“When she decided not to go for chemo, we thought it would be over much sooner.” Donna’s eyes welled with tears. Her grip tightened on Janelle’s, almost too hard. “Bobby’s been beside himself. Well, we all have. Your Nan’s such an amazing woman. What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to love her as much as we can until it’s time for her to go,” Janelle said, her own throat closing. She untangled her fingers from Donna’s, but gently. “That’s all we can do.”
Everyone had pitched in for the dinner cleanup, so Janelle didn’t have that to deal with. Bennett sprawled in the recliner, ostensibly watching some adult cartoon program his older cousins had put on, but his eyes were at half-mast. Janelle nudged him.
“Go to bed.”
Nan had begged off at the end of the visit, later than her normal bedtime, but still early. By now she’d been in bed for an hour or so. Janelle assumed she’d be asleep, but she peeked in the door, anyway.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Nan. Janelle,” she added, in case for some reason Nan didn’t know or didn’t remember.
“Oh, honey. Come in. Did everyone leave? Did you tell them I was sorry, but I just had to get to bed?”
“They understood. It’s okay.” Janelle sat on the edge of the bed. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m fine.” Nan gave a long, deep sigh. Her fingers tangled together on top of her coverlet, beneath which she barely made a bump. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Nan said. “You look terrible. Where’s that Gabe Tierney been? Does that have something to do with it?”
That did it. Janelle opened her mouth to brush off Nan’s concerns, and let out a huge, braying sob instead. The tears gushed forth, hot as a geyser. There was no holding them back, restraint not within the realm of possibility. Janelle let it all go, up and out of her like squeezing a blister until it popped. There were words, a scramble of them, muffled and incoherent but mostly about Gabe and how stupid she’d been to think it might mean something, how she ought to have known better. How nothing ever turns out the way you think it will.
Through it all, Nan said nothing, just made soothing noises as she patted Janelle’s back and handed her tissue after tissue until the box was mostly empty.
“I’m sorry,” Janelle said. “I got carried away.”
Nan laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here for you.”
This made her want to cry all over again, and Nan must’ve seen it because she reached for her hand. “Don’t start again. Not about that.”
“I’m going to miss you so much, Nan.”
“I’ll still be with you, honey. I believe that. Don’t you?”
Janelle wasn’t sure what she believed about life after death, but knew at least the memories of Nan would be with her. The lessons she’d taught. The color of her eyes. “Yes. I believe it.”
“Then there’s no point in being sad.” Nan’s eyes glittered. “But I’m glad you told me.”
Janelle reached for another tissue and wiped at her face. “What do you mean?”
“Oh. Everyone just tippy-toes around it, that’s all. They don’t want to talk about it. They don’t want to hear about it. They wouldn’t hear about it,” Nan added. “That’s why I made them get you to come here, honey. I needed someone who’d be able to handle things, you know.”
“And you thought that would be me? Why?”
“Because you’ve always been a little like your dad. He could be a hard case, your dad.”
Janelle frowned. “You think I’m...a hard case?”
“I think you know what needs to be done and you do it, even if it’s hard, that’s what I think. No,” Nan amended. “I don’t think it. I know it. Now, your dad, he was also stubborn as heck and a more than a little reckless. But he also knew how to do the right thing, even when it was hard, and he was an honest man when he had to be. You have that honesty in you, Janelle.”
It was nice to hear Nan thought so, but it didn’t make Janelle feel any better. She thought about her dad. “I have my share of secrets, Nan. Things I’m not proud of.”
“We all do, honey. We all do.” Her grandma’s hands moved restlessly on the comforter. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that you don’t tiptoe around things, even if it’s hard for you. You know I’m going to die.”
Janelle didn’t protest this, and Nan smiled.
“Any of the rest of them would be telling me to hush, or poo-pooing. But you know it’s true, honey. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” Janelle fought more tears. “I know.”
