With another nod and another breath, I type, So, we just wait for results?

“I guess.”

His breath is hot and heavy on my neck as he leans over me, reading as I type, Where’s Tommy?

“My mom met us here and took him back to her place.”

A solid minute passes, neither of us saying a word, even when my mind is racing with them.

He breaks the silence. “I hate this place so much.”

The hospital?

“Yeah… it just reminds me of Tommy and my dad and you. It’s so fucking miserable.”

I frown.

He smiles. It’s a sad one, though, one caused by pure pain and heartache. His hand runs down my arm, toward my fingers, where they lace through mine, gripping gently as he pulls it to his mouth. He releases a shaky exhale, right before his lips, soft and wet, make contact with my skin. He kisses me once and then settles our joined hands on his lap. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, eyes focused on our hands. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A nurse calls Grams’s name, cutting off my response, and Josh and I stand, our hands still connected. We make our way over to her. “How is she?” Josh asks her.

“She’s physically stable. There’s a little build-up in her lungs, most likely from walking around in the cold.”

Josh’s grip on my hand loosens. “So that’s good, right?”

“That’s just based on the initial tests,” the nurse says. “We need to admit her for a few days.”

Now my hand squeezes his and he looks down at the phone in my hand. Days?

“This is her granddaughter Becca Owens,” Josh tells the nurse. “Do you know when it might be possible to see her?”

“She’s back in her room, but she’s still a little out of it.” The nurse looks at what I assume is Grams’s chart. “Does she have any other family?”

I let go of Josh’s hand and start typing on my phone. I messaged Dad when I was waiting for the plane. He’s going to fly in as soon as possible but it might take a day or so.

Josh lifts his gaze to the nurse. “Just her son, but he works offshore so he might take a couple days. We can take care of her until then, right?”

The nurse nods, but her eyes are on me, squinted and confused.

“Becca’s speech impaired,” Josh informs her, bouncing on his toes, his patience fading. “Can we see her now?”

“Sure.” The nurse speaks to me this time. “I just… I feel like I should warn you that she may not react to you as you’d expect. She may not be the grandmother you know, and she may not remember certain things. And at this stage, it’s best if you don’t force her.”

* * *

Grams is lying on her side sleeping peacefully, the covers bunched under her chin. The monitors beep, a steady rhythm echoing off the walls of the small, sterile room. Josh takes my hand and leads me toward her bed. We stand side by side, looking down at her for seconds, minutes, hours. I have no idea. Josh squeezes my hand, and I look up at him. “She looks so tiny,” he whispers.

“Josh?” Grams calls out, and our focus darts to her.

She has one eye open, almost like a kid afraid of a horror movie. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were one of the nurses, poking and prodding…” She throws the covers off her. “You’re here to take me home, right?”

Josh releases my hand to stop her from getting out of bed. “I can’t yet, ma’am. Soon, though, okay?”

Grams rolls her eyes. “More poking and prodding?”

Josh gives her a half-hearted grin. “Just a little.”

She gets back into bed, smiling fondly at Josh who covers her with the blankets. “Where’s Tommy?” she asks, looking around the room. She doesn’t see me standing behind Josh, my hands grasping his shirt. I don’t know why I’m hiding from her, why I’m suddenly so afraid, but it’s taking everything I have to not break down and right now, Josh is the only thing I have to prevent that.

He says, “Tommy’s with my mom. He’s fine.”

Grams sighs, relieved. “I can’t even imagine how scared you boys must’ve been. Oh, Joshua, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it, ma’am. I’m fine. You’re fine.” He runs a finger across her forehead, shifting the hair from her eyes. “Everything’s good, okay?”

She grasps his hand with both of hers. “Did you win the tournament?”

“I did.”

“Oh, I’m so proud of you.”

“I know you are.” He starts to step aside, but I fist his shirt tighter, so he reaches behind him, grasping my wrist gently and encouraging me forward. “I got a surprise for you,” he tells her. He’s talking to her like he talks to Tommy, a tone I was once so envious of. Josh tugs on my arm, and I finally find the courage to reveal myself.

Grams’s eyes light up, her smile matching mine. Then I wave, and her grin spreads. She looks from me to Josh. “Oh my,” she says to him. “It’s about time you got yourself a lady. Who’s this beautiful girl?”

13

—Joshua—

try

trʌɪ/

verb

1. make an attempt or effort to do something.

I sit with Chaz, holding her hand until she falls asleep. When Becca left the room after Chazarae showed no signs of recognition, I was torn on whether to go after her or stay with Chaz. Obviously, I decided to stay. I didn’t want to, but I felt it more important that Chaz not feel overwhelmed. Like the nurse said, it was best we not push her. But now I’m sitting here wondering how it’s possible for her to remember my stupid skate tournament but not remember her own granddaughter.

I release her hand, making sure not to wake her, and kiss her forehead. Then I leave the room, phone in hand, ready to message Becca. But I don’t need to. She’s standing just outside the room, her back leaning against the wall.

“Hey, Becs,”

She fails at trying to force a smile. Then she’s in my arms, her tears soaking my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, because I don’t know what else to say and I don’t even really know what I’m apologizing for. For Chaz not knowing who she is? For not realizing something was wrong? For not finding her earlier? I don’t know. All I know is I’m sorry. But it doesn’t seem to matter because she’s crying harder now, silent sobs wracking her entire body. “Becs…” I rear back and hold her face in my hands. Her cheeks are wet, her eyes wetter. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

She chews on her lip to fight the trembling while her sad, desperate eyes meet mine. Then she shakes her head, her hand reaching for her phone. There’s nothing we can do. She has no idea who I am.

I read her text, again and again, hoping it gives me time to come up with a response that will take away some of her pain. “I understand you’re hurting. Trust me, I do. And she might not know you now, but it’s just… she’s been through a lot.”

She knows you!

I swallow the knot in my throat and whisper, “She’s just known me longer. That’s all.”