Summer of Supernovas (30 page)

Except…we’ve never met. So then, when would he have seen me? And when was the last time I wore purple ribbons in my hair? Not since I was little. Not since…It hits me and the card drops from my hand.

I wore purple ribbons to Mama’s funeral.

And just as I sprang the lock on the chest, so springs a sudden memory buried so deep I nearly forgot…

Gram holds me in her arms, sobbing over Mama’s grave sprinkled with sunflowers. I feel so small and helpless, and the world feels big and confusing.

I kiss Gram’s wet cheeks and tell her it will be okay. I tell her Mama promised on the necklace she will never, ever leave. I’m so sure she will come back. So sure. I can’t understand why this makes Gram cry harder.

Then the cemetery is almost empty. Except for a tall man in a dark suit. He wears a tie the color of sunshine—Mama’s favorite color. And his eyes are large and full of tears.

When he approaches, Gram sets me down, pulling me behind her. I cling to her leg, trying to peer around at the man as he weeps and begs for forgiveness. But Gram curses him. Says all sorts of forbidden words. I’ve never seen her so angry.

“Come on, Wilamena,” our neighbor Mrs. Rowan says, scooping me into her arms. She usually smells like cheese. Today she smells of fake roses. “Let’s get you a ginger ale. You like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

The man with sad eyes watches. Watches the distance between us growing wider.

And I never see him again.

All these years Gram has known the truth. Known my father—whatever his crimes—has been desperately reaching out. Through his unopened letters and deposits to a savings account opened in my name that I knew nothing about.

Gram has kept it all locked in a trunk, wedged in the attic, and hidden beneath a sheet—never to be discovered.

Gram refills her coffee mug. Like any other day on any other morning—except it isn’t. Because I know all the other days were steeped in lies.

I sway in the doorway, clutching one of the cards from my dad.

“Heard you up early. Biscuits are still warm in the oven. There’s quiche, too. You should eat something before…” She turns. “Mena? Child, you look positively ill. And you’ve been crying up a storm…”

She knows this is more than the grounding. Much more. Hustling over, she puts her hands on either side of my face. “Honey, what happened?” I can’t find my voice. “Now you’re scaring me, Mena, what is it?”

I swallow. “How
could
you?” I seethe, pushing away her hands and taking a backward step. “How could you purposely hide the truth from me?”

Gram knows. She knows I mean my father. She turns to peel off her apron, but not before I witness the fear flicker in her eyes. It takes only that second to confirm the truth.

“
You knew!
You knew my dad was out there! I thought he didn’t care, that he abandoned me! But he
did
try; he reached out. And you took all those letters—letters addressed to
me
—and you hid them!
Why?
” The rage in my voice blisters and pops in the air between us. “Well?” I pound my fist on the fridge. “Say something!”

Gram flinches. Her face is ashy and she rubs a hand over her stomach. Taking a dish towel from the counter, she pats it to her forehead. “M-Mena, I was going to talk to you about your father. I was going to give you those letters, along with the others I’ve saved for you in my room. But…when you were old enough to hear the whole story, to try and understand. You have no idea how difficult things were.”

My nostrils flare. “You’re right, I don’t. Because
you
”—I jab a hostile finger in the air—“never told me. So? Am I old enough now?”

“I was going to tell you. I was…”

I wait for more. I wait for
something.
Some
rational
explanation why Gram saw fit to barricade my father from my life. How she justified her bold-faced lies.

I am hurt, betrayed—but of the myriad of emotions, I cling most fiercely to anger. Because anger keeps me standing. Anger’s what pulled me up from the attic floor when I wanted to curl up and die. Anger will deliver me the entire truth.

I slap the card on the island between us. “You owe me an explanation.”

Gram’s jaw clenches as she dabs the towel again at her forehead. Her tearing eyes fasten on the hypnotic paper.

“Yeah,” I sniff. “I’d be sweating too if all my deepest, darkest secrets were staring me in the face.” I plant my hands on either side of the card. Leaning across the counter, close enough to smell her cinnamon-infused skin, I whisper, “This isn’t over, Gram. You say I broke your trust, but all those cards and letters…they broke
us.
” I storm from the kitchen.

I don’t turn to see how the pain sets the crow’s-feet deeper at her eyes, or how the faint lines at the corner of her mouth extend lower.

I don’t need to.

T
he shower washes away the attic grime, yet I still don’t feel clean. I go through the motions of setting my hair into waves. I put on a dress without registering the color or if my shoes match. I’m putting on my Parisian Pout and then stop, dropping the tube without recapping it.

