’s favorite crocheted blanket so it covers her better. “Are you doing okay?”
She rolls her head in my direction, and I hate how much effort it takes. This isn’t my grandmother. My gran is a woman who laughs too loud, speaks even louder, and who loves me when no one else does. She took me in when I was thrown away, and she’s the only person over the past couple of years I have allowed myself to love.
My throat thickens, and I clear it. Crying’s not my thing, but this is my gran, and without her, I’m nothing. A storm rumbles in the distance.
“Don’t be scared, Jesse.” Her voice cracks on my name.
“I’m too old to be scared of the dark.” I’m teasing her, a reminder of when I was younger and how she would sit up with me on nights when the thunder and lightning felt too close and too dangerous.
“There are different types of fear.”
That I know.
“I was a child when your great-grandma died,” she says. “She died in her bed, in our house, and it scared me, but Daddy told me to not be frightened, because her dying in the house meant I wasn’t alone.”
Good thing we don’t live in her childhood home, the condemned and falling-apart building next to our trailer. Otherwise, I would have grown up with one more ghost rattling around in my mind. There’re enough annoying spirits there already, and the ones that do haunt me have loud voices and strong opinions. Most of them telling me when I look in the mirror how I’m doing everything wrong.
“Don’t be scared of death.”
Death doesn’t bother me. Her dying does.
“I love this land. Almost as much as I love you.” Gran reaches out, a silent request for me to take her hand, and without thought, I do. Her skin is cold and translucent, her grip too weak, and I hold on for more than what I’m worth. “Scatter my ashes next to where your mom is buried.”
Gran doesn’t understand how I’m walking the line of crazy. I can’t comprehend a world where she isn’t here when I return home. A click of her tongue when I show past curfew, a knowing and proud smile when I come in covered in mud after working on our land, a hot oatmeal cookie after a long, hard day…
“Your uncle doesn’t think you’re responsible enough to own the land,” she continues.
My non-blood, married-into-the-family uncle and I share an unusual amount of hate. He doesn’t trust me, I don’t trust him, and he’s made it his full-time job to make my life a living hell. We have to deal with each other because he has power of attorney for Gran.
“He’s wrong,” I say.
“He says you’re more interested in the money than in the legacy.”
“He’s wrong again.” And he needs to keep his mouth shut.
“I know he is,” she says softly, then gasps for air. It’s such a tight wheeze that I breathe in for her and wish that her lungs would fully fill the way mine do. “He doesn’t understand how you love this land. I doubt even I fully understand. There’s a connection between it and you. I see it in your eyes every time you come in from walking through the fields. But I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I say, and the sad flash in her eyes tells me she thinks that’s a lie. “You know this land brings me peace.” And that’s the truth.
When everything in my life has gone to hell, I’ve had this land and Gran. When she passes, the land is all I’ll have left. People look at this ground and see trees, grass, and fields. They see what they think is nothing. They see a backwards life in a technology-driven future.
They don’t see what I see, and what I see is my only shot at happiness. I see something that’s alive, that breathes, and is as much a part of me as my arms and legs. The land doesn’t judge. It doesn’t put expectations upon me I’ll never meet. It accepts. My soul and the land’s soul are intertwined. What happens to it, happens to me. We aren’t separate. We’re one.
“Don’t talk, Gran. You’ll feel better after some sleep, and in the morning, I’ll make you a hot breakfast.”
She studies me, and I’m afraid of what she sees. “I know what the people in town say. I know what some people in our family have said. I’ve told you this for years, but I need you to hear it again: there’s no curse.”
She squeezes my hand, but I can’t speak. Gran being so feeble is already bringing up too many memories of Mom, and the pain in my chest is so intense that a part of me wishes I was the one dying.
“If there was a curse,” she says, “then you wouldn’t be here. You’ve brought me more joy than I should have ever been allowed.”
I lightly chuckle. “You weren’t saying that when Uncle Marshall bailed me out of jail a couple of months ago.”
She laughs and squeezes my hand again. “You’re a challenge, but most things worth loving are.” Her smile fades. “That’s what I want for you. I don’t want you to be scared to love.”
Footsteps approach from the hallway and Glory enters with a steaming teacup. I move to help prop up Gran so she can drink, but she shakes her head. “Let Glory read your palm.”
I tip back the wooden chair I’m in so that it leans against the wall. “You don’t believe there’s a curse, yet you believe she can talk to dead people and see the future?”
“Yes,” Gran says without blinking. “So, give her your hand. I want to know your future.”
“I don’t.” I have no interest in knowing anything beyond today.
“That sounds like you believe I have the gift.” Glory sets the teacup on the bedside table, then peels a lock of her wet hair off her face. “And you’re scared of what I’ll tell you.”
“I believe you’re a hustler who makes a buck off people who are easy reads.”
“Nothing about you is easy. In fact, everything about you is very difficult.”