I’ve learned one thing since I landed at my grandmothers house. She’s not dying of lung cancer. I swear that the reason Mom asked me to pay her a visit was because she was dying. In fact I remember her exact words. “Emery . . .” Mom lets my name slide into silence of my bedroom, “Dad . . . His mom.”

Mom pauses, taking a small, short breath, “Your grandmother. Kate—Katie. She’s . . . Dying.” Mom’s eyes meet mine. She’s everything but calm. Her shoulders are raised, her eyes are squinted. Her lips are pressed together in a small line.

I grab my wrist, twisting the bracelet around. The black beads snap together as Mom reaches her hand out.

“Em,” she whispers, “I think you should . . .”

Don’t say it! I think, snapping the beads once more.

“Visit her,” Mom finishes. I can tell from her relaxed shoulders, and wide open eyes that she’s relieved it’s all over.

I shake my head, “Mom,” I say, “I don’t want to.”

I smile meekly at my grandma who’s sitting across the living room, in an old, wooden rocking chair. She rocks back and forth her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

I take in a much needed breath, “So . . .”

I pause hoping she’ll take the opportunity to jump in. To my disappointment she just stares blankly back at me.

Since I arrived she’s spoken two words to me. “Cole Dawson.” Her right hand was shaking at her side as she took me in. I could tell she thought I looked like him. Her son, my father.

Mom tells me everyday that I remind her so much of Dad. And from the one memory I have of him, I agree. He was funny, kind, a little hard on the eyes, and most importantly he was shy. Like crazy shy. Mom always joked that it was a miracle she got him down on one knee.

I could always imagine him on the day he asked Mom to marry him. Cherry red, mumbling, sweating. Dropping the ring in the grass field that Mom had told me about.

To my surprise, I was wrong. Dad was in the moment. He wasn’t shaking, or freaking out. He loved Mom, and that gave him the confidence he needed, to take a risk. He knew she loved him, he didn’t understand why, but he knew. And he sure knew that the girl standing in front of him was the girl he was meant to be with forever. If only forever wasn’t severed by his death.

“Tell me why?” My grandmother’s booming voice echos through the small house. “Why are you here?”

“Uh . . . Well my mother said that you were dying and she wanted me to pay you a visit?”

I say the last word like a question. I hope it shows her that I’m just as confused as her.

She shakes her head, “I’m not dying.”

Way to point out the obvious. I nod, “I can see that.”

“So,” she lifts a hand motioning for me to leave, “Get on then. No reason to take my precious time away from me.”

And that was that. I grabbed my suitcase, flung my bag over my shoulder and walked out that door like it was the first day of school.

I wish I had Peter here to help me with this mess. He’s so good at sorting things out. At least I think he is. Maybe I’m wrong. Just like I was wrong that my grandmother was dying. How many other things am I wrong about?