“Well, I’m ready to go.” Nan nodded firmly. “I’ve made my peace with things, I’ve taken care of everything that needs to be taken care of, or made sure someone else will be able to do it. I’ve had a long, good life, not without its share of sadness, but we all have that. I’ve had a lot of happy times, too. And so it’s my time, and God willing, I’ll go soon and not linger any longer than I have to.”
“I hope so, too,” Janelle said.
Nan smiled. “Good. That’s good, honey. I appreciate you saying it. Are you going to bed now?”
Janelle looked at the clock. It wasn’t late, not for a Saturday night, but it wasn’t early, either. “I might read for a while. Maybe watch a movie. Why?”
“Because,” Nan said, as she slowly pulled off the comforter and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, “I b’lieve I’d like a piece of that pineapple cake now.”
Janelle grinned and helped her stand, then handed her her dressing gown. “You know what? Me, too.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Then
THE OLD MAN is AT it again. Drinking. Chain-smoking until the smoke hangs so thick in the kitchen it’s like walking through fog. He stares nonstop at Andy all through the shitty dinner Mike managed to throw together from whatever he could find in the fridge and cupboards. He makes snide and sideways comments about the food and doesn’t eat any. None of them do.
As always, Gabe lies in his bed with his hands tucked under his head and stares up at the ceiling. Counting sheep is shit, even when he tries to start from one hundred and go backward. He can’t sleep. His stomach, empty, tries to eat itself. If he turns on his side, he’ll be able to look out his window and into hers, but he already knows her blinds are drawn and her light’s off. She’s shut him out, and he can’t blame her.
He lies in his bed listening to the creak of his old man pacing downstairs. The low mutters become profanity-laced shouts. Gabe waits for his father to climb the steep and narrow stairs. Across the hall, he knows his brothers are waiting, too.
A figure appears in the doorway, and Gabe pushes up onto his elbows. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in for a while?”
“Where’s Andy?” Gabe says, not refusing his brother permission, but not giving it outright.
Michael sidles into the room, his hair slick from the shower he spent half an hour taking. Cold water, like a punishment. His fists clench at his sides before he notices and makes an obvious effort to relax them. “He’s in our room.”
Downstairs, the old man hollers something about whores. Michael flinches. Gabe sits up and swings his legs over the bed.
“Tell him to come in here.”
Michael hesitates, then shakes his head. “You know that won’t help.”
Gabe stands as the first footstep creaks on the bottom stair. Michael doesn’t wait for his brother to say it’s okay; he steps inside the room and shuts the door behind him. Then he presses his back against it.
“Open the door, Mikey.”
Michael shakes his head.
Gabe can’t think. Doesn’t want to think. Or feel. He wants to get back into his bed and pull the blankets up over his head so he can’t see or hear anything, either. But this can’t go on.
It just can’t.
He moves to the door, expecting his brother to step out of the way. When he doesn’t, Gabe grabs him by
the upper arms to move him. He believes without even thinking about it that his brother will simply let himself be moved, but Michael has made his legs as strong as tree trunks, his arms like iron bars. He won’t be pushed out of the way.
Gabe’s bigger and stronger, but Michael’s got a stupendous left hook that comes out of nowhere. Gabe sees stars and the floor comes up to meet him. On his hands and knees, he looks up at his brother, who’s never hit him before. Never hit anyone, as far as Gabe knows. With the taste of blood in his mouth, and his ears still ringing, Gabe gets to his feet.
He punches his brother first in the gut. When Michael doubles over, the face. And still his brother refuses to get out of the way.
Gabe hears the old man in the hallway. The thud of his boots. The door across the hall opens and shuts. There is silence.
“I don’t understand you,” Gabe says. “How can you just...let him? How can you just...”
The question has no good answer. Gabe should really ask it of himself, because he’s just as guilty as Michael. Guiltier, isn’t he? Because he, at least, could’ve changed some things long ago and made a difference. It was his job to do that, right? To stand up for his younger brothers. That’s what the old man always told him to do, to stand up to bullies in school or strangers on the street who had nasty things to say about the Tierney boys. It should’ve applied to the old man, too.
