Page 47 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

Scarlett had always planned to go to Cabo for her eighteenth birthday.

The financial difficulties of this plan were secondary only to the problem of Chrissie being two months, fourteen days, and six hours younger than her and therefore unable to drink. This, however, had been neatly circumvented by a fake ID that Scarlett had ordered from a twelve-year-old hacker she’d found on 4chan.

That ID now sat untouched in her underwear drawer, nestled beneath the Victoria’s Secret thongs she’d bought in every color of the rainbow. And there, unfortunately, it would stay. A trip to celebrate her transition to adulthood was out of the question—aninternationaltrip even more so.

“Morning, Grandma.” Scarlett kissed her grandmother on the cheek as she padded out of her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen. In birthdays past, there had always been a tray of hot cinnamon rolls waiting on the counter for her, dripping with cream cheese frosting that her grandmother put on too soon so it melted everywhere. This time, all she saw was the package of bread she’d left open lastnight. An army of ants swarmed inside the clear plastic, making the most of their good fortune while it lasted.

“Morning, child,” her grandmother responded. She was wrapped in a hideous crocheted blanket on her usual recliner, her feet up on the ottoman and covered in a pair of even more hideous crocheted socks—both of which had been made by Chrissie, who’d recently taken to needlework like she lived in a little house on the prairie. “What time are you leaving for school today?”

“I’m not.” Scarlett tossed the bread into the garbage and tried to scoop a handful of ants in there with it, but she only managed to corral about half. “And please don’t make that face at me. I don’t have any big tests today, so no one will notice. I was thinking about going to a movie or something instead.”

Her grandmother didn’t respond, her face still wearing that disappointed look. Despite the six months that had passed since her stroke—or perhapsbecauseof them—her grandmother had a tendency to wear that frown from the moment she woke up in the morning until she went to bed at night. In fact, the only time she wasn’t wearing it was when—

“Good morning, my lovelies!”

The front door swung open with a clang. Scarlett was so surprised that her heart leaped to her throat—and then she was so happy by what she saw that it stayed there.

“Sorry I’m late. I meant to have these babies hot and waiting for you when you woke up this morning, but traffic was a witch-with-a-capital-B.” Chrissie set a tray of cinnamon rolls on the counter, squishing the last of the ants, and turned to pull Scarlett into a fierce hug. “They’re not homemade, but I did make them add twelve extra tubs of frosting, so I figure it still counts.”

Scarlett’s heart-lodged throat rendered speech impossible, soChrissie moved on to the living room next.

“And how are you feeling today, Nan? Please tell me you made it to your bed last night. You know it’s not good for you to sit propped up for so many hours.”

Scarlett watched as her grandmother’s frown transformed itself into a tremulous smile. Chrissie fussed and clucked over her like a mother hen, tucking in the blanket and whisking away the empty mugs of tea that had a tendency to build up around her grandmother like a fortress.

“I’m just fine, as always. You know me. I can’t complain.”

Scarlett’s mood, which had been starting to buoy, sank like a rock. Her grandmothercouldcomplain. In fact, Scarlett very much wished that she would. Anything would be better than the grim determination with which she went through each day.

In fact, now that she was thinking about it, she wished Chrissie would complain, too. Ever since that fateful day when her grandmother had been found collapsed at the foot of the apartment steps, nonresponsive and with a bleeding gash on her temple caused by the fall, not a single person had voiced any of the emotions that roiled inside Scarlett’s own breast.

It’s not fair. How many medical crises can one person be expected to undergo in one lifetime? Why can’t I just go to Mexico with my best friend like I always planned?

“Well, I stopped by Redbox and got a whole bunch of movies for us to watch together, so complaining wouldn’t do you any good anyway. The medical van should be here around noon to pick you up for your appointment, and I have all the ingredients we need to make bagel pizzas for dinner.” Chrissie tossed a grin over her shoulder at Scarlett. “AndI have a surprise for you, so go put on something cute. It’ll be here any minute.”

Her grandmother furrowed her brow in the slow, heavy way thatseemed to precede most of her conversations. Ever since the stroke, her thoughts dragged a few steps behind the rest of her, a weight she couldn’t quite shake.

“Are you skipping school today, too?” Grandma asked. “I’m not sure your parents would like that.”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Chrissie said with the same broad smile, though Scarlett could tell it was starting to fray around the edges. “Now, I’m startingMamma Miaand making you a cup of your good chamomile tea, and I won’t hear any arguments.”

Scarlett had yet to move toward her bedroom to put on anything, cute or otherwise, so she watched as Chrissie set about fulfilling her promises—and in the quiet, efficient way that had become her habit.

For the first month after her grandma had been sent home from the hospital against medical advice, they’d had a full-time nurse to help them out. The doctors had wanted Grandma to stay under observation or, at the very least, go to a nursing home to recover, but she’d insisted on being home. Ostensibly, this had been because her grandma preferred the comforts of her familiar surroundings, but everyone had been quick to perceive the real reason. Leaving her seventeen-year-old granddaughter on her own would mean getting the state involved—and that, Grandma had determined, was a thing she’d never do.

Unfortunately, the home-health nurse they’d been assigned had been a loud, domineering woman who thumped through the apartment with such a heavy tread that six different complaints had been lodged against them from the other apartment tenants. She made every bath and bedtime routine seem like a feat of Olympic proportions, and with a martyred air that had made them all happy to see the last of her.

Chrissie was nothing like that. She coaxed and wheedled to get results, and with such relentless good cheer that no one could find fault in anything she did.

“I can make the tea,” Scarlett offered now, both insulted that herfriend felt the need to take the task upon herself and guilty that it hadn’t occurred to her first. Why, oh why was it so hard for her to remember basic human decency? And why, oh why did it come so naturally to Chrissie?

“I’ve got this,” Chrissie said. “Birthday girls don’t have to do chores, remember?”

Tell that to the bread and ants she’d already cleaned up. “I don’t mind. She likes it with an extra dash of honey.”

Chrissie put her hands on Scarlett’s shoulders and nudged her gently into her room. She waited until the door was closed behind them before saying softly, “I know how she takes her tea, Scarlett. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

She knew it wasn’t. She also knew that even when ithadbeen Chrissie’s first rodeo, she’d charged out of the gate without the least hesitation. Unlike Scarlett—falling flat on her back, dazed and breathless before the crowd even had a chance to get on their feet.