As I finish the last word, my heartache continues to grow for Grams, both for what she endured back then and for what she is going through right now. At least I know she somehow survived that ordeal all those years ago, and I’m eager to find out how.

I hear feet storming through the hallway amid breathless gasps, and I can only imagine the sounds belong to Mom. The running stops, probably when they direct her to this cave they refer to as a waiting room.

Just as I predicted, the door opens, and I slip the diary back into my bag to avoid questions since Grams asked me to keep this to myself, which I’m starting to understand why.

Mom falls into me without a word, and her body trembles as she bursts into tears. “I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she says.

“We’re going to make it through this,” I tell her, trying to sound as positive as I can. “Grams doesn’t give up.” I know this now.

“How did you get here so fast? Where were you when you got the news? Please tell me you weren’t at Mike’s house.”

I take in a slow, deep breath, needing a moment to switch gears from death and morbidity to explaining how I’ve suddenly fallen into a committed relationship with my grandmother’s doctor over the past two days. “I was with Jackson,” I tell her.

Of course, her face registers a look of surprise as she glances down at her watch to confirm the time. Since she was, in fact, woken from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, and I was with Jackson when that happened, it only takes a moment for her to put two and two together.

“Are you two—” She puts her hands together and tries to smile, but her lips quiver instead. There’s no hiding how scared she is—I understand. “At least something good is happening now with all this other horrible stuff going on with Grams,” Mom says, trying to sound upbeat. She looks away for a second and then back at me, her eyes burning with curiosity. “Were you…” she stops short of finishing the question and says, “Never mind, it’s not my place.” There isn’t much Mom won’t ask me, but for some reason, she is respecting my privacy tonight. She already has too much on her mind while worrying about Grams, so I assume that’s why.

Mom repositions herself in the seat beside me and places her hands over her heart. “Where were the nurses when she got up?”

“I don’t know, Mom.”

“Someone should have been with her.”

“I don’t know how that works,” I tell her.

“Well, I’ll have a word with whoever is in charge.”

That’s not what I would be doing now. “We want them to help us with Grams. You can’t start threatening and scolding them. Have you talked to Annie?”

“She should be here any moment.” Mom picks up her phone, checking for missed calls or text messages, but her phone is always on the loudest volume, so I don’t see how it would be possible to miss anything. “How long before we’ll hear something?” she asks.

“I really don’t know any more than you do,” I tell her.

Annie quietly makes her way into the room. Her rosy cheeks are stained with tears, and her makeup-less face gives the appearance that she’s closer to her actual age than she typical looks. “How did you hear about her first?” Annie asks immediately.

“Oh, she just happened to be at the hospital checking in on Mom when it occurred,” Mom says to Annie.

For the fact that Annie doesn’t question the time of night I was apparently checking on Grams, I’ll assume she’s as exhausted as Mom.

I am impressed that Mom isn’t pressing the matter. She likes to find distractions when she’s upset, so this is big. Maybe she doesn’t want to jinx it. I’m sure under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself, and the information she thinks she has would have been blurted out to Annie by now. Mom and Annie are like two peas in a pod. Annie never had children, so I have been her sole focus just as I have been Mom’s. Three women, including Grams, have simultaneously lived vicariously through my life since I was old enough to be considered a prime age for love, and all the other exciting stuff that young women are supposed to experience. They all think I should be focused on marriage, having children, and keeping the perfect home. Yet, here I am, the ultimate disappointment who has preferred her career over everything else, including a normal relationship with a man. Jackson may be a game changer, but I still don’t see a reason to rush my life away.

With the thought of Jackson lingering through my over-stressed mind, the door opens, revealing his scrub-clad body and a look of exhaustion. We all stand up, waiting for his life-or-death answer to our burning question.

“I was able to revive her. My assumptions about the pacemaker dislodging when she fell forward, were accurate. It didn’t cause her harm, but it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. Her blood pressure elevated from the fall and her heart was racing at a fast pace, so the arrhythmia caught up to her, which caused her heart to panic after losing a sense of direction.”

“Is she going to be okay?” I blurt out.

