Chapter Thirteen - Charlotte
Catherine slips into unresponsiveness early on a Sunday morning.
She’s not on my assignment, but I keep checking on her all day. Everyone does. Catherine has touched so many people in her time here, and the whole air of the place feels different now, at the very real thought of actually losing her. Her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter arrive midday to sit with her, and it’s like all of them, and the whole staff around here, are just holding their breath—waiting for Catherine’s last, or maybe holding out, like somehow the bargain will delay the inevitable just a little while longer in exchange.
Just yesterday she’d been herself, lively and joking, telling stories about running her flower shop in the 1980s. And then today, she’d slipped away, that rasp in her voice changed to a rattle in her breathing, the kind that every nurse in the building has heard in the hours and days before so many deaths. It makes sense in some ways that she wouldn’t linger, that she’d have been herself until the last few hours of her life. She’s such a strong person, it’s like she willed it to be this way, to hang on as long as she could and never slip away from herself. It’s still surreal, though, even with as many jokes as she makes all the time, to think of her being gone for real.
She passes away that night, right as the winter sun is setting over the water like the world is getting darker as she leaves it behind.
I know I shouldn’t be upset, shouldn’t really feel anything, honestly. I should be used to this, should be numb to it. And normally, I am—I’ve had to be over the years, or I wouldn’t have made it in this profession. But today? I feel it with everything in me. It hits me, square in the heart. Catherine had made a profound impact on me in the time I’d known her, and I wasn’t ready to let her go. I feel like I’ve lost a close friend.
It knocks the wind out of me a little, makes me feel a little like I might collapse. I haven’t felt like this about a patient in a long time. I should go home, but I find myself wandering around for a while, just walking through town in a blur. My eyes well up with tears more than once, and I blink them back, face red with the chilly December wind.
I head to the Dock’s End. Danny has asked me to stop by, and honestly, I don’t want to be alone right now. The restaurant has closed early tonight, and it’s mostly empty when I get there. I let myself in and find Danny in the back.
“Hey,” I call, looking around the kitchen where a few line cooks are throwing on their coats and getting ready to head out. I can’t help but picture the last time I was in this kitchen—picture Danny, remember what had happened, how it had felt. I shake my head, trying to clear it, even though the distraction from Catherine makes me feel a little better.
“Thanks for coming,” Danny says, rounding the corner and smiling at me. He tilts his head at me, studying me like my face is showing some of what I’m feeling.
“Of course,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“Are you okay?” Danny asks, frowning at me. I wonder if I look bad if my eyes are red and puffy from the tears I’d cried for Catherine if my smiles don’t reach my eyes.
“Rough day at work,” I say, waving a hand. Danny frowns again and glances around at the last members of the kitchen staff, all on their way out.
“Have you eaten?” Danny asks. I shake my head.
“Not all day,” I admit. I’d spent my lunch break in Catherine’s room, saying prayers for her.
“Can I make you dinner?” Danny asks, gesturing around the kitchen and catching me off guard.
“Here?” I ask, startled. Danny nods.
“We’re closed, and it is my kitchen, after all. I’ll make whatever you want, and you can tell me about your rough day if you like,” Danny says. I think about saying no, about just figuring out what Danny wanted and heading home—but then I think about going home to my apartment, all alone with my thoughts and sadness, and it just sounds too overwhelming to bear.
“That actually sounds really nice,” I say, smiling a half smile. Danny puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, just for a minute, a warmth in the gesture that I can feel in my bones.
“Any requests?” he asks, pulling another tall stool up to the kitchen counters, right by his workspace. The kitchen is empty now, just us. I shake my head.
“Pasta?” I say, thinking that something comforting and creamy sounds amazing, like the carbohydrates might brighten my spirits. Danny laughs.
“I can absolutely do that,” he says. “All right, ma’am, and how would you like that order?”
“Surprise me,” I say, sitting on the stool and smiling at him. “Just as long as it’s extra creamy.”
“Ah, in the market for comfort food,” Danny asks, starting a pot of water on the stove.
“Like I said, it’s been a rough day,” I say.
“Work?” Danny inquires, gathering up ingredients from the pantry.
“A patient died today,” I say, “which I should be used to. I am used to it. I mean, I work at a hospice. That’s kind of the expected outcome, but I . . . ”
“You what?” Danny prompts, watching me. His eyes are wide and concerned, a gesture I wish didn’t make me fall for him a little more every time he does it.
“She was just a really wonderful lady, and I loved talking to her. I can usually get through this part of the job just fine, but this one feels like losing a friend,” I admit. Danny nods, spreading out vegetables and cheeses besides me, chopping.
“Then tell me about your friend,” Danny says. It’s so genuine and sincere that it takes my breath away. Danny keeps surprising me, keeps catching me off guard. Of all the things I would have said about Danny, all the things I thought about him, the fact that he is this warm and kind would never have crossed my mind. I had no idea he was like this.
It’s silly, but I wonder if maybe most people don’t know that about him. Like maybe Danny reserves these parts of himself for special times and special people. People he really cares about. I flush at the idea that I’m one of them and feel sort of overwhelmed about it, even though my grief.
“Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell me?” I ask. Danny shakes his head.
“It can wait. We’re closed until Tuesday morning for the pipe replacement. So we’ve got all night,” Danny says, smiling at me, a real and intimate smile that somehow makes me feel better. I nod and watch for a few minutes as he starts a sauce going and puts the pasta into the boiling water. He stays quiet like he’s giving me time to open up to him. It makes me want to tell him everything.
“Her name was Catherine,” I say, and Danny turns around to squeeze my knee quickly in encouragement. I put my hand on top of his, holding his hand for a second, before continuing.
I keep thinking about what Catherine said, about people who make you happy, about letting good men get away. I hold Danny’s hand for just a second longer, not letting go yet.