even think about disappearing—in any way—I need to make things right with them.
LOUIS DRIVES me to the hospital against my will. I want to go home. I want to sit calmly in my room, among my things. I want to be alone, so I can figure out what is happening.
But instead I am put in a wheelchair when I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, and wheeled into an exam room, where a young doctor with a bushy mustache and hair growing out of his ears pokes and prods me and sticks a needle into my forehead and asks stupid questions. When he leaves without even saying It was nice to meet you, or Good-bye , the nurse tells us to wait and then we are left alone.
I give Louis a good glare now and ask, “What are we waiting for?”
“They didn’t say,” he replies.
This non-answer doesn’t surprise me. I have always liked my son-in-law, but he tends to be weak.
There is a clatter out in the hall, and then Lila is standing in the doorway of the exam room. She is wearing a white coat like everyone else in this godforsaken place, but she has the clipped stride and stressed face of my second oldest grandchild. She is in her third year of medical school and she is a natural worrier. It’s clear that finding me here in her hospital as a patient has upset her hard-won sense of balance. I blame her father for this, too.
She looks to him first. “Daddy, what’s going on?”
“Sweetheart, hi. There was a little accident across the street from my meeting. I just happened to be there.”
“I’m fine, Lila, don’t worry,” I say. “I had a fender bender, that’s all. I wouldn’t have even come here, but your father insisted. This is an obvious waste of time and money.”
Louis clears his throat. “I told you I would cover any costs, Catharine.”
“But the waste of time,” I say, and am surprised by how upset I sound.
Lila moves to the side of the bed and takes my hand. She is checking my temperature, and to see if my skin is clammy or dry. Lila is my own personal health watch team. Every time I see her she takes my pulse and asks a few specific questions about how I’m feeling. Anger and fright struggle across her round face as she presses her fingers into mine. “How many stitches did they give you?” she asks. “What happened?”
I wave my free hand toward her father. “Louis, why don’t you go and track down that woman who said she would check me out. Lila will keep me company.”
Louis seems relieved to be freed into motion. “Right,” he says. “I’ll see if I can’t speed things up a little.”
We are not a touchy-feely family, and I can tell Lila is as aware as I am that my hand is still in hers. I pull away slowly. I say, “Don’t you look professional, in your white coat.”
Lila puffs up with pride. “My coat is shorter than the doctor’s,” she says. “That’s how people distinguish the students from the real thing. But I did get to put in stitches yesterday morning. It was kind of an honor, being allowed to do that.”
I nod, but I am only half-listening. It has occurred to me that I should take advantage of this time with Lila. If I am going crazy I should make something positive come out of it. I need to talk about my family to my family.
“Gram,” Lila says. She still looks shaken. “Do you think it’s possible for people to change?”
I am already on my own track; I don’t know what she means, and I can’t stop to think about it. I say, “I want to get the entire family together for Easter.”
Lila squints. “Easter is in a few weeks. Everyone? Even Uncle Pat?”
“Everyone. And I want to have the party at your and Gracie’s house.”
Lila takes a step away. She has her doctor-in-training expression back on. She thinks I’ve become disoriented, that I don’t know what I’m saying. “You mean Gracie’s house, don’t you, Gram? I’m just staying there for a few days while I sort out my medical school housing. You know that.”
“I don’t want you to leave her. I want you to live with her for good.”
Lila gives a short laugh that doesn’t sound at all amused. “What are you talking about? Gracie and I haven’t lived together since we were kids, and there are