[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.
[A/N] Welcome back, my dear readers. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. It don't feel it's doing good, but hey, you can always learn from every work you write. I am sending a hug to all of you who need one right now.
*There is only a thin line between love and hate and sometimes it seems like we are dancing on that line*
(Ritu Ghatourey)
Chapter 8
It's the saddest day of my life. I am close to tears as I help my mother to store my grandmother's clothes and belongings into suitcases. An entire life and look how little is left of it. There are two boxes with post-it notes on it. One says "Keep it" the other one "Throw out." How about we keep Nana and throw away the stupid idea of sending her into this horrible nursing home?
"Don't make such a face, Mary Alice." Mom tells me, folding some nightgowns neatly together. "Do you think this is easy for me?"
I sit down on one of the suitcases we already packed. My weight helps to press its content down enough that I can snap the suitcase's lock together. "You are the one sending her away."
Mom grabs my wrist and holds it a bit too tight. "You are still a child. Your grandmother is sick. It's not a sickness that can be cured. It's going to get worse."
"I know," I whisper. "But this is her home."
"It's our home," my mother says, opening the drawers in Nana's nightstand. "We can't take care of Nana Di here anymore. This morning she almost climbed out of the window to check something on the roof."
I kneel down to help Mom with sorting through the pile of books, candy papers and sewing patterns. Nana always had to keep everything. She had trouble of letting go of things. The memory-eating monster inside her head is exactly like her. It has munched away my grandmother's personality, leaving behind nothing but a few crumbles.
To be forgotten by the person you love most is one of the hardest things I can imagine. The pain it causes me is unbearable. It's like losing a part of me in this. A part that consists of memories filled with scratched knees being kissed better, having someone put a folded ten dollar note into your lunch box when you already spent all your pocket money. It's having a bed to crawl into when you are scared of the monster underneath your own.
Mom is right. In a way I am still a child. A child who is unwilling to let go of someone she loves. From an adult person's point of view I understand why my parents and Aunt Sasha had to make this decision. Our house is not a hospital. It's not safe enough here. The stairs are a trap. Nana could fall down and break more than a limb this time. She could set the entire house on fire accidentally by forgetting a candle she light. When I was little she always had one standing right on her nightstand. She allowed me blow it out before sending me back to my room again.
My mother hugs me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek. It's moist with tears. I push my hand into the pocket of my skirt to fumble for a tissue.
"I am sorry." I say. "Is there anything in the drawers we need to pack? Or can we throw the stuff out?"
A postcard catches my attention. It's old. The black and white picture of the Eiffel Tower is faded and stained by some brown fingerprints in the left corner.
I pick the post card up and turn it around. The handwriting on the card is edgy. There is only one sentence written on it. "See you here in June," it says. The tiny bird wings drawn underneath the short text make me smile. "I didn't know Nana was in Paris."
Mom shakes her head. "I can't remember her mentioning it to me. Maybe she wanted to but, how would she have money for a trip overseas? She was always struggling to make ends meet."
The post card disappears under my pillow after I carry the suitcases down to the living room. Dad is going to bring Nana directly from the hospital to the retirement home. They have checked her through and added some more meds to her treatment plan. Her body is weakened. It's weak because the fire inside her has been blown out like her memories. The embers are still glowing. Now and then a single spark erupts and for a moment it's like she knows who she is again. I want to have her here at home when that happens. Those moments are too precious to waste. A stranger wouldn't be able to appreciate it. To me they are like the last rays of sunshine before the rain pours down on you. I don't want to let go of her. I hate saying goodbye.
"This morning she was clear," I say to my mother, who is chewing the inside of her mouth. "Maybe she's going to get better?"
"Mr. Caius liked his pie with some whipped cream on top of it." Nana told us this morning while Mom tried to convince her to eat a bit of a soft egg. "He had such a sweet tooth for a man."
I have no idea who Mr. Caius is. Over the years my grandmother has cooked and baked for dozens of people. "Everyone needs to eat." She used to say. "Even the meanest person has a hungry stomach that wants to be fed."
I take the post card and pin it behind the mirror on my wall. Maybe I should go to Paris in June? It could be nice. Couldn't it?
"Alice, why are you hanging behind?" My mother calls from downstairs. "Your aunt is here to give us a lift to the retirement home!"
Mom's BMW was wrecked a week ago by my idiotic brother. He is lucky he didn't end up killing himself when he and his moronic friends were aiming to arrange a nightly race just outside of town. It's a miracle Edward didn't get hurt. The only person whom he hurt was Mom and it's not because he wrecked the car, she had trusted him to return it back without a single scratch.
