I’m waiting in Callie’s doorway when Sydney comes back up the hall. As she approaches, I see the pink blotches under her eyes, as if she’s taxed her tear glands to the max. The tip of her nose is also pink, and she’s clutching a Kleenex in her hand. I hate seeing her like this. It does something to me.
I start to ask if she’s okay, but the moment our eyes meet she throws up her chin and says, “Okay, let’s get this ball on the road.”
I grin. “You mean, ‘Let’s get this show on the road’? Or ‘Let’s get this ball rolling’?”
She looks at me with disgust instead of amusement. “Are you finished?”
“Sounds like you are. What did the doctor say?”
“She’s going home.” She goes into the room and unplugs the Christmas tree, moves it to the center of the floor, and starts to pack up Callie’s few things that Sydney brought from home.
“Okay Grammy,” she says. “Looks like you win. You’re going home for Christmas.” She looks like she’s about to chew someone’s head off, so I tread softly behind her.
“Am I driving her home?” I ask carefully.
“If you don’t mind,” she says. “I need to make sure one of my colleagues can go to court to ask for a recess. Then I’ll be there to take care of her.” She’s throwing things into the bag now. She goes into the bathroom and grabs the toothpaste and toothbrush. “And you really are coming to Christmas lunch tomorrow, right?”
“Are you okay with that?”
She turns her livid eyes to me. I wonder what happened on that telephone call. She’s certainly looking for a fight. “You’re coming. That’s final. She’s going to be home and she wants a significant Christmas and she would like for you to be there.”
I clear my throat. “I told her I would come, so I guess I will.”
“Pardon me?” Callie says in a weak voice.
“I’m talking to Finn, Grammy.” Sydney turns back to me. “No guessing,” she says. “My grandmother wants you there. She insists on being home for Christmas, and by golly, she’s going to have the kind of Christmas she’s been fantasizing about. Any questions?”
“Okay, you’re obviously upset. What did that doctor say to you?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “He basically just told me that I have no say in the matter, power of attorney or not. And that it doesn’t make much difference whether she’s here or there . . .” Her voice breaks off now, and tears push back into her eyes.
I reach out and touch her shoulder. She freezes for a minute, then resumes packing things up. “Do you think you can get everything in the cab?” she says more softly. “Even the tree?”
“We could leave the tree here,” I say. “Maybe some other patient would like it. She has one at home. It’s still netted, just lying on the floor, but . . .”
Sydney shrugs as if she couldn’t care less. “Really, I’ll only be gone for a little while. I just have to move for a recess until after the holidays, even though I’m sure the partners are already plotting my demise.”
“Take your time,” I say. “I’ll hang out with her till you get there.”
She dabs at her eyes again as if it would be a mortal sin to be caught with tears rolling down her face. “Look at you. The cab driver, of all things. You’re acting like a family member. More of one than I am.”
“You’re doing fine, Sydney.”
“No, I’m not,” she says. “I haven’t even been around enough for the doctor to feel like he needs to tell me the most basic things.”
I want to touch her again, but I resist the instinct and let her zip up the bag.
The nurse comes back. “Well, it looks like we’re all set.”
“Thank you, precious,” Callie says to her as if the nurse has always been the most helpful one in the building.
“I’ve got a cart out in the hall,” the nurse says. “Hold on just a sec.”
Callie is beaming, but her face is pale and she has dark circles under her eyes, and her breath comes in short bursts. I worry that she’s not getting enough oxygen.
The nurse comes back in with the cart, and we start loading the things onto it.
We’ve almost got everything ready when Sydney’s phone chimes. She looks annoyed as she checks it. “Oh no. My boss. I have to take this.”
I help Callie into her coat as Sydney walks out into the hall. I can hear her from in here. “Yes, sir . . . No, he didn’t call me. Why? . . . He did? On Christmas Eve? In broad daylight?”
I grin, imagining what she’s talking about. A Christmas party where someone got out of control?
“It’s just that my grandmother is being released from the hospital at this very moment, and she’s not in good shape . . . Yes, I want my job, but maybe someone else could go take care of it . . . Of course I’m on the team . . . No, I understand. I’ll . . . I’ll be right there . . . No, sir. I can be there within the hour.”
She looks up at me, and I see the distress in her eyes.
“But tomorrow is Christmas. I’m supposed to be with my grandmother. It may be the last one.”
Tears take over again, and she squints her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, sir . . . Yes, I’m sure that can be worked out . . . Of course. Thank you, sir.”