“Before we re-attached the pacemaker, we did some more in-depth scans of her heart. During a CT scan and an angiogram, we noticed that her aortic valve is very narrow. Even though the stroke was caused by the atrial fibrillation, we now know that she is also dealing with a restricted and narrowed valve. The narrowing means that it’s harder for the blood to get through the valve. This may have been a contributing factor to her falling tonight too. I believe she may have blacked out when she stood up due to a lack of blood supply getting through the valve and to the brain.” The information rolling off Jackson’s tongue is jumbling in my head—it’s a lot to take in. I know there is a reason for all the information, and I’m scared of the outcome. “The bright side of the story is, we spotted the narrowed valve because of the accident. It would have been spotted eventually, but with everything that has happened to her in the past few days, the most important thing was to stabilize her and then see what else was going on, but now we know.”

“What does all of this mean?” Mom pleads. The medical jargon is confusing, and I’m trying to understand it all too, but I can assume it all means that there’s a bigger problem with Grams’s heart, and it isn’t being fixed by the pacemaker.

“It could mean more surgery—an aortic valve replacement, to be exact,” he says.

“Is it risky?” Annie asks as she trembles while holding onto Mom’s arm.

Jackson takes a seat across from us and folds his hands over his knees as he leans forward. This is his way of talking to us calmly to explain why there isn’t a good outcome to this. I can feel it. I can see it in his eyes. “It is, and I have to tell you my professional opinion: I don’t recommend it at her age or in her condition. If she were ten years younger, I would say to go for it, but she is already weak and frail. I just feel it may be too risky.”

“But I thought the pacemaker would fix her heart?” Mom asks. She must know the answer couldn’t be so simple, but I’m also sure she’s in shock, as it appears Annie is too.

“It fixed part of the problem,” Jackson continues. “Her heart will continue to beat at a normal pace; however, the narrowing of that valve causes oxygen deprivation, which could eventually lead to a heart attack. Now, I’m not saying it will, but it could.”

“Eventually?” I ask.

“Ninety-two years old is quite a feat,” he says, redirecting his attention onto me while revealing a look of grief in his eyes.

“It’s not enough time,” I tell him.

“She can either live out her life at home, or we can find a special care facility for her, but after the short time I’ve known Amelia, I’m assuming the first option would be best.”

“How long does she have, Jackson?” I ask.

Jackson pauses a moment. His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat, and his chest rises as if it’s taking a lot of will to muster the answer. “It’s hard to say. She could have two more years, or something could happen tomorrow. I don’t know how long it took her aortic valve to reach the state it’s in, so I don’t know how fast the narrowing is progressing. If it’s slow, then that will be good for her.” He pauses again, needing to take another breath. I’ve made this harder on him. There’s more at stake than just an everyday patient now. I can see it and hear it through his struggling words. He doesn’t want to hurt me. “I guess what I’m saying is…just relish the time and help her enjoy life for as long as you can. That’s really what everybody should do anyway. We’ll keep her on the heart meds and blood thinners, and that, along with the pacemaker, should prevent her from having another stroke.”

Mom and Annie wrap their arms around me, both falling apart as they squeeze tightly. I feel helpless as I stare into Jackson’s caring eyes as he mouths the words, “I’m so sorry.”

“When can we see her?” Mom cries out.

“She’s resting comfortably right now, so I suggest coming back first thing in the morning.”

They both nod as tears roll down their cheeks at the same time. I’ve never been as emotional as the two of them, but something inside of me is feeding my strength. I know I need to be strong for them. I’m all they have.

Mom and Annie nudge me forward. “Come on,” Mom says, “let’s get home so we can get a little sleep.”

“I think I’m going to stay here,” I tell her.

“Emma, don’t be ridiculous. You need some sleep, and we both know you won’t be getting any rest in these chairs.”

“Mom, I’m fine, okay?”

“Okay. Well, call me if there is any change,” she says, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Please don’t wait. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I promise,” I tell her.

“I’m going to stay with you tonight,” Annie tells Mom on the way out.

