“Whoopsie-daisies,” Alex says. Then, hurriedly to Underwood: “That’s for FedEx to pick up. I rang them just now, and they should be here within the hour. Monday-morning delivery, okay?” He gives her a large-format envelope before announcing—a little too loudly—that he’ll be in his apartment all afternoon. That was for my benefit, I suppose.
When he’s gone, Freddie whispers, “I don’t like Daddy’s friend.”
Neither do I, but I may need to pretend I do, at least for a few hours.
We wait in Underwood’s office until two, when my parents are due to call back. She’s brightened up the room for us, turning lights on and even pulling over an extra chair with a few pillows on it for Freddie to sit on. All this sudden kindness should reassure me, but it has the opposite effect.
“I’ll leave you alone here,” Underwood says when the clock chimes the hour.
Freddie and I wait, but not for long.
I pick up the phone on the first ring, dreading what I’m about to hear, hating my husband and every single one of the people who have denied me a final goodbye, hating that Freddie won’t see her great-grandmother again.
Mom’s voice comes on, and I know something is wrong.
FIFTY-FIVE
I’ve known for a long time my grandmother would die. I imagined a tearful phone call from one of my parents, secondhand news from an oncologist being passed along, Oma’s body weakening over months and weeks and days until it gave up. But I also imagined there would be time to adjust, to say goodbye.
My mother sounds as if she hasn’t slept for a week. “Elena? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Mom. Is Oma—”
She changes to a tone that’s less tired and more at wit’s end. “I don’t know. She’s okay, but she’s not okay. Your father called Dr. Mendez, and there’s nothing wrong.” There’s a dry laugh. “Nothing wrong. He had to give her a sedative to stop her ranting, and even then she wouldn’t stop. Kept screaming that I had to call you. I told her we couldn’t, and she screamed some more. Oh, Elena, the woman’s been in her room all day banging that cane of hers on the bed frame. They don’t want to give her anything stronger because of her heart, but I think she’ll kill herself if she keeps up like this.” She pauses, says something to my father, and comes back on the line. “I’m going crazy here. One hundred percent batshit crazy. Oh, Gerhard, will you please make her stop that?”
Freddie stiffens next to me at the noise, and I mouth an “It’s okay” to her. “Calm down, Mom. I’m sorry I’m not there.”
“I’m not. You don’t want to be here. She’s been going on and on and on about Miriam’s sister. Since last night, El. It’s driving your father mad. Oh, hell. Here comes your father. Hang on, okay?” As if it’s an afterthought, she adds, “How are you? How’s Freddie?”
I want to tell her everything, but I bite my tongue. “I’m okay, Mom.”
“Your father says she wants to talk to you. Just humor her, all right?”
I follow the sound of my mother’s footsteps as she leaves wherever she is and walks toward the back room. Oma’s voice is thin, but piercing, and grows louder with each step. When Freddie hears her, she reaches for the phone in my right hand. “In a minute,” I say, although I’m not sure I want Freddie to hear her great-grandmother in this state.
“Are you okay, Oma?” I say.
“I don’t like to be old. No one listens to old women.”
I start doing my best to humor her. “I’m listening, Oma.”
“Your mother had to call Malcolm and lie to him about my heart before he would give us a telephone number for you. You see? I told them it was possible. But no one listened.”
“Sure they did. And I’m here now. Freddie wants to say hello.”
“Not now, Leni. After. Now you listen to me. You remember I told you about my friend Miriam,” she says. There’s the slightest of pauses before she says “friend”—almost imperceptible,