Callie doesn’t leave the same way she came home.
Sydney and I stand apart from each other, watching, shocked, as the paramedics wheel her little body out on the gurney. Her head is covered by the thing they’ve zipped her into. It looks like a white sheet over her face.
When the dust settles, will Sydney blame me for bringing Callie home when she wanted her to stay in the hospital? Maybe Sydney was right. Maybe they could have saved her.
As the ambulance drives slowly away, taking Callie to the funeral home, I look at Sydney, not sure what she will tolerate from me now. I wait for her to lead.
“Do you think she knew she was going to die today?” she asks.
“When she lay down for that nap? No, she didn’t know.”
“If she did, I think she was okay with it. All she wanted was Christmas. And that was for me.”
I want to say that it turned out to be for me too, but that might be presumptuous. I don’t know where all this leaves Sydney and me. Just because we were starting something this afternoon doesn’t mean we’ll continue it. Callie put us together, but that doesn’t mean Sydney will want to stay that way.
Just as I’m about to talk myself out of this whole thing and convince myself that the relationship birthing between us was just in my head, Sydney walks into my arms again. I instinctively let her in, closing my arms around her as she lays her head against my chest, as if she’s found a home.
“I never should have wasted one minute of today on that spoiled brat.”
“No, no should-haves. She wanted you to be happy.”
“I was happy today.”
“So was she. Trust me on that. We should all go on a day like this.”
She pulls back and looks around as if she doesn’t know what to do next. “I guess I have to plan the funeral. What do I do first? When my dad died, my aunt planned everything. I didn’t pay attention to the details.”
“Maybe you should wait until tomorrow. I’ll go with you if you want.”
She lets me go and looks up at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I want to.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah. If you mean it, I’d like it if you came. But what should I be doing now?”
“Why don’t you sleep a little? Get some rest. If you just can’t, maybe you could write up something to put in the paper.”
“Yeah.” She looks around Callie’s house. The tree is still on, and there’s a garbage bag of torn Christmas paper on the floor next to it. Callie’s scooter sits against the wall.
“I don’t think I can be here. I’m just gonna go home.”
“I can drive you.”
“No, I need my car. I’ll be okay. Will you?”
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “But if you need anything—even just a friendly voice—you call, okay? Doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“I will.”
I feel like it’s my cue to go, so when she gets her purse and the things she needs from the house, she walks me out. I kiss her cheek before she gets into her car. She seems a little distracted, as though the weight of reality is beginning to crush her.
That night I sleep with the iPad on the bed next to me. Before I go to sleep, I pray. This is getting to be a habit. “If you could help Sydney . . . It’s going to be a long night for her. Maybe you could just zap her with sleep and help her feel better. Let her think happy thoughts.”
I’m as surprised as God must be that I’m praying again. I feel as if he heard me. I’ll bet Callie has put a bug in his ear for Sydney.
The next morning I call LuAnn to tell her I won’t be driving today. “I need a few days off,” I say. “I have a death in the family.”
“Your mother?” she asks.
“No, not my mother.”
“Grandmother?”
“No. LuAnn, can you give me the time off or not?” I really don’t want to talk about it.
“A sister or brother? Aunt or uncle?”
“Why do you care?” I almost shout.
“I’m just worried about you. I want to know how bad a shape you’re in.”
“I didn’t say I’m in bad shape. I just need to help with the arrangements.”
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“I might have wanted to come pay my respects.”
“You didn’t know her. How could you have respects to pay?”
“I know you! I go to funerals, okay? I’m a good person.”
I don’t want to tell her who it is, and I realize my reluctance is making me seem crazy.
“Oh my gosh,” she says finally. “It’s that Callie Beecher, isn’t it? Did she die?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Okay, yes. She died yesterday. Are you happy?”
“No, I’m not happy. She was a sweet woman. All those trips to the doctor. I knew she wasn’t doing well. Why did you say it was family?”
“Because I didn’t think you’d give me time off for the death of a customer. I had gotten . . . kind of attached to her.”
“You old softie. I knew you would.”
I sigh. “And I got to know her granddaughter. She’s pretty torn up. I thought I could help her.”
“Her granddaughter, huh? The one who wasn’t anywhere to be found when her grandmother was sent by a cab to the hospital?”
“She had good reasons.”
“So you like her, huh?”
I’m getting madder by the minute. “Time off or I quit, LuAnn. Your choice.”
“You’re so touchy, Finn. Of course you can have time off.”
I slam the phone down.