Soft piano sounds reach my ear. The pleasant sound of Claire de Lune is followed by several non-rhythmical loud banging noises from someone torturing the piano in our living room.
When I walk down my little cousin is sitting next to my brother in front of the piano. For some reason, Vasili is fascinated by everything Edward does. He is not the best role model for a child. Maybe the boy is acting like that because he doesn't have a father figure in his life. Edward does all the guy stuff with my little cousin. Correction, he used to do those things before the drinking got worse. Today seems to be a good day. I can't smell any beer on him when I step closer.
"You aren't listening," Edward tells the boy, taking his chubby little hand to place it above the correct piano key. "F" He pushes Vasili's finger down on the key. "Try to remember the sound."
My aunt bursts with a wave of motherly pride. "Oh he's so talented." She presses a kiss on her youngest head. "Mommy is so proud of you for learning to play the piano."
Edward closes the lid of the piano and turns to the side, facing her. "Stop kissing the boy all the time. He's not a baby anymore."
Sasha frowns. She doesn't like it when someone tells her about the way she is constantly lavishing the child with affection. Vasili doesn't seem to mind it, as long as she doesn't do it in front of his friends.
"Are you coming with us?" I ask my brother, while putting on my jacket. It's raining outside. The awful weather matches the sadness inside my heart. I can't live here anymore knowing my grandmother is never to return to this house. By tomorrow the latest, I will move back to my own apartment.
Edward shakes his head. "What use would there be in that? She doesn't remember who I am, who anyone is."
I feel tempted to tell him that he could do this for Mom. We should do this for her to show her support, whether the two of us approve of her decision or not.
During the ride to the retirement home the car is unusually quiet. My mother has stopped crying and is chewing her lower lip instead. Aunt Sasha is grabbing the steering wheel too tightly. Her hands look cramped. I am choked up, trying so hard not to break out into tears. It feels like we are going to a funeral, despite the colorful clothes we are wearing.
"We're here," Sasha whispers, pulling the key out of the ignition. "Let's get this over with."
Get it over with. Maybe that is the way to do unpleasant, painful things. It's like peeling off a Band-Aid quickly.
From outside, the place reminds me of a middle-priced hotel complex. There's even a little garden around the building. A couple of benches are standing underneath the porch roof.
There are two men in a wheelchair smoking next to the bench that is closest to the entrance. They don't look old enough to belong in a place like this to me.
My hand is sweaty as I pull down the door handle and push the glass door open. The place smells like death. The air is warm and humid. It smells like unwashed people, urine, and a sharp odor of disinfectants.
A tall ebony-skinned nurse is kneeling next to a man who is sitting on an armchair. She is holding a plastic cup with a straw up against his closed mouth. "Try to drink some more for me. Okay?"
Mom clears her throat. "Ma'am, excuse me, can you please help me look for my mother? My husband and she were supposed to already be here."
The woman looks up. She pouts. "I'm not a nurse. I am here to visit my husband." She holds out her hand. There is the biggest heart-shaped sapphire on it I have ever seen. It is a sapphire, right? Or is it some blue diamond?
"Marcus had a stroke six month ago, but he's doing much better. Aren't you, Darling?"
The man mumbles something. The left side of his face seems paralyzed. It is hard to understand him when he speaks.
"One more month," his wife, who looks young enough to be his adopted daughter, tells him. "Then those idiots I hired will be done with the modification of our house."
She bends down and kisses his cheek. "You will be home with me soon."
I don't know what to think of them. She is so young. He is so old. They look weird together.
The woman notices me staring at her husband and her for a bit too long. I look away but she forces me to raise my head again when she holds out her hand to me. "Excuse my manners. Let me introduce myself. My name is Zafrina James and this," she places her arm around the man next to her. "This is my husband Marcus."
We sit down and do small talk with Zafrina who is somehow able to understand the unintelligible words coming out of her spouse's mouth. She also helps us to find a real nurse who shows us the way to Nana's new room.
It's small and sterile. There are metal grills around the small bed. I hate this place. It's like a hospital and I never liked those. I unpack the first suitcase and manage to get half of it into the tiny closet in the corner of the room. We need to get her another one for the rest of her clothing. Aunt Sasha places a yellow patchwork blanket on the bed. Then she places a picture of the entire family and one of Nana with grandpa on it. I open the window to get the scent of disinfectant out a bit.
Mom tries to reach Dad on his cell, but it goes straight to voice mail. He probably forgot to charge it again.
