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Jemma’s tongue felt too big for her mouth. “I came home from work. Shannon was here. All I did—”
“Who’s Shannon?”
“Miriam’s caretaker. She left. She always leaves after I get home. All I did was take a shower. I came out, was going to get dressed in my room, and she was gone. The apartment door was open.”
“She can’t be far. We’ll find her.” Paul’s voice was composed, confident.
She had no idea why he was here, but she didn’t question it. His hands on her shoulders were warm and solid and her panic eased.
“Where would she have gone?”
She licked lips dry with dread. “I don’t know. She hasn’t left the house by herself for weeks. Should we call the police?”
“Let’s go around the block first.” His hand slid down her arm and grasped hers. They headed toward the major thoroughfare at the end of the street.
She wanted to run, wanted to scream Miriam’s name. Her fear must have infected Paul, because despite his outward calm, she had to trot to keep up with his rapid strides.
“You should call for her,” he said. “If I do, it might scare her away.”
She took a deep breath. “Gramma? Gramma? It’s Jemma. It’s time to come home.”
Nothing.
Agitation seethed in her chest and tightened her throat. She shouted again, coaxing, pleading.
Several of the nearby buildings had courtyards. They examined each one, but reached the end of the street without a sign of Miriam. Dusk had fallen in earnest, and lamps flickered on, illuminating the heavier traffic on the cross street.
Vehicles flashed past. Bile rose in her throat as she imagined Miriam attempting to cross.
Paul echoed her thought. “Surely she didn’t go any further than this.”
Jemma checked the time on her phone. “It’s less than thirty minutes since I stepped out of the shower. Should we split up? We can circle around the streets on either side and up again.”
He nodded. “Give me that.” They exchanged phones. “Put your number in.” He tapped quickly while she did the same. They swapped back. “Whoever finds her calls the other.”
“What if—”
Paul didn’t give her a chance to utter the frightening words. “We’ll meet at the entrance to your building. Go.”
Jemma bolted off. The night seemed darker, meaner, without Paul at her side.
She willed her phone to ring as she strained her eyes peering into every cranny. By the time she returned to the apartment entrance she was hyperventilating with anxiety. She paced up and down. A few minutes later Paul appeared around the far corner on the opposite side of the street.
Alone.
She’d known he would be, or he would have called her, but she’d clung to a thin thread of hope. A fresh rush of fear shivered through her.
She shuffled her feet, shifting her weight, unable to stand still. He approached slowly, searching as he came. Finally he stood before her.
“Call the police,” he said.
––––––––
Miriam’s medical history kick-started an immediate search. Despite his worry, Paul had been certain they would find her right away. She couldn’t have traveled far in the short period of time she’d been missing.
He’d been proved wrong during the last two hours and forty-two minutes. He stood at the large window in Jemma’s living room. The brightly lit space behind him reflected on the night outside. Two uniformed police officers sat at the minuscule dinette table. The harsh, indistinguishable-to-him rattle of a hand-held radio had one of the officers responding in quiet tones, while the other made a mark on the map spread before her.
Jemma sat in Miriam’s chair, feet on the seat, her grandmother’s favourite throw over her legs, her arms wrapped around her bent knees. The pink tips of her bangs threw a garish slash across her wan cheeks, her black brows dark shadows over glassy eyes.
His wicked fairy held on through the fierceness of willpower alone.
He turned to face the room, leaning against the low windowsill. Jemma had been so distraught she had difficulty giving the officers details of Miriam’s clothing, with suggesting places she might have gone. Her hands had fluttered awkwardly and her eyes darted to the door constantly, as if expecting Miriam to return at any moment. As the minutes passed, turned into hours, she sank into a calm that worried Paul more than the near frenzy.
He crossed the room and crouched before her. “They’re going to find her.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said so, and the consolation was losing what little power it had held. Frustration tightened the muscles in his neck. “They will, you know.”
She dragged her gaze from the middle distance over his shoulder and nodded, once, jerkily. To his utter surprise, she brushed her fingers through his hair, cupped his jaw with her cold hand. “Thank you. For being here. For staying.”
He turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm. Another burst squawked out of the officer’s radio. Jemma’s fingers tightened, but she had long ago stopped jumping up in unrewarded hope whenever a transmission clattered.
Paul didn’t catch a word, but the officers did.
The female officer grabbed her receiver. “Where are you?” A new tone in her voice had Jemma surging out of her chair. Paul rose and folded her into his arms from behind. She held herself rigid, vibrating with intensity. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
This time Paul was able to decipher the response. “Laura Secord Elementary. Disoriented but stable. Ambulance on its way.”
Jemma’s legs buckled. He caught her and dropped into Miriam’s chair, cuddling her on his lap as sobs ripped from her throat. He rocked back and forth, caressing her hair, the back of her neck. Behind him the official conversation continued, but for now his attention was solely on the woman in his arms.
