Once Upon A Half-Time 2(143)

“Larry? I’m sorry! I thought you were…is everything okay?”

Larry’s heavy sigh froze the half batch of cookie dough sitting in my stomach. “It’s Matthias. There was an accident.”

This wasn’t happening. Not now.

“Is he okay? Is it his lungs?”

“He’s okay, Josie. He accidentally took too much of his medication.”

I stood too fast, knocking over my drink and the TV remote. I tripped over the coffee table in a search for my shoes. “I thought…don’t you handle his meds?”

“We oversee his medications, but Matt was capable of administering the prescriptions himself. He always handled it…you know him. But today he took a large amount of the wrong pills. He probably confused them because they’re in a new container.”

“Is he…?”

“He’s okay. A doctor was on-call and checked on him. We’ll watch him close tonight in case he needs a transfer to the hospital.”

I didn’t remember if I answered. I changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and rushed around the apartment, grabbing anything that might have helped the care facility. All the paperwork was already there though. I had nothing but a platter of cupcakes to offer.

Would Granddad even be awake to eat one?

I bolted to my car and sped to the care facility, racing my tears and the passing minutes. The nursing staff waited for me at the entrance—and even Tina Raynos, one of the meanest girls in my high school class, offered to park my car so I could rush inside.

Larry met me at the doorway to Granddad’s room. He gave me a hug.

“We’re out of the woods, but he’s probably going to be sleeping. Which is good—he was pretty cranky when we helped him.”

“Sounds like Granddad.” I wiped away another tear and offered Larry four very smooshed cupcakes. “Can I…?”

“Go on in.”

I nodded, but I didn’t move.

I wasn’t proud that I hesitated before approaching the bed. It was just…

The instant I saw him, life would change. Again.

It would be one of those moments we were helpless to stop, the kind of revelation that destroyed an already broken family. At least nothing could be worse than the first time I almost lost a loved one.

One year ago, I woke in the hospital after the fire and learned Granddad was hurt. The smoke had damaged his lungs, and the doctors weren’t sure of the full extent of his injuries. They had told me to wait and see.

So I did. I remembered stepping into his hospital room. Everyone warned me he’d look tiny in the bed. They were wrong. He had looked like my granddad. Not sick, not weak. Just…him, and I had no idea what to do or say or feel.

The memory still hurt. I had wanted to comfort him, but even that turned awkward and confusing. Our family and the doctors looked to me like I knew what we had to do, who to talk to, how to get the information I needed from the hospital and insurance and the police and fire marshals…

No one gave me the instructions for what to do when the child became the caretaker. Suddenly, I was taking more and more responsibilities away from Granddad so I could manage his health. The only advice I had from friends and family were the choices that infringed on Granddad’s privacy. The ones that hurt his pride. But it had to be done. I made those decisions, and I lost my grandfather.

Nobody deserved to be reduced to their ailments, but Granddad had nothing left. He hated being on oxygen. He couldn’t do the things he used to do, see the people he used to see, and most of our family was dead and buried long ago. How was I supposed to comfort a man who lost his best years and saw the remaining as a death sentence?

At least I had cupcakes this time. The Davis household prepared for the worst with baked goods now. It helped. At least our sorrows could go to our thighs and be worked off like everything else.

I forced a smile and went to his bedside.

He was asleep, which relieved me. Wasn’t sure what I’d say except the same things I said every time I visited. I love you. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? The platitudes lost their impact when he no longer loved himself. He never felt well, and I could give him nothing to help him through these hard times.

Admitting that he was sick was hard. Knowing I couldn’t give more help because we had no money that wasn’t tied to his gambling debts was even worse.

His oxygen pumped harder than usual—ten liters. It hissed too loud, and it’d be uncomfortable for him. Usually he sucked on cough drops since the oxygen made his throat scratchy. I forgot to buy him a new bag. Too much happening and not enough attention on the things that mattered.

Family.

The man who raised me.