Greetings From The Flipside Part 24

Gertie's in the back. She turns and I almost dive behind the front desk, but it's too late. She sees me.

"Hope!"

Jake glances at me. I hurry over to her, but I recognize my problem immediately. I can't whisper a plan to Miss Gertie. She won't hear me.

"My goodness," she says, embracing me. "Oh my goodness, Hope! I didn't expect to see you today!"

"Hi, Miss Gertie."

Jake steps up, offering his hand to Miss Gertie. "Miss Gertie, eh? I'm Jake. And I just wanted to tell you . . ." He glances at me, a wistful smile on his lips. "I just wanted to tell you that in life, we can feel abandoned. Alone. But our Lord above watches each of his own. You belong to him in the palm of his hand. You're never out of reach, like all the grains of sand."

Miss Gertie melts right there in her wheelchair. "You seem like a nice man. Hope, doesn't he seem like a nice man?"

"No bet," I say to him, "I'm completely out of ones. You two get to know each other. Also, the sand line makes no sense."

He looks at Miss Gertie. "But how do you know Hope?"

Miss Teasley rolls up. "Did I write those letters all right for you?"

I bite my lip. I'm caught. Jake's expression says everything. I notice Mikaela. She's hurrying down the hallway. Where is she going?

"I'm sorry . . . how do you all know . . . ?" I don't hear the rest of Jake's question because I race after Mikaela. Last I saw her she was headed to the wing where my grandma is.

At Grandma's door, I spot Mikaela. She is sitting in front of my grandmother, leaning forward in an embrace with her. I notice some of the cards I've left her are gone. In her more lucid moments, she sometimes gave them away to the cleaning ladies, but she hasn't been lucid in a while. Maybe someone is stealing them because they're so incredibly funny.

Maybe I'm the one who isn't lucid.

"Oh my child, how I've missed you. I'm so, so sorry about what happened to your daddy."

I step out of their line of sight, my back against the wall just outside the door. How is my grandmother talking? And how does she know about Mikaela's father? I can't imagine any of this and my mind is reeling . . . so much so that I don't see Jake walk up until I spot his shoes next to mine.

"Let's go," he says.

I try a grin. "Ready for my mom's great cooking?"

"I'm not staying. I'll drop you off and come pick Mikaela up when dinner is over."

I touch his arm. "Jake . . . I'm sorry. If I still had my job, I'd quit. I'd tell you to fire me."

He looks me straight in the eyes. "After I did you a favor and gave you a job, it hadn't occurred to me you set this up to get what you wanted."

I sigh. No surprise. It was known around the nursing home that Miss Gertie's pastime was getting in other people's business, matched only by her inability to keep a secret. She'd apparently spilled all the beans. "I never meant to hurt you."

"This isn't just about work, Hope. You won't give me a chance because you're too afraid I'll hurt you. But all you've done since you came in my life is hurt me. Just call me gullible. Stupid. Trusting." His eyes flicker with deep pain.

"But that's what's adorable about you, Jake," I grin. Yeah-I have a habit of throwing in a punch line when I shouldn't. That very defect has cost me my job. And more, I am seeing.

"Why? So people like you can take advantage of me? Let's go."

He walks off. I call Mikaela's name and she appears in the hallway. Her eyes look red and a little swollen. She walks past me, not saying a word. I stand in the doorway of my grandmother's room and observe her. She looks catatonic again, like I've known her to be for some time. I can't explain what is happening. But I'll have to worry about my grandmother later. The car ride is quiet as we drive to Mom's. There's a lot I want to say to him, but not in front of Mikaela. I'm hoping he will change his mind about staying, but we pull up to Mom's house and he keeps the car idling. The gentleman that he is, he steps out of the car and opens my door for me. Mikaela gets out too, observing the house with a strange intensity.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"Have a good Thanksgiving," he replies. He reaches in and grabs my bag for me. He sets it on the gra.s.s.

He's about to step back into the car when my mom comes flying out the front door, racing down the driveway like something's on fire. "Oh, hallelujah!! My daughter is home. Home, home, home!" She pulls me into a one-way hug. "I kicked out the renter in your twin bed. You'll want to wash the sheets." She lets go of me and grabs Jake. "Welcome, welcome! Come in, come in! Jake, I made a tuna ca.s.serole, all special, just for you."

She then takes Mikaela by the arm and leads her inside. Jake looks unsure what to do. He's too nice of a guy, I realize, to reject a tuna ca.s.serole made especially for him, no matter how mad he is at me.

He shuts off the car and we walk inside, side by side, but not speaking a word.

I am surprised that dinner seems to be ready. My mom is the kind who starts dinner at five and we eat at nine. I have vivid memories of eating carrots and potatoes, and then two hours later, getting the roast that was supposed to go along with it.

I drop my bag at the door, gawking as my mom comes in from the kitchen holding a tray, but it's not a serving tray like you'd see in a Martha Stewart magazine. It's a cafeteria tray, like I had to carry every day of my school life. And on top of it is a plastic plate with little dividers, just like my lunch was served on in school. There's green Jell-O, vanilla pudding, rice, Salisbury steak, and a large helping of tuna ca.s.serole.

"Let me help you with that," Jake says. What kind of Thanksgiving dinner is this? It's like I've landed in the hospital and they're bringing in my dinner. I probably nearly cringed to death at some point today.

I watch as Jake puts the tray at the head of the table.

"Don't put it there," Mom says. "We leave that open in case Hope's father shows up. We did pray, remember?" She points to the third chair on the far side of the table. "But you can have Sam's seat."

"Sam?"

"Mom!" I bark.

"Ever since he left Hope stranded at the altar, I haven't invited him back." And she walks off to fetch another tray. Jake follows her to help, but casts me a look. The anger is gone. I look away. I can't stand the pity that's now in his eyes.

