The Christmas Target. Shirlee McCoy
I take it any easier, I’ll be prone in a bed.”
“That’s where you should be.”
“Not yet.” She opened the door and stepped into the quiet room.
A heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm, and the soft hiss of an oxygen machine filled the room. From what Chance could see, Beatrice’s vitals were normal. Or close to it. Her oxygen level was low, but the mask over her face should help with that.
Stella leaned over the bed rail and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Nana?”
When Beatrice didn’t respond, Stella lifted her hand, studied the gnarled joints and short nails. “She used to love having her nails done.”
“Did she?” Chance pulled a chair over to the bed and nudged Stella into it.
“She thought it made a woman feel feminine. She always wanted me to have mine done, too, but I was never a girly girl, and I hated it. One year, we had matching nails for Christmas. Hers were green with little red Christmas trees. Mine were red with little green Christmas trees. Christmas morning, I realized she’d bought us matching outfits, too. Long red skirts and white blouses with high collars. I think she was going for a Victorian vibe.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“I guess the Victorian theme didn’t go over well with you.”
“No.” She smiled at the memory. “But I wore the outfit to church anyway. Becky Snyder never did let me live that down. I heard about it every other day for my entire high school career.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t shut Becky down.” That was another thing Chance had watched happen over and over again. Stella knew how to put people in their places and how to keep them there. She also knew how to lift them up when they needed it, offer support when no one else could. It made her fantastic at her job, and it drew people to her. No matter how many times she tried to push them away.
“Why would I? I never cared what anyone else thought. Beatrice was happy. That made me happy.”
“I’m sure your grandmother wouldn’t have been happy if she’d known you were being teased.”
“She knew. We used to laugh about how ridiculous Becky was for bringing up something so last year. And about how silly she was to think that someone who’d survived what I had would be bothered by her opinion.” She smiled at the memory.
“Your grandmother was a smart lady.”
Maybe she’d heard the past tense. Maybe she’d realized just how much of herself she’d just shared.
Whatever the case, her smile faded, her gaze shifting to Beatrice’s face. “I hope she weathers this. She’s already frail, and her memory isn’t good. Sometimes older people don’t recover from—”
A siren split the air, the sound shrieking through the silent ICU.
Stella jumped from the chair, swayed.
Chance just managed to grab her waist, holding her upright as her grandmother bolted into a sitting position.
“What’s happening?” she cried, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
Good question.
Chance wanted an answer as badly as she did.
“I don’t know, but I plan to find out. Stay here,” he said, looking straight into Stella’s eyes.
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