Farrah Rochon - A Forever Kind of Love

That could have been you, a voice whispered in her head.

As she drove back to the hospital, Mya tried to imagine what her life would have been like if she had remained in Gauthier. The thought was so disturbing her mind refused to conjure a single image. Instead, a picture of her two-story Brooklyn apartment, with its exposed-brick walls, hardwood floors and view of lower Manhattan, traced across her mind’s eye. She visualized the diverse faces she passed as she went about her day in the city. The hodgepodge of ethnicities and cultures that had added such richness to her life was the antithesis of these same faces from her childhood.

Thank God this place hadn’t managed to get its hooks into her.

As the thought floated through her mind, Mya felt an uncomfortable mixture of shame and guilt stir in the pit of her stomach. It was unfair to lay all the blame at the town’s feet. Her actions fifteen years ago made her just as culpable in the trap that had nearly snared her.

Mya pulled into the parking lot and, grabbing her grandmother’s wig from the front seat, made her way to her grandmother’s hospital room. She learned that Grandma had been moved to another room on the hospital’s west side. Following the signs in the white, sterile hallways, Mya found her grandmother’s room.

She tapped lightly on the partially open door as she entered. “Knock, knock,” she called. The room was outfitted in much the same way as the previous one, but instead of two beds, the other half of the room contained two reclining chairs and a small table.

“Bring me my hair,” her grandmother said.

She walked over to the bed and handed her grandmother the wig. “Why did they have to move you?” Mya asked.

“They didn’t have to move her,” Aunt Mo drawled, coming out of the bathroom that Mya hadn’t noticed tucked behind the door. “But putting her in a private room was easier than arguing with her.”

“Are you making trouble already?” Mya gave her grandmother a stern look.

“My roommate snored,” she answered, fluffing the wig’s tight curls. “It looks even better in person. Here, help me get this on.”

Mya removed the hairpins and lifted the old wig from her grandmother’s head, replacing it with the one she’d just brought. “Claudette hasn’t changed a bit,” she laughed, tucking a curl behind her grandmother’s ear.

“Did you expect her to? She’s been the same way since we were in the sixth grade,” her grandmother answered.

Mya chuckled. “She said something about a meeting Monday night?”

“Oh, dammit,” Grandma cursed.

“Mama!” Aunt Mo screeched.

“Oh, calm down, Maureen. You’d think she’s never heard a dirty word before,” her grandmother griped. “They’ve got to let me out of this hospital. I need to be at that meeting Monday night.”

“That’s up to your doctor,” Mya said. “Claudette said you’re in charge of some celebration committee?”

Her grandmother straightened her shoulders. “I’m chairing the committee for the town’s 175th-year anniversary and the downtown revitalization project, which some people think is a waste of time.”

“She means Margery,” Aunt Mo said.

“I don’t care what Margery thinks. We need to do something,” her grandmother argued.

Mya folded her arms across her chest. “Grandma, what are you up to?”

“It’s not just me,” she said with an affronted pout. She pointed an accusing finger at Mya’s chest. “It’s that darn outlet mall in Maplesville that’s causing problems. That’s where everyone shops now, and what’s worse, the people who built the outlet mall have their sights set on Main Street. They’re trying to bring in one of those big-box stores. Can you imagine what would happen to the businesses on Main if they had to compete with a huge national chain?”

“So you came up with the idea for an anniversary celebration?”

“Yes.” Her grandmother nodded. “We figure the celebration will draw people back to Main Street and show those developers that we don’t need some megastore moving in. But how am I supposed to get any work done laid up in this hospital bed?”

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