It didn’t take her long to recover her composure. He hadn’t expected it to. She was tough, his Jemma. After a minute she sat up and wiped her wet cheeks with shaking hands. He kept his arms around her waist, supporting her.
The female officer stood before them. “She’ll be okay. She’s cold and frightened, but otherwise unharmed. They’re taking her to Vancouver General to make sure.”
“I need to see her.”
Paul lifted her off his lap, placed her on her feet. “Let’s go.”
The sooty hollows under her eyes emphasized their brilliant blueness. “It’s past midnight. You should go home. I’ll drive myself.”
He didn’t bother to argue. He passed her her jacket, waited for the officers to gather their paraphernalia, and locked the door behind them. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t protest again.
––––––––
Jemma spent the trip through the quiet midnight streets with her eyes closed, breathing deeply through her nose. She was glad Paul had insisted he drive. She was shaky with stress, and needed this time to prepare, to settle herself before seeing Miriam.
She shot out of the car as soon as he parked. The night was raw and damp, raising gooseflesh on her neck and shoulders. Miriam had been wearing a light blouse and nylon slacks when she’d wandered out. She must have been freezing by the time they found her.
Her boots thudded on the pavement as she hurried up the brightly lit drive and through the automatic doors, Paul right behind her. The plaintive wail of a toddler cut through the dreary, energy-sapping atmosphere. She got her bearings, then waded through the full waiting room to an admitting desk. The nurse, wearing candy pink scrubs and a weary expression, looked up from her computer monitor. “Can I help you?”
“My grandmother, Miriam Hedge, was brought in. By ambulance.” Without conscious thought she gripped Paul’s hand. His warm fingers wrapped around her chilly ones.
The nurse tapped her keyboard. “She’s in Bay Nine.” She pointed down the hall. “I’ll buzz you in those doors on the right. She’s on the left-hand side.”
In the Emergency ward, curtained off beds surrounded a circular station. Doctors and nurses moved with purpose but not urgency. The air was tainted with the scents of fever, disinfectant, and fear.
“This way.” Paul drew her forward. The curtains around Bay Nine were drawn tight. As she approached, she could hear Miriam’s voice, quivering and querulous.
“I want to go home. I don’t know who you are, and I want to go home.”
Jemma flexed her hand and Paul released her. She cautiously parted the curtains and stepped inside.
“You’ll go home sooner if you quit taking this off.” A nurse was doing her best to clip on a finger monitor, but Miriam kept yanking her hand away. “Come on, now, Mrs. Hedge, help me out here.”
Miriam was hidden under layers of dark blue blankets, her face chalky grey, a shade darker than the white pillow on which she rested. An oxygen tube draped over her ears and under her nose.
Jemma wanted to climb into the bed and hug her. Instead she said cheerfully, “Gramma, do what you’re told, okay? You gave us a scare, now you have to behave.”
Miriam tilted her head toward Jemma. Her eyes were cloudy, and deep lines scored the fine, fragile skin under her eyes. “I do not, young lady.” She twitched peevishly out of the nurse’s hold. “Who are you to call me Gramma? I don’t have any grandchildren.”
Jemma flinched. She tried to laugh. “Gramma, it’s me, Jemma.”
“Don’t know any Jemma.” The nurse managed to attach the finger monitor. Miriam tapped it fretfully on the blanket. “I want to go home. Please call Henry to pick me up. He’ll be so mad I don’t have his dinner ready.”
Jemma swallowed hard and hitched a hip onto Miriam’s bed. “Henry won’t be mad,” she said softly. “But he can’t come get you right now. You have to stay here a while longer. When it’s time, I’ll take you home.”
“You’ll take me home?” Miriam blinked and yawned.
“I promise.”
The nurse murmured, “We gave her a sedative. It must be kicking in.”
“Is it okay if I sit here with her, for a bit? Until she’s asleep?”
The nurse nodded and slipped between the curtains. Paul leaned against the wall near the head of the bed. He’d barely spoken since they left the apartment, yet simply having him near was a balm.
Miriam’s eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm, and her colour had already improved.
Jemma stroked one finger over Miriam’s hand, ridged with veins and tendons. Her skin was cool to the touch, but warmth bloomed underneath.
“She didn’t know who I was.” The hurt of it ripped at her heart.
“I’m sorry.”
She raised her eyes from Miriam’s face. Paul’s tone was sincere and understanding. Accepting. She hoped she could be the same.
––––––––
Two hours later, Jemma and Paul left Emergency. A light rain fell, and the air smelled fresh and clean especially after the hospital’s stuffiness.
Miriam had been admitted for the night, and possibly longer.