Jackson and I are left alone in the waiting room, and he pulls me up from my seat and onto his lap, offering me the kind of hug I’ve desperately needed for the past couple of hours. “Are your mom and aunt going to be okay tonight?”

I sniffle and peer up at Jackson through a blur of contained tears. “Yeah,” I croak. “Annie stays with my mom a lot anyway because my Uncle Aaron goes on frequent fishing trips with a bunch of his retired-police friends. Plus, Mom and Annie take care of each other when I’m not around too, which is nice.”

“Good,” Jackson says. “What about you?”

I force my lips into a fake smile and shake my head. “No, I’m not okay.”

“I would do the surgery, but I don’t think she’s strong enough to make it through an open-heart procedure, and she isn’t a candidate for the other methods at this time.”

“I’m sure she would agree. I don’t see her wanting to go for any further surgeries.”

“She has certainly suffered enough for one lifetime,” Jackson says.

As he pulls away just a bit to lean back into the chair, I replace his embrace with my arms, wrapping them around my chest to hold myself from the shiver running through my body. “She’s also had an amazing life too,” I feel the need to say.

“With you being a part of it, anyone’s life would be incredible.” I rest the side of my face into his chest, feeling safer and comforted by his warmth.

“I need to find him before it’s too late,” I say. Though the words are quiet and under my breath, I’m sure of my statement.

“Find him?” Jackson questions.

“I need to find Charlie, or at least see if he’s still alive. I need to do it for her. I’m not ready to let go of her yet, either, especially after learning everything from her diary. I feel like I just met her for the first time.”

Jackson places his hands on my shoulders and glances down at me with determination written across his face. “I have Friday off. I can help you if you want,” he says. “For now, though, come with me.” I don’t even know what day of the week it is right now. I want to start looking for Charlie this very second, but I can hardly see straight.

Jackson takes my hand, leading me out of the waiting room and down the hall to where he pushes open a door that leads into a stairwell. “Where are we going?”

“We need sleep,” he says.

I agree with him there, but where we are going to sleep is what I’m wondering. We hike up a couple flights of stairs that lead to a different wing of the hospital. This place keeps getting bigger and bigger, I swear. Jackson swipes his badge along one of the security boxes and opens the door into a lobby-like area. “Where are we?”

“When we have double shifts that overlap at night, we take naps. Sometimes I just sleep here when my shift runs longer than it should, and I have to be back early in the morning.” The lobby area leads down a hall with several doors. Some are open and some are closed. I assume the closed ones are occupied, as we walk into one of the open ones. It looks like a small hotel room inside. “It’s nice that you have a place to stay here.”

“We’re lucky to have a space like this. Most hospitals don’t offer such high-class quarters,” he says with a tired smile.

I don’t think twice before dropping my bag against the wall, kicking my shoes off, and climbing into the inviting bed. He follows, but removes his shirt before pulling the sheets over us. Jackson wraps his heavy arm around me, and the comfort of being held by him soothes my worries into the back of my mind, even if only temporarily.

Jackson had to be up at six, and without the comfort of his body taking up the space beside me, I wasn’t hard to rouse. He told me I could stay here for a while longer and sleep, but I thought it might be awkward if I walked out of here alone and ran into any of the other medical staff, so I decide to head back down to the despised waiting room.

I’m ready to begin my research on Charlie, but I’m also nervous for what I might find. Would this complicate Grams’s life or give her the sense of peace she may have been looking for half of her life?

I pull my laptop and the diary out of my bag because I still can’t remember if Charlie’s last name was mentioned, so I’ll have to start there.

After skimming through the first few entries I read, I come across the name Charlie Crane. I can only imagine how many Charlie Cranes there are in the world.

I open my browser and type in his name, followed by World War II soldier. My throat tightens as the swirling icon spins over a blank page.

I’m not surprised when several pages of articles pop up, but nothing with Charlie’s name in the headline. I delete the World War II soldier part and just search broadly for his name, but I’m greeted with even more pages of Charlie Cranes. I need to know what country he’s living in, or lived in, for that matter.

