The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,55
the lounge, Davis asks, “Where’s Gran?”
“She had a hard night last night. She’s sleeping.” I share everything Georgia told me.
“Darn it,” he says. “I know things have been progressively getting worse. I’m just not ready to accept it.”
“I’m sorry, Davis. I know your grandmother must have been a real firecracker in her day, and it has to be hard to see her like this.”
“Can I at least go in and see her?”
“Absolutely,” I say, before turning around and leading the way.
He sits on the bed next to her and gently takes her hand. “I love you, Gran. I’m glad you’re resting.” She doesn’t wake up, so he eventually leans over and kisses her cheek. Then he stands up. “She would have hated knowing people saw her like this.”
“The only people who see her like this are ones who care for her. No one thinks less of her.”
Davis walks toward me and casually loops his arm through mine. “I guess we’d better get going.” I wish our time together weren’t ending so quickly, but there’s no reason to hang around the nursing home with his grandmother sound asleep.
The drive back to Creek Water is pleasant, although still not filled with chatter. Years ago, Sammy told me that she knew she was in love because she found a guy she could be quiet with. She thought comfortable silence was the litmus test for relationship longevity.
Unfortunately, she later discovered he rarely spoke and when he did, he didn’t have much to say that was worth hearing. That’s not the case with Davis.
Once again, after arriving in town, we don’t take the turn that leads to Shady Acres. I decide not to question it and just see where we wind up. Turns out we’re still going to the Frothinghams’ house.
Lee and Jedd run out the front door before we even pull into the driveway. Matching looks of disappointment cross their faces when they see the guest of honor isn’t with us.
“Where’s Gran?” Jedd asks.
“She had a rough night,” Davis tells him. “She was sound asleep when we left.”
“There’s no sense in everyone staggering their arrivals then. I’ll just give them a call and have them all come on over now,” Lee says.
The first thing I notice when we walk into the living room are a bunch of picture frames that weren’t there last week. They’re family photos and they’re primarily of Davis’s grandmother when she was younger. She looks formidable and fun at the same time, like a woman you wouldn’t want to cross, but one who knew how to let loose when the occasion called for it.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Davis asks me.
“I’d prefer a beer if you have it,” I tell him.
He heads toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in the room with his dad. Mr. Frothingham is sitting on the sofa looking like he just lost his best friend. “Are you okay?” I ask, sitting down next to him.
His expression is vulnerable. “I used to think when I grew up I’d be ready for whatever the world threw at me. But you know what? Every time something big hits, I feel like I’m caught totally unaware. You know what I mean?”
“I think that’s just life. Even the good stuff can be hard to adjust to if it represents a big enough change. The bad stuff is more difficult.”
“I’ve lived over half a century,” he says. “I’ve always known that someday my parents would get old and die. Yet, when my daddy passed, I felt pain and emptiness I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from. ‘Course I had to because I needed to be strong for my mama. What in the world am I gonna do when she goes, too?”
“You’re going to cry a lot,” I tell him, “but you’re going to look around at your family and you’re going to feel gratitude that she left such an amazing legacy. You’ll work through your grief together.”
Jedd says, “I’m an ass, you know that?”
“How so?”
“Because I’m sitting here complaining about how hard I have it when you’ve already lost your mama. I’m sorry for being so selfish.” He takes my hand in his and gives it a meaningful squeeze.
His sympathy catches me so unaware, tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. “We all have to go through it some time,” I tell him. “I just had to face it sooner than most.” And even though that’s true, I still can’t help but agree that I’ve been shorted.