He moves again, toward the door, and Michael shoves him back. His brother’s eyes are wide and wild, and he’s breathing hard. His breath is sour, his wet hair flops into his face and his fingers grip Gabe’s shoulders when he pushes him back.
“You can’t,” Michael says in a hoarse and frantic voice. “You have to just leave it be.”
But Gabe can’t do that. Not anymore. Too much has happened. Too much hasn’t. His fingers close around his brother’s throat and squeeze until Michael chokes and gags.
“I have to.” This time, Michael doesn’t struggle against him as Gabe goes through the door.
It takes him only a few steps to get across the hall to his brothers’ bedroom. The knob turns, but the door won’t open. It’s locked. From inside comes a series of shouts and the sound of breaking glass. Gabe throws his shoulder into the door, but it doesn’t budge.
He shouts his brother’s name, but Andy doesn’t answer. Gabe hears the old man cursing. The solid thud of flesh on flesh. More glass breaking. There’s another sound he hasn’t heard in a long time, years. The swick-swick of the old man’s leather belt being pulled from the belt loops. A minute after that, the crack of it against skin.
And then...nothing.
The doorknob rattles. Gabe backs away, but not fast enough, because when the door opens to reveal the old man, nose bloody and shirt torn, he’s still on the threshold. The old man lifts his fist, the belt still wrapped around it. At the sight of Gabe, his lips curl back. He has blood on his teeth.
“Get the hell outta my way.” The old man’s grin is meant to be hard and mocking, but the tremor in his voice and hands matches his shifty gaze.
Gabe steps to the side. His father pushes past him and goes down the stairs one slow, thudding step at a time. Gabe looks into the bedroom, where the mirror over the dressers has been smashed. One of the twin beds has been tossed, the mattress askew, the blankets on the floor. The window is cracked but not broken. The trophies that normally line the windowsill have been swept away.
Andy stands in the middle of the room. One eye is red and swelling. His lip is split. One of his fists is bloody.
The other holds a gun.
Andy’s shaking so hard the gun rattles. When he swings toward the doorway, Gabe ducks, bracing himself for the crack of a shot. He murmurs his brother’s name and risks a look around the door frame.
He knows the gun. The old man got them each a hunting rifle when they turned twelve. Gabe got a handgun when he turned sixteen. Andy and Mike got theirs last year. Their father made them take a hunter safety class, and has spent some time with them out in the woods, teaching them to hit paper targets as well as bottles and cans. It’s one of the few things he’s ever done with them that makes him smile.
“Is it loaded?” Gabe asks, knowing that’s a stupid question, but needing to be sure.
Andy nods. He looks at the gun in his hand. He sets it down gently on the dresser. Then he sinks onto the bed that hasn’t been upended. He puts his face in his hands and his shoulders heave, but if he weeps he does it in silence.
Gabe’s not sure what to do or say. He wants to sit by his brother, maybe put an arm around his shoulders. Maybe even cry with him, a little. But he can’t. Michael pushes past him to take that role. He hugs Andy, who buries his face against his twin’s neck. Watching them like that, Gabe envies them, and not for the first time. They’ve always had something he’s never been able to share.
His shoulder hurts from hitting the door with it. His face aches from the pounding Michael gave it. Everything else hurts, too. There’s a pain in his chest as if someone ran him through with a spike, and when he staggers to the bathroom to run the shower—hot for him, not cold like his brother—all Gabe can think is that dying would feel better than this.
FORTY-NINE
A QUIET HOUSE was bliss. Janelle’s fingers moved over the keys of her laptop as she switched between her email and her accounting program, with a few stops here and there to check her Connex page or several of the funny blogs she followed. Upstairs, Bennett was supposed to be doing his homework, but was probably engrossed in the games on his iPad. So long as that’s all it was, she thought. She wasn’t ready for the end of her son’s innocence, though she knew it had to happen sooner or later.