Out of frustration from not knowing where to start, I search for Grams’s name to see what information comes up about her. There’s very little, but her name is on a list of survivors documented at Ellis Island in 1944, which means there is still a year between the time she escaped and when she made it to the United States. I have no idea what happened during that time.

A blur of blue scrubs moves past the window, stealing my attention away from the screen. The door then opens, and Jackson pops his head inside. How does he look so good after getting so little sleep? I probably look like a zombie right now. “She’s awake if you want to go on down there,” he tells me.

I hop up from my seat, slapping my laptop shut and tossing it into my bag, along with the diary. “Is she groggy?”

“Not really,” he says. “I want to warn you that her face is pretty bruised up, though. I don’t want you to be surprised when you see her.”

“Did she need stitches or anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head and presses a slight smile to one corner of his lips. “No. Luckily, they’re just superficial bruises.”

“At least that’s one good thing,” I sigh.

“Hey,” he says, walking into the waiting room. He pulls me in for a hug and runs his hand over the back of my head. “She’s alive, and that’s a good thing.” He’s completely right. How quickly I’ve forgotten about my distress from last night is proof that exhaustion is starting to get the best of me, as well.

“You’re right,” I agree.

He takes my free hand and pulls it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jackson stands back up and guides me over to the door, holding it open for me to walk through. “I’ll be down there in just a few,” he says. “I have another patient to check on first.”

I make my way through the hall to Grams’s room, anxiously stepping inside as I try my best not to wince at the blue and purple splotches covering her face. This kills me. Weeks ago, she was still walking every day, managing her life just fine, and now, out of nowhere, or so it seems, she could be slowly dying. I can’t help but wonder if she was ignoring symptoms, or just failing to mention them to us. She’s done it before because “she doesn’t need help,” as she likes to remind us.

“Good morning, Grams,” I say, upping the level of perkiness I tend to use.

“Oh, Emma,” she says, sounding annoyed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I pull up a chair and sit beside her. “You were thinking you’ve had enough of this bed along with all the help you need, and wanted to take a midnight stroll to see if this hospital has a bar downstairs. Am I right?”

A choked laugh catches in her throat. “Oh, my girl sure does know me.” A world without her won’t be okay. She’s like a second mother to me. This woman hasn’t missed one important moment in my life, and she sat beside Mom as she raised me, always having a thing or two to say about the matter. I couldn’t have asked for a better family than the one I have.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” I place my hand carefully on hers, scared to do anything that could hurt her more.

“Eh, I’ve fallen before. I mean, falling face first on this floor wasn’t the highlight of my life, but what are you going to do?”

“Never a dull moment with you, Grams,” I tell her.

“So, I hear I’m dying,” she says with an exasperated sigh.

Recoiling from her words and the shock that she already knows too much, my mouth falls agape. I have no idea what to say, besides, “Don’t think that way. You could still have years left. You just have to be careful and follow the doctor’s orders.” It’s so hard to swallow my words because I feel like I’m not telling her the whole story.

“I knew it was coming,” she says.

“What? How?”

“If you search online for shortness of breath, tightness, and pain in the chest, plus fatigue, it gives you the answer right there. The only solution is surgery, and it’s too risky at my age. I figured I had a few good months left in me.” Wow, I guess when you’ve lived ninety-two years, through just about everything, you don’t need someone to tell you anything.

“Grams, you should have been a doctor,” I tell her.

“I probably could have been with the amount of knowledge I gained while working at the sick bay, but I wanted nothing to do with that once I was free. I had seen enough scars to last me the rest of my life.”

I brush her hair off her forehead, careful to avoid any of the bruises. “Grams, where did Charlie live? I mean, the last time you heard from him.” I’m determined to find this man now.

“The last time I heard from him?” she asks through more struggling laughter. “Oh, Emma, it’s been seventy-four years since I heard from him last.”

“You—he, I don’t understand.”

“Honey, I don’t know if he’s dead or not. I want to think he’s not because I’ve now been revived twice, and he hasn’t been there along with the others who are waiting for me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but in my heart, I feel like Charlie is still alive somewhere.”

