The Gap

Chapter 2 - The Gap

She may look like she's in her mid-thirties, but since I went to her 40th birthday party two years ago. I know her looks are deceiving, and her small twitch at the corner of her mouth completely gave her away.

I laughed.

"Doctor's making rounds in an hour, and I want to be there by the time he visits. I'm only here at the house because Gram was adamant I leave to get some sleep."

"Yeah, for such a sweet woman, she can hold her own when she has a mind to it," Becky says with her sly smile.

I was descending the stairs again, hair brushed and face fresh, but this time with my keys and wallet in hand. Dressed in jeans and a cowl-necked sweater in Aegean blue that was so cuddly soft I wished it were blanket as often as I was glad it was an article of clothing, I made my way to the hospital.

Twenty minutes later I was by my Gram's bedside, and for the first time wished I'd spent more time making little memories because, in the end, that is what we remember the most.

Propped on four pillows that are helping her sit forward, Gram stared at her hospital tray as if she's contemplating the edibility of each part of the food before her.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as Gram gave me her tired, happy smile.

"I'm fine. Do you think this was made with real eggs? My guess, it's just egg whites with food coloring. Do you think that's what it is?" She asked as she poked the yellow and white goo with a fork.

"I'm not sure. What's written on the menu? Is it on the tray?"

Gram picks up a slip of paper. "Heart healthy and low sodium," were written next to her name and the date.

"Then, it's probably just egg whites."

She made a small frown and put down her fork. After a minute or so she pushed away her tray and looked up at me. "I'm glad you're here, but I know you're too busy to come."

"You said that last night." I picked up a small bottle of lotion from her bed table. "And, like I said, I'm busy, but not too busy."

"Well, still, I'm glad you're here." And, just like always, Gram changed the subject to something she loved - other people.

I squeezed a small amount of lotion and took one of her hands and began to rub.

"I like your sweater," She said all this with a voice that's smaller and weaker than I'm used to hearing, but her words were classic Gram. "My sister Sylvia always looked good in that color, just like you. It brings out her blue eyes, and you; it's your complexion; it's all pretty and pink."

Before she could continue, her doctor entered her room. I had expected her internist but was surprised by a short man with thin gray hair. He's at least in his mid-sixties with stooped shoulders and a lab coat that's too large for his frame. Nothing like Dr. Harvick, who has treated Gram for years. He was a tall, lean, impressive looking older man with a quick wit and fast smile.

Gram doesn't seem to be happy to see him, but my guess was because she's not happy to be in the hospital or that this was just Dr. Harvick's fill-in. I was wrong.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Millard," the man said. I look at his hospital ID and see 'Cardiologist' typed under his name. His eyes rise with an expectation of my name.

"Eliza Kerr," I said, just as Gram said, "My granddaughter."

With a nod of his head, he began. "How are you feeling today?"

"I fell, and I lost a little strength, I think," Gram tells him.

He took her hand and began checking reflexes, and then examined her bruise. "Have you seen this?" he asked me, knowing that grandmother couldn't see the area of his focus.