Love Her

Part 17

"She went back to school and work, she ate and slept and did her homework. She answered when someone asked her a direct question. But she was empty. Her eyes were blank. There were lots of little things. She wouldn't listen to music anymore; I found a bunch of CDs broken in the trash. She didn't read; she wouldn't be in the same room when the TV was on, not that she watched it so much before. We could hardly talk; I was so worried about saying something that would upset her the littlest things would make her flinch, and she never volunteered anything. She would just answer if I asked her something."

"She was alone all the time. She didn't call her friends back, and after a while, they stopped calling." Melissa recalled.

I could almost see them shuddering. I shuddered, too, remembering. And then I sighed.

"I'm so sorry," Melissa said, her voice glum.

"It's not your fault." The way she said it made it perfectly clear that my grandmother wasn't holding anyone responsible. "You were always a good friend to her. That's why I was so happy to see you that third week."

"She seems better now, though?"

"Yeah. Ever since she started hanging out with you on the daily, I've noticed a real improvement. She has some color in her cheeks when she comes home, some light in her eyes. She's happier." She paused, and her voice was different when she spoke again. "I know she used to think of you as a friend, but I think maybe it's something more now or headed that direction, anyway. You're good for each other, you know," she insisted, giving her approval.

"I'll be honest, now and then I see something in her eyes, and I wonder if I've ever grasped how much pain she's really in. It's not normal, and it frightens me sometimes. Not normal at all. Not like someone left her, but like someone died." Her voice cracked.

My grandmother went on in a hopeless tone. "I don't know if she's going to get over it. I'm not sure if it's in her nature to heal from something like this. She's always been such a constant little thing. She doesn't get past things, she changes her mind."

"She's one of a kind," Melissa agreed in a dry voice.

"Now, you know how fond I am of you, and I can tell that she's happy to see you, but I'm a little worried about what will happen if you two don't work out."

A chair scooted from the table, scraping loudly across the floor. The faucet ran, splashing against a dish. It didn't sound like they were going to say anything more, so I decided it was time to wake up. I turned over, bouncing against the springs to make them squeak. Then I yawned loudly. All was quiet in the kitchen.

I stretched and groaned.

"Grandma?" I asked innocently; the soreness rasping in my throat added nicely to the charade.

"I'm in the kitchen, Rach," She called, no hint in her voice that she suspected my eavesdropping. But she was good at hiding things like that. "I'm going upstairs to take a shower."

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and looked around, seemingly disoriented. "This isn't my bedroom."