“In the United States or another country?”

“I have no idea, Emma. Anything could have happened since I saw him last.”

“Well, what happened?”

Grams stares at me with angelic eyes as if she were gazing right through me. Her head gently shakes from side to side before she begins to speak. “I can’t,” she says. “If you want to know, you will have to read it for yourself.” I want to tell her that talking about things sometimes helps, but I will never be able to understand what she’s gone through. “Anyway.” She nestles her head into her pillow and shrugs her shoulders a bit. “How is Jackson?”

“Grams, he’s fine,” I say, shortly, hoping to change the subject back to Charlie. We’re not doing “that” now.

“He said he would be back in just a few minutes, but I have a strange suspicion you already knew that.” Even with the bruises lining her swollen cheeks, she can still wink at me.

“Grams,” I say again.

“Oh, Emma, my goodness, I was your age once. I know what young people do.”

How do I belong to this family? I’m going to turn into her someday, and embarrass my children without a care in the world. “That’s great,” I tell her.

“So, do you think you could grow to love him?” How can I look at her like this and get irritated? She knows that, and she’s using it against me.

“We only started seeing each other a few days ago,” I remind her.

“Love will grow, sweet girl. Just give it time, and be good to each other.”

I’m beyond thankful that Jackson walks in when he does, interrupting this uncomfortable discussion of my personal life. I do need to figure this out for myself. It’s new and exciting, but I don’t want to get hurt again, either. Yet, I was sort of quick to ask this man to be my boyfriend last night. I’ll chalk that insanity up to pillow talk, sleep deprivation, and distress. That’s what it must be.

“Hey, Amelia, did they bring in your breakfast yet?” Jackson asks her.

“Not yet, but it’s okay, I can wait a bit,” she says. Grams twists her head to look over at Jackson as he’s reviewing her cardiogram report. “So, when are you two getting married? I need a great-grandchild, you know.” Before I have a chance to intervene and stop whatever will come out of her mouth next, she continues, “I suppose with the short timeline you’ve left me with, that may not be possible, but there is enough time for a wedding.”

Jackson takes the outpouring of suggestions quite well. Thank goodness, he’s understanding. The small smile on his face and the nod he gives as he continues reviewing the report, says it all. “You know, Amelia,” Jackson says as he places the report down, “most of my patients who have gone through what you have in the past week aren’t as talkative as you are. You are just full of energy, aren’t you?” Jackson has his doctor smile on—the one that probably calms his patients and makes them feel comfortable under his care.

“Grams, Jackson and I just met a week ago,” I remind her again. Not like she didn’t hear me the first time, but maybe it’ll sink in this time. Doubtful, though.

“Yes, but you only live once, although you may die twice…if you’re me,” she says.

I close my eyes and drop my head into my hand. I believe I hear a snicker from the peanut gallery on the other side of the room while Grams is just raring up to keep going.

“You know, it’s possible to fall in love in a night,” she says.

“That’s not what everyone else says,” I argue.

“Everyone else is wrong, or they’ve never fallen in love at first sight.” I don’t think she understands exactly how I’m feeling right now. If she did, she’d know how uncomfortable I am with the fact that I just stepped out of one relationship and right into another. I’m not complaining per se, but it doesn’t sound good out loud.

“Grams, we’re not getting married in the next few months,” I tell her, assuming Jackson is silently agreeing with me.

“Fine,” she says, folding her hands over her chest. “If you want to question my life-long research and experiences, that’s fine, but I bet you one thing—”

“What’s that?” I ask, looking over at Jackson who’s suddenly intrigued by whatever Grams is about to say.

“By the time you are finished reading my diary, you will have realized two things,” she begins.

“Okay…?” I question.

“First: Love has a way of sneaking into your heart and taking you hostage for an entire lifetime. Second: If you’re lucky enough to hold onto love, you won’t have to experience the pain of having your body captivated by a soul that may or may not still be alive.”

I pull in a shuddering breath as I wrap my hand around the front of my neck, still unable to shake away the tightness. “I understand,” is all I can say. I won’t question the meaning of her life. I can’t.