I step out into the hall as she clicks the phone off. “Did that end well?” I ask.
She swings around, not even bothering to hide the tears now. “No, it didn’t.”
“You have to work tomorrow?”
“Yes. No. Maybe, I don’t know. I’m just . . . not sure. Maybe he’s just testing my commitment.”
“Testing your commitment? What kind of cruel game is that?”
“It’s not a game. He’s the most serious man I’ve ever met.” She sighs. “My client, the idiot who’s suing the college and Burger King, just got arrested.”
“Not good.”
“No, it isn’t. His father is breathing fire. But it seems to be my problem. Damage control, not to mention getting the judge to set bond so I can get him out in time for Christmas.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Depends on whether I can even corral a judge on Christmas Eve. I have no choice.”
“You do have a choice, Sydney. Someone else could handle this. You need to quit that job.”
She forces a sad laugh. “Quit? You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m just saying that if you’re anything like I think, you can do better than this. You worked your way through school. You passed the bar. You landed this job. You can land others. One where they give you serious cases instead of soul-killers, and one where they respect the things that matter to you, like your very last Christmas with your grandmother.”
“Don’t judge me!” she bites out. “You don’t understand!” Her face twists, and she covers it. “Can you just take her and stay with her until I can get there? I’ll hurry.”
I look down at the floor, not wanting to embarrass her. “Sure.”
The nurse pushes past me into Callie’s room. I follow her in, and Sydney comes in behind me.
“You can take the cart to the car,” she tells me. Then she turns to Callie. “I’ll be at your house as soon as I can,” she says gently. She puts Callie’s bag on the cart, then picks up her own messenger bag and throws the strap over her shoulder. She dabs her eyes again. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll go now so I can get back sooner.” She looks up at me. “Just be careful. Call me if there’s any problem.”
Tears are rimming her eyes again as she bends over and kisses her grandmother on the cheek. “Bye, Grammy. See you in a little bit.”
“You take your time, sweet girl,” Callie says, amazingly cogent.
As Sydney bursts into tears again and rushes from the room, I roll the cart out behind her. The nurse pushes Callie behind us. I try to figure out what’s going through Sydney’s mind. Is it the imminent death of her grandmother? Is it the loss of control? Is it worry for Callie’s safety?
When I move my car to the door, we get Callie into the back seat and load everything into my trunk.
Callie looks happy and wide-eyed as I get into the car. “Before we go home,” she says, “I need you to take me by Kroger. I have to pick up my fixin’s.”
“Your what?”
“The food I’m cooking tomorrow. It’s Christmas, you know.”
“Miss Callie, you know you don’t have the energy to cook, don’t you? You can’t even stand in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Callie says. “They cooked it for me like they do every year. All I have to do is pick it up.”
I frown. “So you ordered an entire Christmas dinner from the grocery store?”
“Yes. Feeds six.”
“Six? Who all is coming?”
“Sydney, you . . . You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Sure, Miss Callie. I’ll be there if you really want me.”
“Yes. That pretty lady in the Kroger deli is a great cook, and she said she always cooks mine personally.”
I get to Kroger and pull up to the curb in front of the door. “So it’s in your name?”
“That’s right. Can you get my chair?”
I don’t want to take her in. I want to get this over with. “Just stay here, Miss Callie. You need to rest. I’ll run in and get it.”
“Well, all right.”
“Is it already paid for?”
“I think so.”
Great. If it’s not, I guess I’ll have to pay. I get a buggy as I go in and head back to the deli. Others are in line to get their holiday meals, so as I wait I look around for other things Callie might need. I grab some rolls from an endcap and pull a pecan pie out of the freezer.
Finally, I get up to the front. I give them Callie’s name, and they bring out a huge cooked turkey in a box, several trays of food, a pumpkin pie, and some cranberry casserole.
Some of the food is still warm. I wheel it away after making sure it’s paid for already, then I stop and look under some of the wrappers and take a whiff.
Not bad, but needs a little more. I hurry through the aisles of the store and get a few more spices and the ingredients I could use to make it taste a little less store-bought. I wonder if she has tea bags for iced tea. I buy some. I can get the rest of what I’ll need from home.
When I’ve paid for the extra things, I take the food out to the car. Callie is sound asleep. I put the box of food on the seat next to her. Even the smell and the closing of the door don’t wake her.
As I get back behind the wheel, my heart sinks and overwhelming sadness blankets me.
This might be Callie’s last ride in my cab.