6
“How’s Grandma?”
“Strange.”
“Strange, how? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to worry about her. She keeps saying things that don’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Well, she’s old, Cal.”
“That’s what Julie said.”
“What’s she saying?”
I can hear the concern in Austin’s voice, but also the annoyance. He has to be at formation soon and I’m sure life in Endings isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Still, he needs to know what’s going on with Maggie.
“She just keeps rambling about the summer I wasn’t here and how, sometimes, things just happen. She won’t stop talking about Grandma and Pappy. It’s like she’s trying to go back in time or something. I don’t know. It’s really hard to explain and none of it makes any sense at all.”
“Cal. Stop listening to her. That place makes people crazy. We need to get out of there.”
“I like it here.”
“I don’t have time to argue about it.”
“You sound just like Pappy. Endings is the only place that was ever consistent for me. I get it. The people here are, well, quirky. But what’s so wrong with that? And how are we any different?”
“I’m not saying we’re different. I just think Endings is a place to visit, not a place to live.”
“Well, I disagree on that. But, you’re right. We don’t have to figure that out now.”
“Look, you already got your way. You have the wedding at Endings. It’s not like we can’t visit.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like we can just leave Maggie alone in Endings. She really needs someone with her all the time. I’ve been with her since Grandma died.”
“Cal, we have a life of our own. We can get someone in there or put her in a home or something.”
Over my dead body. “That is not happening.”
“It’s funny how Grandma hates Bess so much. She’s always looking to cause trouble, too.”
“No she isn’t. Like you said, she’s old. She’s trying to go down memory lane or something. Leave her alone. My goodness, Austin. She’s your grandmother. Be nice! She won’t be around forever. And then what? She’s all you have left in the world!”
“Fine. We don’t have to decide this now. I’m just saying I’m not dying at Happy Endings. You and our grandmothers may think that’s cute, but it won’t be my life.”
“Okay, Pappy. Relax.”
Austin laughs. “I miss you, Granny.”
“Oh, shut up. I miss you, too.”
“I just want to come home, wherever that is.”
“I want you home, too. How did testing go?”
“Excellent. I’m officially a 91E allied trade specialist. Certifications in drill press lathe stick and gas welding locked and loaded, Ma’am.”
“Oh, that’s great! I’m so proud.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“You talked to Jason?”
“Yes. He’s got the trellis all set and said he’s ready for you as soon as we get back from the honeymoon.”
“Good. I want to start making money.”
“You’re making money now.”
“Not enough.”
“Babe! Chill. You are so hyper. Stop. We are going to be fine. There’s more to life than a bank account.”
“There’s more to life than Endings.”
“Oh, God. Here we go.”
“No. Let’s drop it. What do you have going on this week?”
I decide not to tell him about the bachelorette party. He’s not in the right mood. Besides, it will just be me and the girls. The last thing I need is a lecture on Kiki and Stixx and how they are bad influences. Sometimes, I feel like Austin is a hundred years old. I can’t put my head around when things changed. As kids, it was the opposite, me looking out for him. Over the last few years, though, he’s gotten so much more serious. John says it’s because—unlike me—Austin has dreams. I think it’s just another guy thing. He reminds me of a younger version of Pappy. I’m starting to understand what Grandma meant about always making time for girlfriends and letting the men do things in their own way, on their own time. I reckon she knew what she was talking about. She usually did.
“Oh, the usual. Wedding stuff. I need to look at the course syllabus, too. Ordering books.” I twist the blue furry handcuffs Stixx left in Maggie’s mailbox in my hands, laughing to myself about what may be in store for the weekend. “What about you?”
“I have stupid fire guard again.”
“Oh, that sucks! I don’t get why they can’t just use the fire alarms. I mean, what’s the point?”
“You know, Cal. That’s a good question. I think the point is they like us being miserable.”
“You need to get home. You sound miserable.”
“I know. I do. I really miss you.”
“Me, too.”
7
I have no idea how Austin is supposed to get an STD test in Richmond. The whole thing is ridiculous. I tried to reason with the clerk at town hall. Picking up paperwork for our marriage license should have been simple. But state law doesn’t care that Austin and I have only been with each other since middle school and that we don’t need any testing.
I’m all set with wedding planning. I wish we could fast forward to our first anniversary or something. I still feel hung over from Stixx’s party; where I spent too many hours opening “toys” I would never consider using and certainly didn’t need a crowd staring at me while I received them. At least she tried, I guess.
I stop to fill Julie’s tank on my way back to the park. I wish I could figure out why the town clerk wouldn’t give me a break and why she looked at me like I had missed some sort of memo. This feeling is nagging at me and I can only write it off to pre-wedding jitters. Of course, it would help if Austin was easier to get ahold of.
The phone rings. I ignore it. It’s not the wedding march ring tone. Austin’s the only person I’ll pick up the phone for when driving. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just want to get home. I need to take a nap and start over. Besides, it’s almost lunchtime. Maggie will want her grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I can feel her disapproval now—twenty minutes late. Maggie likes her meals on time.
After what feels like an hour, I finally pull into the Happy Endings entrance. Immediately, I know something is off. Cars that usually line the sides of the road are pulled up on to trails. I press on the gas, take two lefts and see exactly what I feared: An ambulance, smack dab in the middle of Maggie’s driveway. I don’t even put the car in park. I pull to the side of the road, turn it off and race to her front porch.
“Maggie? Maggie? What’s wrong?”
It’s two days before Maggie can talk. She’s had another stroke, her worst one yet. I hardly leave her bedside, and she hasn’t once reached for the clicker. Finally transferred from ICU to a regular, private room, I’m alone with her.