Beneath the Night Tree by Nicole Baart Read Free Book Online

to photograph Francesca’s kids,” I told her. It was the truth, but I didn’t know if it would be enough to pacify her.
    “I thought you loved Carlye.”
    A smile danced across my lips because she hadn’t bothered to mention Angelica. Grandma knew me too well. “I do,” I said, “but that doesn’t make the job easy.”
    “A cup of tea,” Grandma declared, pressing herself up from the table and going to put the kettle on. “You need a hot cup of tea and a few minutes to yourself.”
    I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted her with me and I almost said so. But she seemed frail as she lifted the kettle, the palsy in her hands making the water slosh around like waves on a restless sea. I had to sign her checks for her these days. And separate her tiny pills from the army of bottles that stood guard on the windowsill above the sink. I snuck a peek at the clock on the wall and realized that at nine, Grandma was ready for bed.
    “Let me get that,” I said, reaching around to steady her hand with my own. Her skin was warm and soft, as insubstantial and flimsy as a knotted tangle of old lace.
    “Sorry,” she murmured. “These hands . . .”
    “Are beautiful,” I finished. I squeezed her fingers gently so as not to leave a bruise.
    “Are old,” Grandma laughed.
    “You’re not old. You’re immortal.”
    She looked at me for a long moment, her warm eyes like melted caramel, and smiled at what she saw. “No,” she told me, “I’m not immortal. But I am eternal. I just have to face my mortality first.”
    I didn’t mean to tremble at her words, but soon Grandma’s hands were gripping mine in a hold that was part steadying, part palliative. “You have to be immortal,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
    “I’m an old woman,” Grandma said. “I have lived a life of abundance. My cup overflows.”
    “It’s not your cup I’m worried about.”
    Grandma clasped my hands for a second more; then she took a step back and studied me as if to cement my every feature in her mind. “I’m very proud of you,” she said finally.
    It was something she said often, but I had never felt so undeserving. If you only knew, I thought. In the depths of my heart, where I could still pretend that the unfolding map of my life was charted by different choices, I wanted to pack for Iowa City. To be with the man I loved, unhindered, unburdened. There was nothing to be proud of in that. Especially when I was so needed here.
    “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
    “It has everything to do with everything. Julia, I’m not worried about you anymore. I don’t fear for your future or wonder if you’ll wander forever. Lots of people do that, you know. Wander.”
    “I’m a wanderer.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    It was hard not to roll my eyes, even though I knew she was only trying to shore me up, encourage me so that one day I could stand alone. The thought made my heart whimper.
    “All I’m saying is you’re going to be just fine. Even when this old body proves its fragile humanity.”
    Fragile humanity . . . Weren’t we all breakable? And yet, all at once it wasn’t hard for me to imagine her gone. This woman who had been my constant, the mighty wind that kept me upright through every storm of my life, had somehow faded before my very eyes. Grandma was a whisper, a quiet breeze, a soft sigh that would someday weaken and disappear. I didn’t even realize that I was blinking back tears until she chuckled and cupped my face in her hands.
    “No tears.”
    “You cry all the time.”
    “That’s different. I’m allowed.”
    “And I’m not?” I cried, incredulous.
    “Not over me. And not today. I’m not going anywhere today.”
    “You’d better not be going anywhere tomorrow either. Or the next day.”
    Grandma turned back to the kettle and set it on the stove for my solitary tea, switching the burner on high. “I’m off to bed. A little time alone will change your