As I gaze at my reflection, my mother’s blue eyes gaze back. My hair is the same as hers, too—dark, wavy. Is there any of my father in my features? I don’t know. And if Gram had her way, I would probably never find out.

And that,
that
is what makes me angriest of all.

Gram instilled the value of honesty and trust when she raised me. But apparently, those virtues were bendable.
For her.
The hypocrisy is mind-blowing.

My thoughts are a jumble as I descend the stairs, the questions compounding with my footsteps. However, I’m clear on two things. Gram
owes
me—answers and apologies—and I won’t let her timetable dictate when those come.

I shove open the kitchen door, prepared to wage a war that would put Ares to shame.

But the second I see her curled on the floor…my rage disappears.

“Gram!”
I scream, falling to my knees.
“Gram!”
My hands are trembling as I push aside the silvery hair pasted to her forehead. I shake her. Her eyes are rolled back and vacant. I start to cry as I shake her again. “Wake up! You have to wake up!” My tears are dripping all over the shirt with itty-bitty daisies. “Please, Gram,” I whimper, “come back to me.”

I press my ear to her unmoving chest, but it’s hard to hear anything over my panicked sobs. Gram is my sun and my moon and my stars. If anything happens to her, then…my world will collapse into darkness. Emptiness. A black and hollow hole.

I stumble to the phone and dial 911.

The woman on the line is walking me through CPR and I do my best to follow. I perform compressions on her chest soaked with my tears. I would give her my heart—my life—if I could. Because my life doesn’t have meaning without her. She can’t leave me and not know that.

And she can’t leave thinking…thinking we are broken. Beyond repair.

I don’t know how long we’re on the kitchen floor before the paramedics arrive with their gadgets and machines.

I bury my face in my hands as Miss Laveau’s words rasp in my mind.
An end…possibly a death. The outcome is so fixed…

But this is more than I can bear. It’s asking too much of my soul to carry.

I will shatter without her.

We are in the ambulance now, and I refuse to let go of Gram’s cold hand all the way to the hospital. People are asking me questions and I must be answering. But I don’t know what I’ve said. There are only whirling lights and horns honking, and an IV, and an oxygen bag being rhythmically squeezed over her nose and mouth.

The siren screams, and I want nothing more than to join it. To scream as loud and as far as my cry will carry.

“Honey”—one of the female paramedics pats my hand that holds on to Gram’s—“is there someone we can call? Your mom or dad…another relative?”

The reality punches through me with the force of a wrecking ball. I may have a biological father, but he isn’t my family. He’s a stranger.

My mouth quivers and I shake my head. “She’s all I’ve got. Please”—the tears that stopped come back full force—“you have to fix her.” I struggle to draw my breath. “You have to bring her back.”

The woman squeezes our clasped hands. “We’re gonna do all we can to make that happen. But, Wilamena?”

My sight’s completely blurred by my tears. I wipe them and the paramedic comes into focus. The woman’s eyes are concerned and kind.

“I need you to be strong,” she says. “Hold together, all right?”

“I’ll try,” I whisper.

One hour. That’s how long I’ve been at Gram’s bedside. Although the duration of time she spent in the cath lab makes it feel like an entire lifetime has come and gone.

Gram’s condition has been stabilized, but she’s as pale as the linens on her stark hospital bed. The intermittent beeps serve as a reminder that she’s still alive.

I pull the chair up to the bed so I can hold her, and when that isn’t enough, I climb into bed with her.

I tell her how sorry I am for lying, for the terrible things I said when I was angry and hurting. I’ll make it up to her. She can ground me for eternity if she wants—I don’t really care. I’ll do manual labor. I’ll pull out every dandelion in the whole damn state if it’ll bring her back. And that’s a shitload of dandelions.

It’s not right—the things Gram kept from me. But I know she loves me. Would do anything, including laying down her own life for me, just as I would for her. So we’ll find a way through this. We have to.

Gram has beautiful eyelashes. They are long and dark even though the rest of her hair’s gone all salt-and-peppery. I tell her so. I tell her she’s beautiful, eyelashes and all.

“Wil?”

I sit up to find Irina standing at the door. She draws her hand to her mouth, bracing her other hand on the doorframe. “Is she…is she?” Her eyes well up.

“She’s stable. They have her heavily sedated because they had to…” I can’t even say the word
intubate
without crumbling again. “We were fighting and then I left her. I could tell she didn’t feel well but…” I look down at Gram again. “But I didn’t know she was having a heart attack. No”—I shake my head, recalling fragments of the doctor’s explanation—“
worse
than a regular heart attack. It was called a STEMI, I think. Iri, her heart muscle was actually
dying.
I didn’t know. I didn’t realize. Until I found her on the floor and—” My words are cut off by another sob.