I can't endure the smell inside this room. It's making me feel like I can't breathe.
"I'll wait for them outside," I tell Mom, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. She is struggling so hard to be strong. My mother is the strongest person I have known in all my life.
"You promised me to stop!" The woman's voice is shrill. She is trying not to scream. "You promised me to stop. God damn it, Charlie. What am I to do when they throw you out of here?"
The man throws something at her. It looks like an empty beer can. "The name is still Dad, not Charlie, you useless excuse of a daughter. You are a lazy whore like your mother was."
She kneels down to pick up the can. Her heart-shaped face turns crimson when she sees me. "Alice?"
"Hi Bella," I whisper. It feels so good to see her again. Better than it should. I didn't even realize how much I missed her until this very moment. Since our date on Wednesday I have been ignoring my phone. I don't know what to do. I want to screw Aro Volturi over. I don't want to get Bella into trouble. A bad report about the restaurant would irrevocably reflect back on the kitchen crew. If only she would have picked another place to work at.
Bella grabs a plastic bag from the ground and sighs. "I need to throw this away before any of the nurses sees it." She turns to her father who is rolling the wheels of his chair back and forth. "My friend Billy here brought it. We had a party."
"You two shouldn't be drinking. Billy, you can't give him any beer. Please."
The two of them laugh. Idiots, I think. Bella looks tortured. It is like she is ashamed that I am here to witness her argument with her father.
She walks off towards the waste container. The rain makes her brown hair stick to her face. I follow her. "Are you okay?" I ask, trying to protect my own hair by pulling up my hood.
"No," she tells me. "I am not. God, I hate the way he acts when he's drunk. It's like he's a completely different person."
The rain gets heavier. We don't make it back to the lobby but manage to save ourselves from getting completely soaked by hiding under the roof of the garage next to the waste container.
"Crappy weather."
She snorts. "You want to talk about the weather? Not much nice to say about rain and wind. I love the way it makes the air smell though. " She inhales deeply, as if she's absorbing an expensive perfume.
I laugh. I don't even feel like laughing. Today is such a sad day. But when I am around her, it seems impossible not to laugh. Her presence itself seems to make me happier.
"Charlie promised me not to drink again. Then they pair him up with this moron, Billy, who doesn't give a shit whether my father can control himself when he's had a drink."
"I am sorry." I say. "I know how it's like." I sit down on the asphalt, pulling my knees against my chest. "My brother is an alcoholic."
"I am sorry to hear that." She sits down next to me and puts her hand on my left knee. It's meant to be nice. That small, innocent touch though sends a storm of butterflies up my stomach. "It's worse for my mother."
"My parents got divorced when I was six." Bella pushes her hair back behind her ears. "My stepmother Sue divorced Charlie after his accident. She said she couldn't handle the new…situation."
"Was he in a car crash?" I ask, rubbing my hands together to warm them up a bit. I don't do well with cold and my fingers tend to hurt when I am freezing.
"No," Bella says. "He used to be a cop and got shot by a robber one night. His spine is screwed up, but at least he didn't die. I couldn't—,"
I hug her. I can't even imagine how hurtful that must be to almost lose a parent. Losing my Nana to the monsters inside her brain is bad enough.
"Thanks."
I caress her hair for a moment, fascinated by the smooth silkiness of its texture. Then I drop my hands. "I am sorry I didn't return your calls. I was busy."
"Do me a favor, Alice." She states. "Don't give me lame excuses. I am a small town girl but not completely naïve." She rubs the tips of her old Chucks together. Dressed with jeans and a thick white sweater she looks younger than she already does. She is beautiful without trying. Her skin is lovely and fresh. I envy the little bit of lip gloss on the middle of her cupid's bow.
"If you wanted to speak to me, you would have returned my calls and wouldn't have made me feel like an idiot who is running after you."
"I am sorry," I whisper, swallowing awkwardly. "I should have called you back. Can you forgive me for being a jerk?"
Bella pulls the sleeves of her sweater down, hiding her hands in it. "Did I do something wrong? I got the impression our date went good and then suddenly you were so cold. I don't understand why."
"You didn't do anything wrong." I tell her. "Don't think that."
There is an unpleasant feeling of shame spreading through me. I hate that she feels like she has done something wrong. I am the one who has acted like a complete idiot. I acted like a fucking coward by trying to avoid seeing her again. So, she works for Volturi's restaurant. There are millions restaurants in this town and it's going to be easy to convince her to work somewhere else. It's going to be easy, right?