“Jackson,” Grams says. “I need you to marry my granddaughter.”

I’m mortified. You can’t put a man in a position like this just days after meeting a woman, especially a man who just went through a divorce less than a year ago. “Grams, please stop.”

“Amelia,” Jackson says her name without so much as a hitch in his deep, soothing voice. “If by the end of your diary, Emma tells me she can’t spend a day without me, in fear of suffering from the unknown for the rest of her life, I will do what I can to arrange the fastest marriage known to man. However, she has to tell me this herself.”

Are they both crazy? Who does this? People don’t get married after meeting someone a handful of times. They don’t talk about marriage. In fact, some people would become physically ill thinking about the idea after a horrible six-year relationship. “People do it all the time on TV,” Grams argues with my silent thoughts.

“Jackson, may I speak to you for a moment,” I articulate, standing from the chair and taking his arm so I can pull him into the hall.

“Do you know what you just agreed to with a dying woman?” Jackson looks down for a minute as if I were scolding him and he’s ashamed, but when his face lifts, he’s chuckling—this hoarse little laugh he does when he’s teasing me. “You can’t play games like that with her, Jackson. She’s serious.”

“Emma,” he says with a stone-walled expression. “If you truly feel that way when you’re done reading her diary, then I would agree to marry you. If you were certain after only knowing me for a short time that I’m undoubtedly the one person in this world you can’t live without, I would be a fool to walk away.”

The first time he agreed with Grams, it just made me uncomfortable, but this time, he’s taken my breath away. “You just went through a divorce,” I remind him.

“What’s your point?”

I don’t have an answer. “I suppose I don’t have one.”

“The two of us are both single for a reason, and it wasn’t because we found this kind of love she’s talking about with someone else.”

“A week. We’ve known each other a week,” I tell him.

“And I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to spend every minute with you. Your laugh makes me smile. Your smile makes my heart do these strange flip-flops in my chest, and I could probably sit and talk to you for a week straight without needing a breather.”

His words are wooing everything inside of me, but there are other parts of this he isn’t considering. “Did you know that I like sardines? Hmm?”

“That’s gross, but it doesn’t change anything.”

I narrow my eyes at him, determined to throw him off his sureness. “I eat them out of a can sometimes,” I tell him.

“Still, gross, but I’ll sit next to you and admire your can-peeling technique.”

“Whenever I get a migraine, I vomit,” I continue.

“I’m a doctor. I’ve been vomited on more times than I can remember. I can hold your hair back.”

“I have a horrible singing voice and I like to sing loudly on long car trips. Oh, and I know all the words to every popular song there is.”

“That’s so funny,” he says, leaning up against the wall as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I do the same exact thing.”

I find myself looking from side to side, trying to think of another terrible habit I have. “I own fifty pairs of shoes.”

“I’d be interested to know what you need them for, each individually, of course.”

“Ugh, forget it. You are infuriating,” I tell him. “Oh, I know, I like to pick little fights a lot.”

“Noted, but that can make a relationship stronger,” he rebuts with a grin. “Plus, you’re adorable when you get mad. Your nose scrunches up, and your voice squeaks.”

“I can’t handle you right now,” I argue.

He lowers his arms and wraps one of them around my back, pulling me into him as he places a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you a little later, crazy.”

“Me? I’m crazy?”

“Just a little.” He pinches my chin between his fingers and jiggles my face from side to side.

I slowly fall prisoner to the walk of shame back into Grams’s room, finding her beaming, of course. “I just knew it. It’s a talent I have.”

“Grams,” I say, trying to hold onto the angered inflection in my voice.

“Emma, please sit down and continue reading to me. The faster you get through the book, the faster I can move on with my life.” I have a sad feeling I know what she means by that, and I’d like to think that’s not how this is going to go.

“Don’t say that,” I tell her.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere until you marry that man. Don’t worry.”

I roll my eyes and grab the diary from my bag. “I left off at the part where you were country hopping,” I tell her before opening the book.

“Oh, and that was quite a trip.”