“We will do a full work up, ensure she has not suffered any ill-effects from tonight.” The ER doctor spoke with a thick East Indian accent, and Jemma had to concentrate in order to understand him. “I have also requested a consult from a geriatric specialist. Hopefully he will be able to see her in the morning. We will take it from there.”
Paul beeped the locks, the sound echoing up the empty street. Jemma sank into the seat, hugging her elbows and shivering. He turned the heat on high as he started off.
“I’m not cold,” she said. “Not on the outside.”
“You’re tired and stressed. And you missed dinner.”
Tired wasn’t the right word. Exhaustion clamoured in her bones, as if she’d run a marathon. She couldn’t work up the energy to be hungry. She closed her eyes, soothed by the motion of the car.
She woke with a start when the vehicle came to a stop. “Sorry,” she said, dazed. “I guess I fell asleep.” Gritty shadows thrown by coverless bulbs slashed the pavement, streaked down heavy pillars holding up a low cement roof. “Where are we?”
“Underground parking. My apartment.” Paul got out of the SUV, circled around, and opened her door. “You’re not spending the night alone.”
“I can’t stay here.” She resisted his hand on her elbow. “I don’t have anything with me.” Even to her own ears her protest sounded weak.
“You can borrow one of my t-shirts. And I have a spare toothbrush.” He tugged and she allowed him to lead her to a grey metal elevator. “We’re ten minutes from the hospital. It makes way more sense for you to stay here than go all the way home only to come back in a few hours.”
They rode in silence to the fourteenth floor. The hall was thickly carpeted and painted in more shades of grey. He unlocked a door and gestured her forward.
She stepped into an open, airy space with white walls and grey hardwood floors. It wasn’t large, but the ceiling was high, the scale emphasized by the expanse of glass that formed the outer wall. Outside, visible through a narrow canyon formed by tall buildings, slender skyscrapers spiked above downtown Vancouver. Thousands of lights pierced the inky blackness, including the glow from Grouse Mountain’s ski runs floating in the obsidian sky.
A glossy, high-tech kitchen filled the space to her right. An island with white woodwork and gleaming countertop overlooked a living area with a cream-coloured couch and medium-sized flat screen television.
“Nice place.” She wandered closer to the window. “Paulo’s must be treating you well.”
“It’s doing okay, better since the show. But I moved here a couple of years ago, before Paulo’s. A friend of mine did all the renovations, then was transferred to Australia for work. I’m subletting it from him and hoping to buy it when I get Paulo’s stabilized.”
She ran her hand along the smooth, cool material of the couch. A formal portrait of a middle-aged couple rested on a long narrow table. She picked it up. “Your parents?”
He nodded. “They had it done a few years ago, for their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
She studied the photo. Paul’s mother smiled happily, but his father looked grim. “Thirty years with the same person. How the hell do they do it?”
“A lot of patience, I imagine. And a lot of love.”
She lowered it into place, using a clean line in a thin layer of dust as a guide. Lingering tension dissolved at this sign of Paul’s fallibility. “My gramma loved her husband, and he left her over her head in debt. According to my mother, my father ran screaming in the other direction when she told him she was pregnant. Commitment? Marriage?” She shrugged. “Maybe for some people, but I don’t believe in it for me.” No matter how much she was beginning to wish she could.
He tossed his keys beside a complicated-looking coffee machine. “Do you want something warm to drink? What about an herbal tea? Nothing with caffeine. You need to sleep.” He relaxed one hip against the island and crossed his arms and ankles as he waited for her answer. Dark hair fell over his forehead and fatigue deepened the creases in his cheeks.
She was so tired of fighting her instincts. Instincts that told her she could depend on him, trust him. She might continue to declare she didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone, but her determination was beginning to soften. Paul’s actions were doing more to defeat her stubbornly held beliefs than any soft words.
“You were there, again. How are you always near when I need you?”
“I want to be there, Jemma. Whenever you need me.” He filled a kettle under the tap. “Tonight was just luck. I didn’t like how we left it between us this afternoon. I wanted to talk to you.” He put the kettle on its electric base and rummaged in a cupboard.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her the way Paul had done for the last few hours. For years, even before dementia reared its nightmare head, she had been responsible for Miriam, grimly determined to drag them out from under the burden of Henry’s debt, lift them above the desperate despair that smothered Alice. Jemma couldn’t afford to be weak when she had Miriam to love, to take care of. Depending on someone else was a gamble she hadn’t allowed herself to take in years.
It was a gamble she wanted to take tonight.
He clunked down two mugs and dropped a tea bag in each. “Chamomile. It’ll help you sleep.”
“I hate tea.” She walked toward him, stopping scant inches away. He watched her, a question in his eyes. She clasped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. His hands settled on her hips. His heart bumped, steady and comforting, under her cheek. Her breasts pressed against him, her hands restless on his back.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me, touch me.” She paused, then offered as much of herself as she could. “I need you.”