“Later,” she murmured. “Please, God. Later.”
A girl might’ve been easier. They could’ve talked about boys and periods and hairstyles and nail polish. Those were things Janelle could handle. Boy stuff seemed foreign and awkward and weird...not that she’d have any choice about it. Maybe she’d have to get him a book....
Nan had gone to bed an hour ago, complaining again of a headache and upset stomach. She’d refused to take her meds or even brush her teeth, and Janelle hadn’t pushed. The woman was eighty-four years old and dying of cancer. If she didn’t want to brush her teeth before she went to bed, did it really matter?
From someplace in the house came a low, restless thumping. Janelle’s fingers paused on the keyboard as she listened, uncertain if the noise was coming from Bennett’s room upstairs or from Nan’s. The noise stopped. Then started again. She got up, went through the kitchen to the hall, still listening. As she passed the arched entrance to the living room, the noise got louder, steadier. Definitely coming from Nan’s room.
By the time she got to the end of the hall, Janelle was running. She pushed open the door, prepared to find her grandmother knocking on the headboard for help, or possibly fallen out of bed. What greeted her instead was Nan writhing, her back arched and foam frothing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes had rolled back. The covers had torn from their carefully tucked place at the foot of the bed.
“Nan!” Janelle ran to put her hands on her grandmother’s shoulders. Frail as she’d become, Nan’s bucking was strong enough to toss off Janelle’s grip. Her arms flung out, hitting the side of the bed and the headboard, but it was the fierceness of the seizure causing the bed to thump on the floor.
No phone in Nan’s room, her cell not in her pocket. Janelle screamed for Bennett, even as she searched for something, anything, to stop Nan from convulsing. Something to put between her teeth—wasn’t that what they did when people had seizures? So she didn’t bite or swallow her tongue? Janelle had nothing...no idea what to do.
Bennett had still not arrived when the seizure passed. Nan blinked. Her mouth hung lax and her body softened against the mattress. The acrid stink of urine made Janelle cough.
“Dick?”
“No, Nan. It’s me. Janelle,” she added in a shaky voice, when it was obvious her grandma didn’t recognize her.
 
; Nan blinked, struggling to sit, but couldn’t. The foam at the corners of her mouth dripped over her chin and onto the front of her nightgown. Janelle didn’t know if she should help her up or force her to lie back. She screamed for Bennett again, rewarded in a minute by the thump of his feet on the stairs and coming down the hall. He cried out in the doorway, and she turned, determined to keep calm.
“Bring my phone.”
“What’s the matter with Nan?”
“Now, Bennett!”
On the bed, Nan let out a shuddering sigh. Her shoulders tensed and she blinked rapidly. Her hands swam in the air as she fought against Janelle’s grip.
“Shh, Nan. Shh.” Janelle blinked away her own tears, trying to remember to breathe, though the smell in the room threatened to choke her. “It’s going to be okay.”
Nan quieted. “Janelle?”
“Yes, Nan.” Bennett handed over the phone and Janelle turned to him as she dialed 911. “Nan’s sick, honey. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I don’t need an ambulance!”
Janelle ignored Nan, who started struggling again. “Bennett, I’m going to have to go with her to the hospital. Can you call Andy on your cell phone, see if he’ll be able to come stay with you?”
She thought her son might argue that he was old enough to be here by himself, but he must’ve been scared, because he nodded and ran upstairs. As the dispatcher answered the call, Nan let out series of low, hooting groans and started to convulse again. Somehow, Janelle managed to keep her grandmother from writhing off the bed as she gave the dispatcher the information he needed. By the time she hung up, the seizure had started to ease and Bennett was back in the doorway.
“Is she going to be okay?” His eyes welled with tears and his face had gone pale beneath the freckles.
Janelle had spent her life trying to protect her son, but now she could only say, “I don’t know, honey. I hope so.”
“Janelle. Bring me my coat, I want to check the teapot. It’s been crying.”