That's when I notice Mikaela. She is sitting on the nearby couch, flipping through a photo alb.u.m. Tears are in her eyes. I sit next to her, realizing she is not unlike me, in so many ways. She is hurting, this little girl with her wise ways about her.

I notice the picture she is looking at. It's one of my favorites: Dad and I are standing out in the snow together, smiling at the camera.

"Holidays are hard, huh?" I say quietly.

"Do you ever worry about what's next?"

"All the time."

Her cheeks flush as a tear rolls down her face. I put a very gentle hand around her shoulder, as if I've never hugged someone before. Mikaela collapses into my embrace, leaning fully into my chest. We sit there for a while as I watch Jake and Mom carry in hospital food for our Thanksgiving dinner. My life is so surreal.

"Come, come! Time to eat!"

Jake smiles slightly at me as he puts the last tray down. I smile back. Could it possibly be my mother's quirkiness might reconcile us to at the very least speaking terms?

We take our places, the three of us staring down at our food like you do when you're in the hospital, unsure you should eat it because it might make you sick. You're in a hospital after all. Surely it's safe. It just doesn't look safe.

Mom claps her hands. "After dinner, I have a surprise for all of us!"

n.o.body has to say it, but we're all thinking it: This isn't it?

I glance at Mikaela. "This can't be good," I whisper.

She laughs and swipes away a final tear.

14.

In the darkness of the shop, Jake stood in the midst of the chaos and destruction he'd caused. Flowers thrown everywhere. All of his cards ripped to shreds. It looked like a tornado had blown through. It's exactly what his soul felt like too. At his feet, he stared at shredded pictures of rainbows and mountains and quiet streams winding into serene forests.

What a crock.

How could he have been so foolish to believe things always work out, somehow and some way? He bought into his own nonsense. He bought into carefully chosen, poetically rhythmic words that held hope up on a pedestal.

He slumped against the small wall of the front counter, sliding to the ground, wishing the darkness would just go ahead and suffocate him.

The problem was . . . he did believe it. It was like this thing in him he couldn't shake. Whenever he lost hope or became disgruntled or even when his marriage and life fell completely apart, he knew that everything would, eventually, work for his good. More often than not, there was a peace that superseded all other emotions.

So why now? Why couldn't he see anything good right now?

Somewhere nearby, he didn't know where, he heard his phone buzzing. If he could find it, he'd probably throw it across the room. He couldn't believe he let himself fall for a girl in a coma, of all things. He was so naive to think that was a safe thing to do. What a pathetic loser he was. He only had courage around a woman if she's totally unconscious?

But he knew the truth. He'd had feelings for Hope long before that. He couldn't even explain it himself, but there was just something about her that seemed right for him.

Keys rattled at the front door. Before he could scramble to his feet, it opened and Mindy stood there, her mouth gaping as she flipped on the lights. Then her hand covered her mouth as she saw Jake.

"Mindy, just leave, okay? I'll clean this all up. I just had a . . . moment."

Mindy's eyes darted from crushed flower to broken gla.s.s to paper shredded so wildly across the floor it looked like something had exploded. That something was him.

"Jake . . . what's going on?"

"Mindy, please. I just want to be alone."

She eyed him. "No, you don't. And I think that's the whole problem."

Jake sighed and looked away.

"Listen, we've known each other a long time, Jake. And I feel like I can speak forthrightly to you. You love her."

"Mindy, don't. Please."

"No. Now you listen." Her hands were on her hips. She was stepping carefully over all the mess on the ground. "You two belong together. I feel it."

Jake rolled his eyes. "Really? Because I think it's just one of us feeling it. The other one is unconscious and not even feeling needles stabbing into her feet."

Mindy stood for a moment, looking around at the mess. And then she stooped to his level. She picked up one of the cards he'd ripped in half.

"She needs you, Jake."

"Whatever."

"I was just at the hospital. I was bringing up some tuna and bottled water to you. Who was that guy in the room with her?"

"Who knows."

"He was sitting in a corner, typing something on his phone. He wasn't looking at her. Talking to her. He was just sitting there."

"So?"

"So, you talk to her, Jake. You're the one who's helping her. You're the one that should be in that room."

"Look, Mindy, I appreciate the sentiment here, but it's just not going to work out, okay? Even if there wasn't another guy in the picture, how am I supposed to have a relationship with a comatose woman? Granted, that's probably the only kind that can love me, because I'm so . . ."

"So what?"

"So . . . delusional. I write delusion, don't I?"

"No. You write hope."

"Well this isn't looking too hopeful. And my life has never looked too hopeful. So I think I'll get out of the card writing business and just stick to selling flowers to people who believe that romance and goodness and hope are still alive."

"Don't let this one roadblock keep you from the woman you love."

"I don't love her. I love the idea of her, that's all." Jake looked at Mindy. "I want to be alone. Just leave me alone."

Mindy sighed and stood up. "Okay, Jake. I'll leave you alone. But you need to know something."

Jake looked up at her.

"When I was leaving Hope's room, I heard two doctors and that nice nurse talking. And they said it wasn't looking good for her."

"What do you mean?"

"Something about her vitals not holding steady. I didn't catch all of it, but they looked worried."

Jake dropped his gaze, focused on the floor. What else could he do? What was he supposed to do? He wasn't her doctor. He wasn't her fiance. He was nothing. He was the boy she always ignored.

"Don't worry about coming in tomorrow morning," Jake said. "I'll be here. I'm coming back to the shop. I can't miss any more work. I appreciate your being here when I needed it. I'll see you after lunch."

Mindy hesitated, then left, turning off the lights and locking the shop behind her.

GREETINGS FROM MY LIFE.