Charlie pauses outside the door, and I hook my thumbs into my belt, fidget with the skull buckle. I think about what I should say. It’s going to be okay or She could get better or Everything happens for a reason.
Each adage sounds like horse crap in my head, so I can’t imagine what it’d sound like out loud. Instead of speaking, I press a kiss to Charlie’s temple and open the door for her.
The inside of the Grams’s room smells sour. My first thought is an anxious one, because there’s no way Charlie can’t smell it, and I know it’s going to upset her. We edge closer to the narrow bed and find Grams resting on her side. She’s facing a window on the opposite wall and has her back to us. I imagine she’s looking out the window, just taking in the night sky, maybe thinking about what to make for breakfast when the sun rises.
But I know better.
Charlie touches Grams on the shoulder, and the slim lump beneath the quilt stirs. Slowly, she rolls over. Her face is the color of old bread.
“Hey, darling,” she mumbles, “and Man Child.”
Hearing my old nickname sends affection through me. I note the pill bottles sitting on her nightstand and wonder what she has taken, and how many.
“Grams,” Charlie says, her voice breaking over that one word. There’s a chair near the bed. Charlie drops down into it. The two take each other’s hands, and I glance away. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t be here, like I’m an intruder.
“I should call someone,” Charlie says.
Grams manages a small smile. “So beautiful.”
Charlie’s head dips, and I remember that I should be doing something, anything. I move closer and rub my hand over her arm.
“Why are you comforting her?” Grams asks. “I’m the one who’s dying.”
My head whips in the old woman’s direction, and I find she’s still smiling. I’m happy to see her this way, but part of me wants to scream. “What can I do?” I whisper.
“Exactly what you’re doing.” Grams winces, and something in my chest cracks. Her blue-gray eyes meet mine. “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing, you understand me, Man Child?”
I nod and squeeze my eyes shut. I know what she’s asking of me, and it’s a request I can easily fulfill, because I’ll always be here for Charlie.
Charlie glances up, and when I see her face streaked with tears, my internal barriers nearly crumble. Grams is dying. Grams. The woman who loves Charlie the way I do, perhaps more, if that’s possible. The person who adopted an orphaned girl and insisted they treat each another like biological family.
“Her soul?” Charlie whispers.
The muscles in my back clench. I know what she’s asking, but I’m afraid. Afraid of what I’ll see, and of whether I can do anything about it. The last time I checked Grams’s soul light, it was partially obscured by sin seals. That was months ago. Could things have changed?
“What are you talking about, Charlie?” Grams’s eyes slip closed as she speaks.
Gathering what resolve I have, I flip her soul light on.
And breathe a sigh of relief.
There’s no change. Her soul light has numerous sin seals, but plenty of light still shines through. In fact, I see a couple of pink liberator seals over some of the sin seals. I almost smile, imagining Valery sneaking in what she could. “Her soul will go to Judgment,” I say gently.
Charlie jumps to her feet. “That’s not good enough.”
Soft snoring wafts from the bed, telling me Grams won’t hear the rest of our conversation. “I can’t…” I start. “I don’t know what I could do for her now. It’s okay, Charlie. Most people go to Judgment. She’s lived a good life, and she’ll be rewarded for it.”
She shakes her head. “No. No, you’re going to make sure of it. I won’t let her go without knowing.”
What Charlie’s saying is almost too much to bear. Because the one thing I need in order to seal her soul for heaven is something she doesn’t have—time.
I open my mouth to tell Charlie there’s nothing I can do, but I can’t find the words.
Charlie meets my stare for a long time. Then she turns and leaves the room. I hear a sob break from her throat before the door shuts.
Then it’s just me and Grams.
I sit down in the chair and reach for her hand. When I give her hand a gentle squeeze, Grams’s eyelids flutter before closing once again. I should be unsettled to be alone with this old woman who’s dying. I should feel out of place. But when Charlie left the room, it’s like she took my heart with her. Now I’m empty.
Grams grips my hand, and I look down at our overlapping fingers. “Can you hear me?” I ask.
Nothing.
I swallow. “I’ll do what you said. I’ll be there for her anytime she needs me.”
When Grams doesn’t respond for the second time, I get up to leave the room.
“At least I know she’ll be taken care of,” Grams mutters.
My emotions threaten to overwhelm me, but I remind myself that I’m not really here. That no matter what she says, it doesn’t hurt, because I don’t care.
I don’t care.
“That’s right,” I respond. “I’ll always take care of Charlie.”
Then I do leave, because there’s nothing left to be done. If it were up to me, I’d call for an ambulance. I’d make Grams fight for her life so that I could have more time to ensure her soul is liberated. But from looking at her, I know she’s past the point of getting well again. And she’s Charlie’s Grams, not mine. If the woman wants to be warm in her bed, then she should at least have that.
When I get downstairs, Irene tells me Charlie is in the backyard. I move to go after her, but Irene blocks my path. “Give her space.”
I consider pushing past her, but something tells me the woman is ready to throw down. So I let it go and make a place for myself on the couch. Irene strolls back into the kitchen to do whatever it is she’s doing in there. I stare off into space, wracking my brain, trying to think of something I could have done differently.
It isn’t until much later, while Charlie is still outside, that the smallest glimmer of an idea tickles my brain.
I’m on my feet in a flash.
Bounding up the stairs even faster.
22 
Maybe I Should Believe, Too
I burst into Grams’s room, not even attempting to be quiet.
“Wake up,” I say. “Please.”
The blankets rustle, and I help her along, pulling them down toward her feet. She’s wearing a purple silk nightgown that makes it seem like she prepared for this moment. Like she said to herself, “I’m not going out underdressed. Bring me my finest robes.”
I’m shocked at how frail she’s become. She’s always been thin, far thinner than any woman over sixty should be, but now she’s a wisp.
“Grams, you have to wake up.” I give up trying to rouse her with my voice, and instead give her shoulders a firm shake. This is her soul we’re talking about, after all.
The movement does the trick, because before long, her eyelids drift open. “Man Child,” she says, her lips tugging upward.
I sit down into the chair. “Tell me what you meant earlier.”
“Hmm…?”
“When you said, ‘At least I know she’ll be taken care of,’ what did you mean?”
She doesn’t say anything, and I’m afraid she’s fallen back asleep. “Grams?”
“I meant you’ll be there for her,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “You said so.”
My heart drops. “Is that all?”
She nods. “And the house, of course. She’ll have that, too.”