Jackson Pearce - Cold Spell

I’m held up by the paramedics in the hallway—they’ve made it to the third floor and are negotiating around a corner. Grandma Dalia’s eyes are open, and for a moment I don’t think she’s conscious—but then her gaze finds mine, and she stares at me so long that I feel frozen. Her lips are parting; is she speaking? Then she’s jostled, and they move again, down to the second story. The first. The double doors leading to the courtyard are ahead; it’s still snowing, with at least an inch or two built up on the ground.

The red light from the ambulance bounces off the fallen snow and off windows that are full of neighbors staring. Grandma Dalia’s bony hands form fists, and she closes her eyes. Her chest starts to rise and fall faster, and I see the paramedics glance at one another. They try to hurry, but the snow makes the ground slicker than normal, and they can’t rush without risking the gurney’s stability. A younger paramedic leaps from the ambulance and rushes to throw another blanket over Grandma Dalia.

I run across the street to the little parking lot attached to our building. The snow hides the uneven concrete underneath; I trip and fall, skin my palms, and finally make it to the station wagon. It’s burgundy, both outside and in, and it’s shiny and sleek—it was top of the line when it was new, and I don’t think Grandma Dalia has driven it much since then. I slide into the front seat and jam the key into the ignition. Breathe. Just breathe. And don’t crash.

I put the car in reverse, turn around, and look back at the building. They’re bringing Grandma Dalia around now, about to load her into the ambulance. Her eyes are still squeezed shut; the paramedics have grown almost silent. I tap the gas, ease the car back—

The tires spin. I turn back to the wheel and press down harder—nothing. The rear begins to fishtail a little, but I can’t get enough traction to back up. I curse—this isn’t working. I punch at the steering wheel, pull the key from the ignition, and get out. Solution, think, Ginny, think. We have to get there somehow.

As I jog back toward the building, Kai bursts through the doors. He holds a plastic bag full of pill bottles, rattling like maracas with each step. I pull my phone out of my pocket to look up a cab company….

“Everything okay?” a female voice calls out. I look up—it’s a girl, driving a silver Lexus. She leans across the passenger seat, platinum-blonde hair spilling over her petite shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah—” I say, waving her off. I hurry over toward the ambulance, finding Kai’s eyes in the fray.

The paramedics begin to make sounds—not really words, just sounds. “Oh, whoa, oh, oh, whoa—” all in unison. I spin to see the cause. Grandma Dalia is grasping for the oxygen mask, trying to sit up. They hold her down, but she struggles, fighting with strength I didn’t know she had yet is still nothing compared with a team of thirtysomethings. She succeeds in getting the mask off, but only for a moment. She gasps for air, inhaling flecks of snow and ice. Her lips move; she’s speaking; she’s trying to reach out to Kai as he runs to her side. His hands and knees are scraped; he must have fallen on the way—

“Don’t go,” she whispers. I hear her only because the wind has changed direction, blowing against her, carrying her voice to me. She sounds like a ghost, as if she isn’t really here. I slide up beside Kai just as she speaks again; her eyes find me and narrow accusingly. She points at me. “Don’t go with the girl.”

“Ginny and I aren’t going anywhere, Grandma, not right now,” Kai says immediately. He allows the waiting paramedic to replace the mask; Grandma Dalia inhales fully, her chest arching up against the blankets. “We’ll meet you there, at the hospital.”

He steps back as the ambulance doors slam shut. I grab his hand. I have to do something. I have to figure out a solution—Kai can’t, not right now. Think, Ginny, damn it.

“Let’s go—”

“The car,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s stuck in the snow. I’m going to call a cab. I’ll tell them to hurry.” Kai’s face falls—cabs are epically slow, especially on this side of town. I can’t help but feel I’ve utterly failed him.

“You sure you’re okay?” the girl in the Lexus calls again. She’s parked directly behind us and is standing outside the car now, tall and bright in a sea of whiteness. Kai stares at her, confused.

“Wait—can you give us a ride?” I shout to her. “To the hospital? His grandmother—”

“Sure,” she says, nodding. “Come on, get in.”

I know I should feel surprised that she said yes—she’s a total stranger—but my mind is too preoccupied with worry. I lead Kai across the snow to the Lexus and sit down in the back seat with him. The girl is barely running the heat; the leather seats feel like ice under my legs. Her eyes flicker to mine in the rearview mirror, two bright blue stars.

“Thank you,” I say as we pull forward. “I tried our car, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says smoothly. Kai leans against me, keeping his head down—I worry, for a moment, that he might throw up in a car we can’t afford to have cleaned.

“Don’t be scared. She’s tough,” I remind Kai as I look out the window, watching the world growing ever whiter. People are sledding on trash-can lids and flattened boxes, since no one in the South actually owns a sled. They’re laughing and playing, while Kai holds back tears.

“She looked awful,” Kai says, exhaling. “What if she doesn’t make it?”

I want to tell him that she will, but I’m not so sure. I open my mouth to speak, but the girl driving us breaks in.

“Then you’ll still be here,” she says. Kai lifts his head; she speaks again. “You can’t let yourself die when someone else does. When my sister died, I thought my life was over. But it was just beginning.”

“But,” I say, squeezing Kai’s hand, “that’s something we can think about at the hospital.”

“Your sister died?” Kai asks. The ambulance skids through an intersection; the girl expertly navigates the gearshift, jetting through the red light to keep up.

“Ages ago,” the girl says. “My whole world changed.”

“I’m sorry,” Kai says. “What’s your name?”

“Mora,” she answers.

“I’m Kai,” he says. “And this is Ginny.”

“Thank you for driving us,” I add. “It’s a nightmare, driving in the snow.”

“Not a problem,” she says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror. Her teeth are as perfect as her skin, and I hate that I can see my reflection next to hers. I turn back to Kai, who is staring at the back of Mora’s head.

“Your grandmother plans everything, right?” I say.

“Yeah,” Kai says, sniffling. I can’t tell if it’s the cold or the emotion making his nose red and eyes watery.

“She planned your clothes every day until last year. She planned each and every trip to the grocery store. She even planned arguments she suspected she’d get into. You think she’d really plan for her last words to be about me ? She hates me.”

Kai almost laughs, but not quite. He shakes his head and looks away from Mora’s head and at me.

“Then those aren’t her last words,” I say, a promise I’m afraid will become a lie. “She isn’t done yet.” Kai lifts my hand and kisses it, then rests his head against the back of the seat, eyes closed.

It was a lie after all. Grandma Dalia died before she even got to the hospital.

I saw Kai playing in the courtyard the day we moved in. It was December, a few weeks before Christmas. My dad and his brothers handled the furniture, while my mom lugged box after box of lamps and books and silverware up the stairs. I was too small to really help, and eventually my mom got so irritated with me weaving around under her legs that she told me to go play with “that little boy in the courtyard, the one with the ball.”